#none of this probably makes sense it's too early in the morning and yet here i am

[melodic-haze]

Jinhsi is glowing in the game..i for real thought it was a bug or something and then i open twitter and people be saying the same things..how can she looks so goddamn beautiful..Like she can go from all softie to a literal badass woman..i want her so bad.

Imagine we as her lover omg i can't. Jinhsi is a type of lover who caress your face in the morning and put our safety first GAHGH WANT HER SO BAD

☆ — DEMO TRACK: Jinhsi x Reader

☆ — TYPE: SFW

☆ — CONTENT WARNINGS: None :3

☆ — NOTES: I AM SO SORRY??? THIS WAS FROM FUCKING MAY OH MY GOD. I have another ask after that'll tie into this (more specifically, NSFW hcs for her 😊) saur yeah. Anyway GUYS LOOK A SFW DEMO....WOW I swear I'm multifaceted

☆ — PARTS: Part 1 (you are here), Part 2

She is like. Green flags all over idc idc I NEED HER man she's so sweet my baby 😩😩😩 I need her dawg just having this woman as your lover must be like. So nice as long as you accept that she's working with an extremely busy schedule

Even then though I DO think she'd make time for you. She's a very balanced girlie who's learnt how to balance between working and resting, preferrably with you :3

She makes a point to always ALWAYS wake up next to you. I'd say that she's an early riser as well so she probably just lays there on her side, brushing her hand on your face and your body as she waits for you to wake up. Could she just get up and carry on with work? Yes, and perhaps you've even offered that she could bc you KNOW being a magistrate means you're never NOT busy.. but she's always declined, saying that the first thing she wants to see in the morning isn't work but rather the joy on people's faces as a result of her hard work with keeping the peace.......and that is especially the case with seeing you alive and satisfied in her embrace 🥰🥰🥰🥰

The first thing you feel when you wake is a soft kiss on your bare shoulder, the contact warm and tender yet brief.. but then it comes back as quick as it went and you can't help but sigh in contentment as your eyes fluttered open.

The first thing you see is not Jinzhou's magistrate but rather a woman of pure elegance, her seemingly luminescent white hair flowing freely and expectedly unkept after a lovely night (and you could never tell if it was due to her connection with Jué or if it were a natural reflection of the light). Though to you, she was still nothing short of perfect, with the way the morning light had bathed her pale skin with such an ethereal glow.

"Good morning, dearest."

The first thing you hear is the sound of her soft voice, a groggy rasp to its undertone as a result of a good night's sleep with you.

"Mmm.. morning."

That was the only form of verbal exchange the two of you had for a while as you both laid on the bed without any intention of hastily diving back into the real world. You simply turned around to snuggle closer to your gentle lover, your limbs tangled together before you leaned in at the same time.

There it was, the first thing you taste and the first thing you smell being her, all five senses filled with nothing but her. And considering how busy her life is, you wouldn't have your mornings any other way.

You don't actually know how long you've spent there in silence, cradling each other and exchanging tender kisses without a need for words. You don't really care, and neither does your beloved girlfriend despite the responsibilities she has. But of course, you know better than to question her.

You could have stayed there until the end of time but alas, duty does call.. and so do your stomachs for a good meal.

The both of you sit up at the same time, as if attuned to each other, and give each other one more peck before parting.

"I can make something for breakfast," you offered, "though if you need to leave now, then that's fine too."

Jinhsi shook her head, "I have a counter-offer; let me do the cooking this time."

"You sure? You know you don't have to do that."

"Shh," she places a finger on your lips for a moment before dropping her hand, "I want to. You deserve to be treated every once in a while, so let me?"

"..You always convince me, even though it feels like you're wasting your time for me."

"I wouldn't, as you say, 'waste my time' in doing so if I didn't love you."

WIFE MATERIAL WIFE MATERIAL WIFE MATERIAL I LOVE YOU JINHSI

Throughout your day to day basis I feel like she likes to keep tabs on you to make sure you're okay. She isn't oppressive with it, doesn't have anyone directly guarding you and looming over you or stalking you at every direction, bc she knows you can handle yourself and function independently and she doesn't want you thinking she doesn't trust you!!! But she often asks people if they've seen you around and how you're faring. I think at some point, people end up doing it on their own bc they can tell (with much amusement, ESPECIALLY for Changli) how much she cares about you. Even Sanhua makes it a point to report to her if she sees you somewhere HAHAHA

Speaking of Sanhua, considering how you two are tied together then she's also technically your bodyguard by proxy 🫶 so expect to see her a lot. She'd have a soft spot for you as well, starting off bc you make Jinhsi happy but then over timr you'd probably bond anyway (and Jinhsi's cheery ab having her two precious people get along :3)

She also sends you gifts if she can't see you for the day or a certain period of time. A random courier delivers it to you personally with a knowing smile on their face and you're usually surprised with how it's either something you've wanted for a while now, something you thought about today as you passed by a certain store, or just something that she says in a note reminded her of you 🫠🫠🫠UGH I'M SO LONELY

Ofc being in a relationship with Jinzhou's magistrate also means suffering the downsides aka being basically the prime target for anything that may source as a way to get to Jinhsi with more.. hostile means. Doesn't necessarily happen much bc she takes safety SERIOUSLY but ofc it does happen. Not to mention in general as well, with all the tacet fields popping up left and right

She wants to be able to protect you 24/7 but she does know constant protection would suffocate anyone, with the way she's able to essentially assign the fiercest most intimidating people to basically surround you. But she does try, if not by having others to do so then by herself

Watching Jinhsi fight felt like nothing short of an ongoing art piece painted onto a canvas.

She was unfazed, unbothered and ever so graceful—her sword cuts through the Tacet Discords so cleanly as she executed each one without so much as breaking a sweat. Despite the chaotic conflict, however, it felt as if she were simply dancing through each Discord with their shrieks and screams as her very own orchestrated accompaniment.

..What a morbid thought, though your lover still seems to make it seem like a beautiful visage anyway.

The two of you had only wanted to venture beyond Jinzhou's city walls for a nice picnic, but of course the risk of encountering random dangers had caught up to you, hence the situation.

You knew you wouldn't have to wait for long though—and you say that with such jarring nonchalance because a situation like this is more than some random nuisance, except you have the Sentinel's blessed willingly protecting you—because Jinshi's making short work on the Discords like they're nothing. As expected, of course, though there was that valid twinge of fear mixing within your excitement and awe at her power and her fighting prowess.

A blink, and the final Discord falls to her sword, the metal of her blade echoing out a metallic, reasonating sound that announces the battle's finality. And with it, the Echoes of the last Discord she had felled is stood there, sparkling a glittering gold.

She looks back at you with a concentrated glare, the horns on her head and the aura surrounding her signifying the final fragments of her silent aggression, before she blinks out of her state and reverts back to the seemingly docile woman that you spend your days with.

The white-haired woman licked her lips before speaking, her gaze darting from you to the still Echo, "A see-through visage of you would make for a nice anniversary gift, no?"

You snorted, walking over to her now that the field's been cleared, "Are you implying that you'll kill me so that I end up like the Echo there?"

"Goodness, no! The Echo's presence simply sparked an idea within me." She laughs despite the fight she had just gone through, and the sound couldn't be more musical to your ears, "I simply want to immortalise your memory, perhaps with my presence as a cameo?"

"Even though you're arguably the more important public figure out of the two of us? Why not just have us together, on equal standing?"

"..Why, that possibility had slipped my mind. Perhaps I'm not thinking straight."

"Really?"

"Mhm."

"You must be winded, then... How about we find a spot to sit for our picnic, and then you can rest all you like? I did promise Sanhua that I'll have you back relaxed, unhurt and in one piece."

She raised an eyebrow mirthfully, "I still think she should have been more worried about you. I can take care of myself, as you've seen."

"Yeah, well-- ..wait, do you think she'd chew me out for having you fight for me?"

Jinhsi simply gives you a cheeky grin as she walks off, the playful expression a rare view on the Magistrate.. but extremely beautiful nonetheless. And you are left to chase after her, the both of you giggling as you stride through the now-peaceful plains.

And the whole thing has you thinking, that perhaps there is a more.. convenient way of immortalising your bond together, without a need for artificial Echoes or transparent tributes.

All you'd need is a ring.

And maybe better accompaniment instead of the screams of her enemies.

Idk how I ended up with a proposal teaser I'm ngl tk you what the fuck LMAOOO this is what happens when I don't plan anything. Contrary to popular belief I think marriage is a scam but this isn't about me 🫶

Dating Jinshi's obvs not gonna be sunshine and flowers with the risk and how busy she is bc she's leading an entire region, but surprisingly it's pretty close :3

[p-artsypants]

The Pale Rider (5) The Shambling will Cease

The Isle of Berk is cursed. Like, extremely cursed. It has been for generations. The extent of the curse has been forgotten over time, but no descendants of the original village are able to leave the island, lest they suffer a gruesome fate. Three years ago, the Blacksmith invited the Pale Rider to town. He’s a creature that’s haunted the forest and childhood campfire stories for centuries. Now, he arrives every day at noon. One day, Astrid Hofferson decides to be brave and talk to him. He’s actually really nice…for an eldritch abomination. A Beauty and the Beast AU.

Ao3

It was early in the morning. Most businesses, minus the bakery, weren’t open yet. The morning dew was still fresh on the patches of grass strewn about the square, and the horizon was orange with the rising sun. Astrid entered Gobber’s shop, hoping to speak to him before anyone else arrived. 

Luckily, he was there, lighting the fires. 

“Oh! Astrid! My, you’re early!”

She latched the half door shut behind her, a pep in her step. “Good morning, Gobber. I wanted to talk to you about something.” 

“Must be pretty important if you’re here so damn early,” he noted again.  

“I can come back,” she pointed at the door. 

“No no, none of that. What do you need?” 

“The Rider seems to have a knack for gift giving.” 

“That he does!” 

“I thought maybe…he’d like a gift in return?” 

Gobber chuckled. “Knowing him, he’d probably try to pay you for it.” 

“That’s what I’m afraid of…” 

“What were you thinking about giving the poor creature?” 

She hopped up to sit on the counter, and swung her legs idly. “I’ve noticed he doesn’t walk so well. He said his leg was taken a long time ago. I think his fake leg is broken or too short.” 

“So you want me to make him a prosthesis?” 

“I was just…wondering if that was possible? But the problem is, I really don’t have the coin to pay for it. I could bring you fresh flowers for your shop everyday!” 

“That’s not necessary, dearie. He’s been overpaying me for everything for years. I’ve got plenty of cushion to make him a leg.” 

“Would you?” She folded her hands in front of her chest. 

“Sure! Though, I don’t know why he never asked me for one before.” 

“I think he doesn’t have a lot of self-love. You know, he said the curse on this island is because of something he did.” 

“Really? What did he do?”

“He says he can’t remember. How hard must it be to repent for a crime you didn’t know you committed?”

Gobber hummed sadly. “Poor lad. He’s had a rough life.” 

“Yeah? He told you about it?” 

“Tiny fragments, every once in a while. You know, it wasn’t until earlier this year he started talking in full sentences. First two years, I had a lot of ‘yes’, ‘no’, and pointing. That doesn’t come from a life of ease.”

Again, Astrid felt that weird churning in her gut. A deep sense of grief for this friend that was still mostly a stranger. How lonely must he be? Talking about his parents had led him to tears. 

If she could give him a brief moment of happiness, it would be worth it. 

—

She was thrilled to see that Dagur was busy today. With what, she had no idea. She really didn’t care, as long as he was leaving her the hell alone. 

The Rider came around the bend, and she smiled and waved at him. 

He raised his hand and awkwardly waved back. 

She stooped to grab a parcel from inside her cart, and pulled out the thorny vines with purple berries he had asked for. “Your order, good sir.” 

“Thank you, Astrid,” he began before Toothless snatched the bouquet out of her hands. “How much do I owe you?” 

“5 gold please!” 

There was mirth in his voice as he said, “I guess you are taking to heart what I said about the treasure.” He held his hand out, and five golden, shiny coins fell into hers. 

“And…” she crouched again, and this time, gave him a small satchel brimmed with silver coins. “Your change.” 

He sighed. “Astrid…” 

“You said you were running out of silver!” She protested. 

“Yes, but I don’t want more.” 

“Too bad, if you want to be my friend, you’ll accept it.” 

He hummed, amused that she was using that on him. “Very well, Miss Hofferson.” He waved his hand over the satchel, and it disappeared. 

“Now that our business is concluded,” Astrid beamed. “Let’s go to Gobber’s!”

He tilted his head. “Are you so eager to be rid of me?” Another one of his weird jokes. 

“Nope! I just think you’ll find something interesting there, is all.”  

He watched her waltz in front and take hold of Toothless’ reins, and then start leading them over to the forge. 

“You are eager about something, in fact,” he noted. 

She tilted her head and nodded, still grinning. 

Gobber greeted them boisterously as they entered. “Rider! Astrid! What a surprise!” 

“How could this be a surprise?” Rider asked. “I come to see you at the same time every day.” He slid off his horse, but stayed drawn back, hesitant. “What is going on?” 

Gobber gave him a reassuring smile. “Astrid commissioned me on your behalf.” 

He ducked his head. “Me? What would she possibly have you do for me?” 

“Your leg,” she explained. “Your fake one. It hurts, doesn’t it?” 

He took a step back, shoulders hunching. “How could…?” 

“Gobber has a missing leg too,” she gestured. “But he doesn’t walk as slow or staggering like you do. We want to help.” 

He shook his head. “I deserve no such kindness.” 

“Barnstat!” Gobber hollered. “Every man deserves the chance to walk properly if his body allows it!” 

“But—” 

“No buts!” Gobber shook a hook at him. “You’ve been coming here for three years. You’ve pumped money into our village that no one has acknowledged. Snotlout won’t shut up about the sword you gave him, and Fishlegs’ uncle hasn’t stopped giggling since he saw that book! You’re getting a new leg! Are you going to sit down and let me measure? Or are we gonna do this the hard way?” He twisted his hook, menacingly. 

The Rider was stunned silent for a very long time. Slowly, he took a step forward, limping as he did. “Very well.” 

“Great!” Gobber grabbed a stool and brought it forward. “Take a seat.” 

Like everything he did, the Rider hesitated before sitting down. As he sat, he threw his cloak back so it would be out of the way. Then he gathered the front and tied it up into a loose knot. 

This revealed his legs, up to the top of his thighs. Almost normal human legs, but long and gangly. His right leg had armor, greaves, or greave, since it was just the one, and a sabaton. The outside was a shiny, black metal, while the joints were covered in a dark chainmail. The left leg, however, was made of wood. Starting just below the knee, a bundle of sticks gathered together with rope, tightly woven to truncate in a point to walk on. 

It simply couldn’t be comfortable. 

“Lad, did you make this?” 

He shook his head. “It’s what I was given.” He rolled up the black fabric of his pants to reveal the snow white skin of his knee. Closer to the amputation, the skin became scarred, gnarled, blistered and bloody. It was nauseating to look at. 

Gobber frowned. “And you say you lost it a long time ago?” 

The Rider nodded. 

“The wound looks fresh.” 

“Yes. A part of the curse.” He reached down and grabbed hold of the bundle of sticks that made up his leg. “As is this.” He pulled, making a horrible squelching noise. The Rider audibly whimpered, dislodging the sticks from his skin. The ends were pointed, and had been held in place by being stabbed into his leg, like some sort of horrible pin cushion. 

“Oh dear Odin…” Gobber looked sick. 

Astrid couldn’t breathe. Her poor friend, walking around with this unimaginable pain. No wonder he walked the way he did! 

Astrid grabbed his hand, curling her fingers around them and ignoring the shivers that ran down her spine. “You don’t deserve this.” 

“But—” 

“No. No, I don’t care what you did. 300 years of this is inhumane. Please let us help you.” 

He looked at his leg, almost numbly, as drips of dark blood fell from the multiple stab wounds.  

Gobber got up and got a bucket and rag. “You know, I don’t feel right about giving you any kind of prosthesis until that wound heals.

“I don’t think it will,” said the Rider. 

“Not if it’s being stabbed over and over with a dozen spears!” Gobber shook the cursed pegleg. “I’m gonna make you a proper one, but it might take a couple of days. I’ve got a temporary one you can use in the meantime.” And he chuckled the leg in the forge. 

“Gobber! It’s black wood!” Astrid shouted, in vain. 

The leg caught fire immediately, exploding in bright eye-burning green flames that filled the forge and licked the ceiling. The burst sounded like the scream of a dying woman. Astrid and Gobber fell to the floor, covering their faces. As the flames died down a foul smelling smoke filled the room. 

Gobber took the charred leg with some tongs and threw it into the back yard. 

“I’m sorry,” said the Rider. 

Astrid coughed and fanned the air in front of her face. “Not your fault.” 

“But—” 

She poked his chest, right on the sternum. “Not. Your. Fault!” 

He didn’t argue. Just fell silent. 

Astrid took the rag and bucket that Gobber had brought out and started cleaning the wound. 

“Careful, my blood is poisonous,” he warned.

“So are a lot of things on this island, and yet I pick them. I don’t have any open cuts on my hands. Don’t worry.” 

He fidgeted with his hands, rubbing his thumb on his index finger. 

“Does this hurt?” 

“No, it feels…quite nice.” 

“‘Cause you’re not bein’ stabbed!” Gobber exclaimed. “I’m gonna have nightmares about this for weeks!” 

“Again, I’m sorry.” 

“You don’t need to apologize,” Astrid comforted, bandaging the wound. “So you made a grave mistake 300 years ago. The person that’s really at fault here is the one that did this to you. So…who is it? Can you remember?” 

The green fire that was his eyes went dim, as he raised a hand to his head. “...it was…my best friend.” 

“What kind of friends do you keep?” Scoffed Gobber. 

“Well, you two.” 

“Besides us,” Astrid smiled. “Can you remember anything else about them?” 

“...betrayal,” he whispered. “Blood spilt…he…he knew magic.” He shook his head. “That’s all I can remember.” 

“Well, that’s certainly a start,” Supplied Astrid. 

“I got it,” Gobber snapped her fingers. “Sounds to me like you betrayed and killed your best friend. There’s many a folklore that says that a mage’s blood is powerful, even after death. If true, his blood would have been on you, and also seeped into the ground. Ta-da, curse solved!” Gobber stated, plainly, seemingly not bothered by the idea of the Rider being a murderer. 

“It makes sense,” said the Rider. “I just…wish I could remember. I would pray for forgiveness. But I don’t even remember what I did exactly.” 

Astrid patted his hands. “It’ll be alright. You’ve long served your time. Now, let us help you.” 

Gobber then took measurements. A few sitting down, and a few standing and using the counter for balance. 

At the end of it, Gobber brought out a standard peg leg with a leather cuff. He had to add a block to the bottom to make up for the extra height. 

“Alright lad, this attaches very simple. You just pull this cuff over your leg, and then pull the drawstrings nice and tight.” He did it for him as a demonstration. The Rider then straightened and bent his knee a few times to test it, then he carefully got up, keeping his weight on his good leg. Then he slowly balanced on both, and then took a step.

“Well?” Asked Gobber. 

“It's a relief. The pain is…so mild now.” He took another few steps, and Astrid noted happily that he wasn’t lurching like before. Just walking. “I don’t know how I could ever thank you.” 

Gobber waved him off. “That’s just the spare leg! I’ll have a right proper one for you in a few days.” 

The Rider held his hand out, offering a handshake. Gobber clasped his hand, only to have the Rider wrap his other hand around that one and squeeze. “I will forever be indebted to your kindness.”    

Gobber attempted to pull away, uncomfortable with the immense gratitude being laid on him.

But the Rider held firm. “I never would have had friends if you hadn’t invited me into town. Thank you, Gobber.” 

Gobber wiped a tear from the corner of his eye with his wrist. “Aye lad, you’re very welcome. Now stop before ye make me cry.” 

The Rider let go, and hummed fondly. 

“Wanna go show the others?” Astrid asked, eagerly.

The Rider nodded, and bid Gobber another fond farewell. 

They stopped at Fishlegs’, the twins, and at Heather’s. Each time, before any greetings, he pulled his cloak aside and pointed. “Gobber fixed my leg.” 

“Oh, how good for you!” Said Fishlegs. 

“Whoa, you had a wooden leg?” Said Tuffnut. 

“Lucky bastard,” said Ruffnut. 

“That Gobber sure is handy!” Said Heather. 

“Okay, and I care why?” Said Snotlout. 

Astrid didn’t have the heart to explain just how much pain the Rider had been in before the new leg. She wasn’t even sure how to explain the way the old leg had been attached. That would inevitably lead to more questions, and telling the others that she and Gobber theorized the Rider was a murderer was not a good idea. 

Maybe in a few…years. 

Or maybe never, if she and Gobber could solve the curse without their help. 

After tea, the Rider remained, not running away abruptly like he had been.

“Do you have anywhere you need to be?” She asked. 

“Oh,” he clenched his hand up by his mouth. “You have to get back to work.” 

“Well, eventually, yes, but that’s not what I meant.” 

He tilted his head at her, prompting her to go on. 

“There’s one more person I want you to meet. I’ve been telling her about you, and she’s eager to meet you.” She started heading down the road, and he followed, guiding Toothless patiently along as well. “She…it’s my mother.” 

The Rider hummed. “And…she is sick, correct?” 

“Yes.” Astrid swallowed. “No one knows with what. Gothi, the medicine woman, said she’s…” A lump got caught in her throat, and Astrid didn’t know how to continue. 

The Rider’s hand fell upon her shoulder, offering a warm gesture, despite the cold touch. 

“She’s dying,” Astrid whispered. “And there’s nothing we can do about it.” 

“I’m sorry,” the Rider said back, just as softly. 

“I don’t think this is curse related,” she clarified. “Just…something we don’t understand yet. Which almost makes it harder. Because no one knows what it is, no one knows if it’s contagious. And because of that…no one comes to visit her.” 

“That’s sad.” 

“I sit with her most evenings, after work. I’ve told her all about you. I thought she’d be worried, but she was just curious.” 

“That’s refreshing.” 

She smiled. “I’m sure!” 

She led him up to her little cottage. It was small, but had enough of a yard that she could garden. Every inch of soil around the cottage was teeming with plants and flowers. There was no guessing who lived there. 

“Very nice,” he commented, reaching out and touching some apricot roses growing around the door. 

“My mom planted this garden,” Astrid gestured. “She ran the flower stall, and taught me everything I know. I…actually don’t care about flowers all that much.” 

“Really?” His voice raised in surprise. 

“Yeah, I mean, they’re pretty and I care about them because of my mom, but…if it had been up to me, I would have had a different job.”

He leaned towards her. “What job?” 

“Well…I always liked fighting. I’m pretty handy with an axe. Maybe a guard or a hunter. Something with some action, you know?” 

“I see it.” He nodded. “You have a fighting spirit.” 

She smiled proudly, before beckoning him inside. “Mother, I’m home! And I’ve brought a guest!”

“Oh my! Is it the young man you’ve been telling me about?” Phlegma Hofferson’s harsh voice called from upstairs.  

The cottage had one large room and a loft. The large room had a kitchen, table, and sitting area. A small bed was tucked under the stairs. 

The Rider studied the room as Astrid went up the stairs. “I don’t know about the ‘young’ part…”

“Oh pish posh, he’s young at heart. Aren’t you, dearie?” 

The Rider ascended the stairs after Astrid, having to duck his head as he came up. 

Astrid beckoned him to sit in the empty chair, as she sat on the bed. 

Awkwardly, the Rider sat down, and then raised his gaze to meet Phlegma’s smiling, but ashen gray face. “Hello, Madam Hofferson.” 

“My! You are a fearsome one! I had almost forgotten. It’s been a while since I was able to look outside and see your arrival.” 

“...you do not seem scared.” 

She shook her head. “No, dear. I’m not. I’m at the stage of my life where I have more things to fear within me, than outside.”

The thought made Astrid feel cold. 

“I understand the feeling,” said the Rider. 

“I knew you would.” She closed her eyes and relaxed. “I was hoping Astrid would bring you to meet me sometime. I couldn’t bear leaving this world without getting the chance to speak with you.”

“Mother…” Astrid hated when she talked about her mortality. Phlegma had obviously accepted her fate, but Astrid just couldn’t. 

“I’m glad,” said the Rider. “Astrid has become a dear friend. Probably the best I’ve had. I would have been…saddened to have not met you when I had the chance.” 

Was he implying that she was his best friend? After only so many days? 

“My Astrid is such a loving girl. Her heart is so big. She loves everyone! No matter how tall or scary.” 

Astrid felt her lip twitch. “Well, not everyone,” She insisted. “Kinda hard to find love for Dagur.” 

Phlegma laughed. “I meant besides him, of course.” She sighed, a hard rattling breath settling in her chest. “Now Rider, tell me about yourself.” 

“What do you want to know?” 

“Do you live up in that big castle all by your lonesome?” 

He shook his head. “There are…several that dwell in the castle. Toothless, of course. And my parents. And…” he hesitated, but then didn’t finish the sentence. 

“And?” Astrid persisted. 

“And others. But we don’t speak.” 

That was news. 

“You have parents?” Phlegma asked, surprised. 

“Everyone seems surprised when I say that.” He tilted his head, and answered the inevitable question. “They are also cursed. They can’t leave. Toothless and I are the only ones that can.” 

“But you can’t leave the island, right?” Phlegma asked. “Like the rest of us?” 

“That’s correct. Even if I could, I don’t believe I would want to.”

“What’s your mother’s name, dear?” 

He paused, raising a hand to his head. It was heartbreaking to think he didn’t know immediately. “It’s Valka, and my father is Stoick. Stoick the Vast.” 

“My! What a mighty name! He must be a big man!” 

“He was, once. And I was small.” He tilted his head, seemingly thoughtful. “He would…pick me up, just by the back of the shirt. He was mad at me a lot.” 

Astrid was hesitant to make any noise, lest she distract him. It seemed like he was finally remembering his past. “...but he’s not mad anymore. He should be, but he’s not.” 

“What’s he like, then?” Asked Astrid. 

He bowed his head, his hands fidgeting awkwardly. After a minute, he spoke, and his voice held so much sorrow, Astrid thought he might just start crying again. “Gracious.”  

She came back around to the fact that his actions had caused the curse, allegedly, of course. 

But his father forgave him for it? A man who’s anger shone through his hazy memory, had forgiveness for his son. It was a discordant piece of information. She was pretty sure that if she betrayed and murdered Heather, which resulted in a curse on the whole island, her father would be pretty pissed at her. 

If he was still alive, that is. 

Astrid realized she had been lost in thought for a while as her mother prattled on. The woman could be an absolute chatterbox when she was feeling well. 

The Rider just sat there, as he seemingly listened to her mother. And he was listening intently, she realized, as he would nod his head at appropriate intervals, and slip in a question to encourage her to continue. 

The conversation was mostly village gossip, old gossip at that, since Phlegma hadn’t been out among people in a long time. 

Astrid feared that the Rider would get lost, but if he was, he didn’t show it. 

“Mother,” Astrid interrupted, as gently as possible. “I have to get back to the stall.” 

“Oh! Of course, dear.” 

“Can I stay?” Asked the Rider, first to Astrid, and then to her mother. “If you are not tired of my company.” 

Phlegma lit up with joy. “Oh my boy, I would love it if you kept me company!” 

“Are you sure?” Astrid asked. “That’s kind of you, but you don’t have to—” 

“Astrid, I told you, I’m happiest around people that talk to me without fear.” 

She couldn’t really find an argument against that. Really, it was wonderful he wanted to stay. They were both lonely people, desperate to connect to the outside world. 

But there was just this nagging feeling in her mind. Hazy memories of the same nightmare over and over, of the Pale Rider coming into her house and taking her mother away. 

It was what prompted this visit, and what prompted her to talk to the Rider in the first place. 

So the logical next step was to allow it. Leave him alone with her mother and see for herself that there was nothing to fear. 

“Okay,” Astrid breathed. “You can stay. But, come say goodbye to me when you head out, okay?” 

“I will,” he hummed. 

With anxiety coursing through her, Astrid went back to work, standing behind her stall and keeping her eyes trained on her house. 

Maybe an hour later, he emerged, fetching Toothless from where he was grazing on weeds from the cobblestone streets. Then, just as he promised, he came over to her stall. 

“Your mother yawned a few times. I decided to leave so she could rest.” 

There had been nothing to worry about. Absolutely nothing! 

“Did you have a good chat?” 

“Oh yes!” He said, enthusiastically. “May I visit again?” 

Astrid gaped in surprise. “I…suppose. I’ll ask and see if she’s okay with it.” 

“She invited me,” he clarified. “I only thought it was right to ask you as well.” 

“I…don’t see why not. She needs company. And I’ve heard all her stories before. Yeah, I think she’d really like to have you visit.” 

“Thank you, Astrid.”

[sanzu-sanzu-sanzu]

Hungry Hearts 6

Itoshi Sae X F!Reader

You are Itoshi Sae’s Manager. Fielder of dumb reporter questions and keeper of his schedule. Among many others.

Timeskip. Sae is 24 and is officially a representative of Japan.

slowburn + idiots in love + romance + friendship/gen

MASTERLIST

<< prev

Chapter 6: Real Talk

Sae keeps his head settled back against the couch, lifting his phone screen, once again, to his eyes. 09:59 PM, it says, and zero new messages. Not that he’s been expecting anything of the sort, in fact, he’s the one who’s left you on read for about twenty minutes now.

He hovers a thumb over your message before clicking it open for the third time since.

> i know it’s late, and you’ll probably see this in the morning, but thank you again for the tickets. my friend says thank you too, though she watches tomorrow. (9:35 PM)

A message you’ve sent in quiet mode expecting he’d be asleep by now, because you know, of course, that he’ll have an early start in the morning. Not a white lie this time.

> it was a wonderful performance. (9:37 PM)

The sudden beeping noise of the tabletop clock awakens him anew, and when it does, he finally pushes himself off the chair, his awareness re-emerging with that same, steady sense of certainty, a clarity that resonates with the dull current he feels under his skin, the tingling at the tips of his fingers.

How unamusing this helpless sensation is, how discomforting the feel of all this empty space all of a sudden—

He wants to see you.

—how pleasant.

.

.

.

.

.

.

About an hour ago, there was a different woman seated at the other end of this couch. A friend, an acquaintance who happened to be in town. A nice dinner, she’d said, for old time’s sake? And if Sae had said yes, it was out of the implicit agreement that it was not going to be anything more.

What they had, before then, were the occasional hook-ups. A couple of times; it’s not important, you wouldn’t have known because they were never in his calendar. Besides, it had been way before he’d met you. What mattered was that neither had felt the need to ask too many questions and there was no making a big deal out of who he was and what they had going on. It was convenient and it was fleeting, and the both of them got what they signed up for to get.

It had been over a year since they’d last seen each other like this. There’d been a dinner, too, much like tonight, but unlike tonight, there was no coming back to his place because he’d lied that he needed to be up early the next day or else his manager was gonna kill him. Tonight, she’d asked this time, will the manager be around to scold him if he got in any trouble? A question that was said with a twinkle in her eye he imagined saw more than she was letting on. A question he’d let hang, he had let stick in his mind even as the conversation had dulled into something more pleasant—the same stories that were safe to share, safe to explore, safe to navigate.

Even, and especially, when his mind kept telling him maybe he’d messed up somewhere because, at every turn, he’d find you—in the quiet lull of the classic Yoko Kanno blues that permeated the restaurant air; in the soft chimes of laughter from someone at the next table; in the passenger seat of the woman’s car, sleek and cramped and not made for him. There was, in every space that was occupied and every doorway he crossed, the ever-present reminder that you were somewhere else and not here.

It’s becoming pathetic.

It’s a Saturday, she’d pointed out, at one point, when the matter of the unusual volume of traffic was brought up. It’s a Saturday night and everyone’s out with there friends—or out at their friend’s—just like she and him.

Yeah, but there’s that Tokyo Ballet event, too. Right around Meguro, that’s why, Sae supplied from his kitchen as he poured them both a drink.

Oh, is there? Didn’t realize you’re into ballet now.

Not at all. But my manager is, he said before he caught himself. That’s where she’s at right now.

Her champagne was handed without meeting each other’s gazes, good enough segue towards a stretch of light conversation that no longer mentioned you.

“You good, Sae?” None of the few women he’d ever slept with had to bother with courtesy, and yet he still blinked, as if roused from a light stupor, upon the sound of his name. Too personal and too familiar; an intimacy that felt misplaced, despite the casualness of the hour, despite the lack of inhibition in bare feet folded up on the couch.

Sae looked up to her rose-lacquered smile, an all-seeing pair of eyes. Eyes that, despite how opaque, held understanding and friendship.

“Good.” He did something between a sigh and a grunt, stretching an arm over the back of the couch as his gaze landed on the clock on the side table. “Didn’t realize how late it’s gotten.”

She held his eyes for only a moment, fully understanding what that meant. What it entailed for the both of them. “Indeed,” she murmured, carefully placing her champagne glass on the center table, as carefully as she stretched the moment out in forming her words. “I do need to get home, too, though. Early trip tomorrow.”

But Sae didn’t mind. If this was the end of something, the both of them could take their time.

“Let me drive you.”

“There’s no need,” she smiled at the offer, getting up. “I’d like a long drive myself. And besides, I barely drank.”

It was at right by his doorstep wherein she finally turned to ask, and before she’d even opened her mouth, Sae somehow knew what it was going to be about.

“Can I take a guess who she is?”

“Guess who?”

“I hope you don’t actually play me for a fool, Itoshi Sae,” she leveled him with a coy stare. “You never had that look when we were ever together, you know that?”

Maybe it’s the bit of alcohol, maybe it’s the light prodding at the remotest idea of you, but something in him felt like protecting this part of him. “No idea what you’re trying to say.”

She barked out a laugh, folding her arms as she rested a shoulder against the doorframe, temporarily halting her exit. “You know, and I’ve told you this before, you may be a genius but you’re the dumbest in at least one of these two things: outright lying or handling your feelings.”

“Have you?”

“If not both.”

To that, Sae offered no real response; he simply closes his eyes, tilting his head away, seemingly conceding this one. Not as much as she might like, but conceding, nonetheless. “Don’t have much use for either on the field.”

One could only roll their eyes at Sae’s stubbornness. But, then again, if this were the end of something, should he be able to get away so easily? “So, may I? I think I might have a good idea on who she is.”

“I think you’ve had more than a bit of a drink. You sure you could get yourself home just fine?”

“Fine, fine, I’ll shut up. You don’t need me to tell you anyway.”

.

.

.

.

.

.

“What look?” He did, however, stop her just before the door completely closed between them.

“I don’t know.” She had to laugh at the suspicious, attentive look his expression morphs into. But then maybe that’s also part of his charm: chronically indifferent to the world and everyone else, except for the things he truly, strongly cared for—football; his brother; a girl he suddenly didn’t know what to do with because if there was one thing Sae knew what to do best, it’s to win.

“I don’t know, Itoshi, but something tells me that you already know that this isn’t a game you get to play, that she isn’t a prize you get to win.”

Maybe this was the part of Sae she chose to speak to, in the end.

“Make of that what you will. You don’t get that look in your eyes for someone so often.”

.

.

.

.

.

.

He stares back at his own gaze on the dark glass window, illuminated by the sparkle of city lights, alive and noiseless from this side of the glass. He wonders if you’d still reply back after how long.

> Great to know. (Sent)

He waits a minute, and then two, before his fingers are typing again.

> You ate yet? (Sent)

Your reply comes sooner than he might’ve expected.

> hahahaha

He blinks at his phone screen once because even though you’re not above jokes and offbeat banter in person, your written communication, however, has always been very dry. As dry and as utilitarian as his, which works just fine, but which could also very well be the reason for your near-insistence, whenever allowed, on voice and/or cam-on calls. A principle that was easy to grasp right from the start, but, he feels, is just now only being further unravelled in his mind, a truth that is being magnified as if for the first time—all from a single line of ‘hahahaha.’

How mundane, how illuminating, the way Sae can already picture you shaking your head at his constant pestering—has it gotten so constant now?—to never forget to eat, prompting him to roll his eyes.

It’s easy to forget that that’s another person at the other end of the line, he remembers overhearing your words to a sponsor rep once, that one time you had to make an emergency call while in Spain and you ended up having to do it in his Madrid living room. An issue that could’ve gotten bigger but was eventually smoothed out by you and your diplomatic in-person talking it out with the right people. That you’re a person, too.

He wishes he’s seeing you now.

> i will be eating, i promise. just trying to catch a cab at the moment.

He realizes that you must’ve been waiting for a ride for over twenty minutes already, a thought that makes him frown.

> Stranded? Where are you? (Sent)

When you reply, your words are back to sounding matter-of-fact and reassuring:

> kind of. long queue at cab booth, but it’ll pass. meguro persimmon hall, exit 2.

10:10, his phone says, but then he decides not to think it through.

> Let’s get something to eat. (Sent)

He stays standing in front of his glass window across his crossed-armed reflection, waiting for your reply. After a significant amount of time of no word from you (roughly five minutes), he realizes one important thing and flicks his phone open to send you another quick message.

If you like, of course. I know it’s late. It’s a Saturday, after all. He cannot be subjecting his manager to his whims on a Saturday night and on your day off, much less. Why did he not think this through?

But then,

i’d love to, goes your reply. it’s just cab is difficult right now. will you have time to wait for me?

Sae’s response comes easy, intuitive, almost unconscious. Except as he types his message out, he becomes very much conscious of the constraints and the limits of a medium devoid of a physical you, confines through which the words he intend to say but which no one can hear almost bleed out, like he’s saying them out loud in the moment. And taste them in his mouth. An honesty, a sense of earnestness in words that almost reach over your tiny screens.

Stay where you are. I’ll pick you up.

.

.

.

.

.

.

In his car, he catches the very simple fact that you no longer adjust his passenger’s seat because he never really has to accommodate anyone else but you, a small thing you also notice because the cute bear patterned headrest pillow that you’d once dug out from the backseat—a random purchase of his—that looks very much out of place in his car’s slick black refinement, and yet, somehow, has always stayed there, is still attached at just the right height and position as you’ve left it last time. The last time, and the many other times he’s driven you in his car.

It had been a sort of predicament, the first time, his driver being unavailable so Sae had to be the one to drive the both of you around the city, and you hesitating to get in the backseat like he’s your own personal driver…as opposed to the more personal, reserved-for-the-more-important front passenger seat. Sae had seen through your quiet dilemma though, had watched you deliberate silently for a few seconds before himself speaking up with a quick nod to the seat beside him:

Up front with me. I’ll be your driver, either way.

This time, there’s no more hesitating as you fasten your seatbelt; “You don’t get a lot of passengers in here, huh.”

He confirms with a reply, more to himself, as he reverses the car with one hand, but with him twisting his body and placing his other arm over the back of your seat to look behind, his words come out a little quiet—a little strained—but very clear near your ear.

“No—just you.”

.

.

.

.

.

.

You spend a good thirty minutes deciding on where to eat because, as it turns out, you’ve been hard-pressed on finding a place that caters to his current training diet. When Sae realizes this, you’re both standing at the receiving area of what looks to be an authentic Thai restaurant, you with your nose pressed on a hand-held board menu, forehead scrunched in focus at the rows of items of foreign cuisine.

He ignores the ogling—both blatant and not—of passersby and the handful of servers maintaining their best not to crowd at reception; the uninvited eyes are the least of his concern at the moment.

“Whole steamed fish sounds good…”

“Let’s eat where you’d like to eat,” he says as he carefully lowers the board out of your face with two fingers. “No diet; I’m on my day-off.”

“You sure?”

He shrugs. “And I’m the one who asked you out, so pick wherever you want.”

You do not question anymore the logic behind his reasoning, nor dwell too much on the sentiment behind the gesture; you only look up for a brief moment at the whole place, past the staring eyes and the extent of the interior you could manage from the outside. Place looks pleasant and airy enough, not too noisy, not too many people—just enough you know he’d be able to manage (like he’s always able to). He would like it here.

“How about here?”

Sae’s gaze follows yours, narrowing in thought, before he fully lifts the menu board out of your hand. He takes a second to scan through the items himself, eyes diligently noting the spiciness level of each dish and, not to mention, the ever-present Authentic Thai spices and seasoning! tagline. Great place, great food, but considering how this place obviously does not play around with their spices, he spares a moment to recall, very quickly, the few instances he’s ever seen you with spicy food, and the most striking instance that comes to mind was that one time after a joint training in Barcha a couple of months back, when someone had brought in a spicy dish for sharing, and there was Meguru Bachira holding his full plate that was good enough for two as far away from you as possible, a look of warning on his face and a very pointed, ‘This paella is Level 12 spicy, ma’am! So you better watch out.”

Bachira was eating what was supposed to be your share, was also the point, but which you supported no problem.

“You think you can handle their spicy level?”

Your eyes flicker a few times before lighting up with recognition, and then you’re breaking into a shy, contained smile, red freckling your cheeks, not expecting him to catch on to the fact that you have extremely low tolerance to spiciness. “You’re right. Not for me.”

Sae wills his eyes away, clearing his throat.

“Let’s go where you wanna go,” he says, stepping aside so you may lead the way.

“Actually, I know a good burger stall around—over there.”

.

.

.

.

.

.

Right around the street food stalls is a park that he’s never been to before. He’s a little surprised by the amount of people and life still up this late keeping the place awake, a little grateful when you lead him to a row of benches on the quieter side of the area. You don’t know what time it closes, you tell him, but it doesn’t matter, it’s not like you need the place open ‘till 5 AM anyway.

Seated on the bench, you finally get to ask him.

“So, how was your day?”

He flicks his diet soda open before answering, his other hand inching the large fries he didn’t ask for closer to you. He was doubting earlier whether to get them or not, but then he remembered that you’re not as averse to potato fries as he is.

“Uneventful.”

You follow with a quiet nod before he realizes you must be quickly running his schedule over in your head, schedule you always have mentally penned no matter the day. “That’s fair. Today was rest day for you.”

“Yours, as well,” he reminds you. “Suppose this should count as overtime, shouldn’t it?”

Light laughter spills through your half-opened mouth, interrupting what is supposed to be your first bite. “Well, since it’s technically outside of both our work hours, then I guess I’m not required to play manager, am I? So then, there’s no need.”

He gives his double cheeseburger a very brief inspection—“Then I’m just your regular guy—“ satisfied upon seeing that nobody forgot to put in the spicy sauce and pickles.

“How does it feel to be ordinary, Itoshi Sae?” Finally, you both get your first bites at the same time.

“Lib’rating,” he says through a stuffed mouth, pausing before he takes his next one. “You shouldn’t be letting any random guy buy you food, though.”

“Except you’re not just any random guy,” you say, smiling. “You’re a friend, of course.”

A friend. It’s a Saturday night and everyone’s out with their friends. Before he can fully process your words, though—and the burger is good—he sees you turning to him with a slightly wary look on your face.

“We could move your early morning run, too, you know. Coach wouldn’t mind, since you’re out so late tonight…”

“It’s your call. Coach wouldn’t object to you.”

“Oh, so you’re making me work.”

“No.” He quietly groans at the sight of your goofy grin. “Well, what ever’s your friendly counsel?”

You shake your head as if you’ve already told him so. “My friendly advice would always be to clear off your Sunday schedule because Sundays should be for sleeping in.”

“Alright, don’t push it. My manager’s gonna kill you and then me if I skip on my workout altogether.”

“Hey—!”

“She’s way too crazy with this Spartan training.” In spite of the empty look he schools his face into, there’s humor that softens the corners of his eyes at the sound of your fruitless protest.

Across the park and in front of you, there’s a group of children running about, being kids, doing cartwheels in the grass. There’s at least five of them kicking a football around and Sae idly wonders if any of them are, by now, as big a dreamer as he had been at that age. Wonders whether that’s a good thing or not; wonders, too, if that should be relevant. Even at this hour, the park stays bright and alive, even though the spot you’ve picked seems to be pretty divorced from much of the loudness and attention.

He catches you smiling at one or two things from the scenery across, if not because of the burger you look to be happily devouring. As if the taste is somehow attached to a memory he’s unable to gleam out of your eyes. Maybe he should ask you; maybe he shouldn’t. Does this make you happy?

“Well,” he considers for just a moment, “as your friend, I suppose I could tell you that I was out with a girl tonight. Are you proud?”

“‘Fat’s good!” You slowly nod as you place a hand over your mouth, courtesy in the middle of your chewing. “I am pwoud!”

He snorts, waits for you to finish your food, noticing the way you pat the paper bags on your left and right, searching for something.

“So, how was it? And how was she?” Your face suddenly freezes, your hands pause over your mouth. “I hope you did not ditch anyone on account of me, Sae-kun.”

“Don’t think so highly of yourself,” he says, shaking his head as he places his clean stack of paper napkins beside your lap for you. “Silly woman.”

“I did not think so,” and, for a brief, scary moment, Sae entertains the idea that maybe it’s not a question of whether he would or would not ditch anything on account of you, but it’s what could he possibly not ditch on account of you. “Thank you.”

There’s a period of comfortable silence for some time and the both of you let it stretch on for a bit, the varied, lively view in front providing enough distraction along with the food you’re both happily, quietly devouring. He does, however, feel that looming sense of question in the air, the way he’s somehow always able to tell whenever you’re deep in thought. Like the precursor to a piece of music he’ll always recognize. Always, always, in his head.

Why did he even think of telling you this, again? He suddenly doesn’t know, and he hears you sigh before you speak.

“You don’t have to tell me if you choose not to, but I am curious about this girl, though.” He cannot help but be amused at your careful wording. “So, how was it, how was she like?”

Sae squints over his burger before he takes another bite. “There’s nothing much to say. It’s over.”

“No way…that can’t be real.”

He shrugs. “Real. It simply won’t work out. We might’ve already known for a while.”

You gasp softly at this and Sae realizes that he likes it. Taking you by surprise. “Elaborate…”

“So interested, aren’t you.” He finally places his food down, crosses his legs and sits a little more comfortably with one arm over the back of the bench. “I could tell you. We’ve known each other for a while now, have gone out together a few times, too. But I enjoyed the company more than anything else; more than what it could’ve been, or even just the prospect of it, if that makes sense.” He folds his arm, bringing his knuckle to his cheek, angling just right so he could see your reaction. “You could say it was over before it even began,” which is, in a way, not false.

“Oh,” you begin to say, cradling your drink with both hands as you look on straight ahead. “That’s too bad.” But even as you don’t say anything else for a few good seconds, Sae’s staring does not waver, stays waiting for when you do look back with your question. “You think she felt the same way?”

“You think she might’ve?”

“I don’t know.” Your smile is honest, more open now. “I don’t know enough about this girl, as you see.”

He hums in thought as he closes his eyes, the wind blowing softly on his face. “She works in a magazine, big fan of football since she was a kid. We’ve met at a media event in Madrid a couple of years ago. She’s got some interesting views about football in Japan; some I agree with, some I don’t. She moves around a lot because of work, Tokyo, Madrid, Paris…you’ve probably even seen her in one of our events, I don’t know. Or maybe not.”

Sae thinks he’s memorized your expressions by now, your gestures, but nothing of the unreadable eyes you point straight ahead help him anticipate the way you adjust your seating so now you’re propping your head against your hand, too, crossing your legs, close to mirroring his posture. “But those are just things. You could say that about anyone and still don’t know them.” Your other hand absently moves to the base of your throat, fingers lithe over the band of your swan necklace that peeks out of your neckline. Facing him, but also not. “The same way…you might tell someone that I’m your manager, and you’re a football player. Or just a regular guy.”

He gives it a moment of thought. “I guess I don’t remember. Not sure if I even knew her at all.” To which you let out another quiet gasp.

“No, you can’t not remember…That’s a little sad.”

He mentally files your unexpected response, before closing his eyes once again. “Then, I don’t remember anything important, anything of value. We were cool, but I bored her to death, she bored me to death.” He steals a glance through a cracked eye, however, searching for your expression. “I’m not such a good talker, as you know.”

This makes you laugh. “That’s not true.” Sae was right, you do not mind eating up his fries, as well. Something about this strikes him as endearing, you sharing his food, whether you’re aware of it or not, but he gets no time to ponder it over. “We’ve had plenty of fun and worthwhile conversations as far as I’m concerned. About football, or otherwise.”

“No, I get what you mean.” And he does. And he hopes he’s saying enough to help you see that he really does understand. “I don’t forget people so easily.”

There’s another stretch of silence, of zero words filling the air between you, and in this short moment, he decides whether to let you in on one more thing. One last bit of truth, because it’s late and inside him is a strange sense of lack of inhibition. A sense of wonder as to how much he could push this little space further.

Maybe it’s the lateness of the hour. Or maybe it’s you. And is it enough? The glances he gets to steal as he sits on the other end of this tiny bench, good enough for two? The vague sentiments he gets to put out there in the world?

“I suppose, I meant to say,” he tilts his head just slightly, just enough so he’s able to make out your face out of the corner of his line of sight, “that I was more preoccupied than interested. Because I might like someone else.”

You don’t answer back right away, not fast enough, leaving just the tiniest room for an invisible thought behind your eyes. When you open your mouth to speak, it’s with a smile, but this one without meeting his gaze.

“Well. Then, that’s great—“

He can’t help but wonder what he’d see if he sees your eyes this time.

“—that you like someone. And I am happy for you.”

And that, if you ask him, right now, who this person is—the way a friend might—would he tell you the truth?

Somewhere, he hears the distant chiming of a clock tower eleven, twelve times, he does not count, nor bothers to find out. In the playing field across, one of the children tries to make a serious attempt to goal but then he sends the ball flying way past the post and fails. He rolls to the ground in despair while the other kids run to him in easy laughter. It’s all good fun.

Despite the hour, there does not seem to be any plans on any of the people leaving.

Sae takes a beat before clearing his throat. “That’s enough about me,” he begins, absently picking from the fries—his fries—you left between the two of you. “How was your day?”

You catch him frowning at the taste of french fries and you almost laugh because Sae, as far as you’re concerned, has no business eating french fries.

“Apart from tonight’s ballet, nothing much happened.” He squints at you in disbelief. “Well, things did happen, but nothing as colorful as yours.”

“Like I said: it was pretty much uneventful.”

“You should’ve watched with me.”

Sae’s smirk comes unbidden. “And watch you sparkly-eyed over dancing I wouldn’t understand while I do my best not to sleep.”

You look aghast. “Oh, but it’s different when you do get to watch it. There’s a lot more similarities between ballet and football than you might think, you know?”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yes. And you’d be amazed by how effortless it all looks, how easy they make them all look.”

“I don’t doubt that.”

“It might be hard to imagine the impressive power and strength behind their action because a ballet dancer jumps with a lot of grace. And beauty, of course.” Your gaze turns soft. “All that mental focus, the core and abdominal muscle strength, the footwork—“ you suddenly clasp your hands close, just now realizing the unwieldy gestures you start making with your hands, and you purse your lips into an awkward smile. “—You know all those things, too, of course.”

But Sae does not want you to stop, does not ever want you to curb the love you wish for him to see, as he realizes, with startling clarity, that he might and he would give anything a chance just because it has you. Just because it is you.

“Not in the same way that you do.” He shifts in his seat to face you more fully now, his undivided attention tinged with the amusement at your unusual excitement and wordy enthusiasm. “Well, so, mind sparing me some ballet wisdom that I could use out there on the field?”

And he listens, watches, as you slowly unravel this thing that you love with so much heart, his attention held captive, his eyes drawn by the delicate gestures you once again start to unthinkingly make with your hands, like you’re forming words you can hold along with the movement of your lips, the curl of the corners of your mouth, the clasping and unclasping of your fingers, in harmony with the flutter of your eyes, the softening of your gaze, the rise and fall of your voice. Romance, you’re explaining now—ballet, by the very nature of the dance, is very romantic.

And, like a stray eyelash on your cheek, he plucks out the delicate word with careful fingers—

“Romance—” holds it at the tip of his tongue. “You think that I…could benefit with a little romance—is your ballet expert’s advice on how to be No. 1 on the field.”

He catches the humor in your eyes. “Yes, I suppose you could be a little more romantic.”

“Elaborate on what this ‘romantic’ means.”

“It’s like…it’s like when you bring someone to the ocean to see the sunset, and the sunset stops being the point.”

He narrows his eyes at your analogy, but then amusement tugs at the corners of his lips. “That sounds like a random string of words, but…weirdly enough, I get what you mean.”

“Oh, I just thought…well, I know you enjoy the ocean a whole lot so I thought of explaining in terms you might appreciate more.” At his expression of wonder, you chuckle. “I’m the one who books your vacations so I know where you like to go, okay.”

He shakes his head at the triumphant expression your face melts into. “Romance, I get that. I hope as my manager you’re taking this down—“ a faux incredulity at your glee,“—but tell me: you think if I gave you a pass you could score a goal for me?”

This one, you take a serious moment to give some real thought, like you’re asked a critical question you’ve never asked yourself before. And then you’re smiling, pursing your lips.

“I doubt that,” in your brief laughter he’s able to catch that hesitant gleam in your eyes—“I don’t have that killer instinct—“ the sheepish, almost self-conscious contact of your hand to your face, a gesture he’s come to know means you’re embarrassed, and Sae no longer resists the laughter that rises out of him. He used to spend a good amount of time wondering what you could be thinking, in whatever situation the two of you are thrown into, in the rare times that he allows his thoughts to stray to where they rarely go—in the quiet of the car; in the chaos of the dugout in the middle of an important match and he catches your eye by sheer coincidence; in the silence with which you mask the unease behind your eyes in certain moments he’s yet to figure out the reason behind of. If he no longer loses as much sleep over the rationality that is you as he had had before, it is less out of disinterest but more because two years worth of constantly being in each other’s orbits have given your relationship—this Player/Manager partnership/friendship, or whatever you’d like to call it—a certain fundamental reliability; your self a level of predictability, for lack of a better term. Like how he’s learned to avoid saying or doing certain things out of a nagging itch, that is, knowing how they might make you feel. So much of you might require a little more stretching of the imagination still for him to understand, but it’s maybe that same fundamental knowing, as well, that has earned Sae this unwarranted and, admittedly, mind-boggling predisposition to keep learning. To keep learning more.

(Of you.)

Because a part of him knows, in the same vein as having learned to know you, that you’ll always be able to surpass his imagination. A realization he has no idea what to do with.

And now you’re smiling to yourself and he doesn’t even completely know why, and the pleasant stirrings of warmth he feels from his stomach to his chest and up his neck to his face tells him he’s fine with this puzzlement.

Because you’re not a prize or a ‘trophy’ to be won, and this isn’t a game he gets to play. There are games he gets to crush, outcomes he gets to control to the utmost perfection, and then there is you—

You give a little laugh when you catch his eyes.

—this is where his rationality stops, where his head empties of all the cold calculation and certainties he arms himself with against the world—

“What?”

“You aren’t such a bad talker as you say you are—see?”

—and be left with nothing more than the simple truth of who and what he wants, along with the clarity of your image:

You, sparkly-eyed, beside him in a park one night, telling him who you are.

MASTERLIST

taglist: @kunikame @ac-koryu-13 @dioscuridios @kiyohdasimp @ririgards @saeitoshithoughts @simpx123 @silly-ez @jwhwbwhwh @yoimyas @imhererighthererightnoe @luvjiro @wifeofgeto @nxxagent @xoyumiqls @oosden @shiinobu-x @francinethings23 @beabeemu @ashen-sky @arminseas @lostinbeidou @bluerskiees @sagejin @whotaooo @nanami230 @li28zi @gemoyo @ari-maccha @kiopanxp @exatse @tears-dnt-fall @saenora @stormeye111 @1isabelfox​

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR EVERYONE’S PATIENCE 🥲

[youaintnothinbuta]

Hello! I know you've written a lot of Jack Kelly lately, so please disregard this if you're feeling burnt out. I was wondering if you would be in the mood to write a Jack Kelly x reader where the reader is scarier to the newsies than Spot but during the strike, she and Jack start working closely together and it's clear that she's not all that bad, just tough on people that do her dirty.

“Who would have thought?” — jack kelly x reader

Summary: you and Jack are up all night together planning the way you’re going to stop the wagons. The morning after, the wagons have successfully been stopped, and the pair of you share an intimate moment of rest, as you realise you don’t always have to protect yourself from everyone.

Pairing: jack kelly x fem!reader

Word count: 908

Warnings: none, fluff, probably some typos you know meeee

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You sat together in a dimly lit alley that separated Brooklyn and Manhattan, with a map spread across a couple upside down milk crates.

Jack glanced at you, his cap casting a shadow over his eyes. “So, you got a plan?”

“Why am I here, again?” You sighed.

“Because, Y/N, you want better pay too, whether you admit it or not. And people listen to you.”

You studied the map intently, tracing the routes of the wagons with your finger. “Your area’s the smallest and theres more of you, I think your boys can handle that, we should be in Queens for when the bell rings.”

Jack nodded. “We need distractions, too. Get 'em looking the other way while we make our move.”

“Next time you speak, can you make it something helpful?” You snapped, his brows furrowing in response.

Hours passed, and the alley echoed with the soft murmur of your voices, punctuated by the occasional sound of a distant shout from the newsies preparing for the confrontation. The adrenaline built, but amidst the planning, a shift occurred – a subtle transformation in your disposition.

Jack stole a glance at you, a genuine curiosity in his eyes. “You know, you're kinda nice.”

“Nice?” You repeated.

“Yeah, you’re actually not as scary as everyone says.”

You looked up from the map, meeting his gaze. The walls you'd carefully built around yourself seemed to soften, if only for a moment. “We all got our roles to play, Jack.”

Jack leaned back, a smirk playing on his lips. “I've heard the stories. Brooklyn's enforcer, they call you. Meaner than Spot.”

A rare chuckle escaped your lips. “Spot's got his way of leading, I got mine. Keeps the streets in order.”

As the night wore on, the initial skepticism that Jack harbored began to dissipate. The shared purpose, the planning, and the unspoken camaraderie melted the icy reputation that preceded you.

Jack's playful banter continued, each word chipping away at the tough exterior you'd carefully crafted. “You gotta have a soft spot somewhere in you, you know.”

You shot him a sidelong glance, a hint of a smile playing on your lips. “Maybe, but you'll never find it.”

The atmosphere shifted as the night wore on, the impending confrontation with the wagons looming over your plans. You were up late into the night, and then early into the morning, making sure every newsie knew what the plan was, in order to actually make this strike a success.

***

As you approached the Manhattan lodging house, Jack, with his cap pulled low to shield his eyes from the early morning sunlight, greeted you with a half-smile. The adrenaline that fueled the morning’s activities still pulsed through your veins, a shared victory in your tired yet satisfied eyes.

Jack spoke first, his voice raspy from the long night. “Well, we did it. Those wagons won't be rolling through today.”

You nodded, a sense of accomplishment washing over you. “Yeah, we did do it.”

The night's successful plan to halt the wagons had taken its toll, leaving both of you fatigued and in need of a moment of respite. Jack's room offered a brief refuge, away from the clamor of all the other newsies sharing stories and reveling in the victory.

As you entered, the worn-out furniture and scattered newspapers created a cocoon of familiarity. Jack, with a reassuring smile, gestured toward his bed, teasing you slightly, “Sit down, tiger. We've earned a break.”

The weariness weighed on your shoulders, and without resisting, you sank onto Jack's bed. You and Jack exchanged a glance, the unspoken acknowledgment of shared victories and silent pride.

Jack, with a knowing smile, settled beside you, his presence offering a sense of security that allowed your guard to momentarily slip away.

As your eyes fluttered closed, your body drifted closer to his. The protective aura he exuded made it easy to surrender to the exhaustion that had accumulated throughout the night. For once, it felt like you didn't have to protect yourself. Your head gently found its way to his chest, falling asleep curled up on him.

Unbeknownst to you, Jack, too, succumbed to the weariness. The room, draped in a calm silence, cradled the two of you in a moment of reprieve.

Time slipped away as both of you rested. Yet, as the morning sunlight continued its ascent, your brain had finally caught up to you. Panic momentarily gripped you as you realised you had fallen asleep with Jack.

Startled, you jumped off of him, the remnants of sleep dissipating quickly. “I— I shouldn't have—“

But before you could finish your sentence, Jack's reassuring voice cut through your anxiety. “Hey, settle down, tough girl. Our secret. You deserve this.“

His words lifted the weight off your shoulders. Jack pulled you back into his embrace, dispelling the fear that had momentarily clouded the room. Jack's arms wrapped around you once more, holding you close as you let your eyes fall shut again. You got comfortable, laying on his body, his fingers beginning to trace patterns on your back, causing you to let out a relaxed sigh.

“Who would have thought? Your soft spot is here, in my bed.” He whispered, teasing you.

“Wrong. I don’t have one, remember.” You mumbled, a small smile tugging on your lips.

“Yeah, sure.” Jack laughed.

[baddreamsandoldbones]

Hellcheer Week Day 10: Cannibals

The woods weren’t as empty as they would have liked. 

“People everywhere,” Nancy mutters with disgust. She looks great in her plaid coat, striding ahead of them. “Vultures.”

“They’re here to look at a crime scene,” Eddie points out. Fitting for the weather, he’s wearing his Uncle Wayne’s old coat, something huge and dark that smells of cloves. He’s got Chrissy’s hand in his and swings it jauntily as they stroll along, as though they’re on a date in the park. “Aren’t we also here to look at a crime scene?”

“We’re not here to gawp,” Nancy says fiercely, as yet another group of people can be spotted wandering through the trees. Chrissy grips Eddie’s hand and feels briefly guilty. This really isn’t their place. 

“Maybe we should have gone with the others to the library,” Chrissy murmurs quietly to Eddie. She hadn’t been expecting the phone call so early this morning, her brother shouting for her at the bottom of the stairs. But there was weirdness afoot in Hawkins again and the party had been hurriedly assembled. “I don’t know what use we are out here.”

“Steve might have been better,” Eddie agrees. “In case this is magic…do we think that it’s magic?”

“I don’t know,” Nancy says tersely. “He didn’t seem to think so.”

“He thinks beastie,” Argyle chimes in, trailing behind. He’d been reluctant to even come, which Chrissy can understand. This is not how she’d expected to be spending her weekend. “Which is why I’m here.” 

“Chrissy and Eddie are cover,” Nancy says, sounding thoroughly tired of them all. Chrissy occasionally feels sorry for her - at the end of the day, they’re still Robin’s Slayerettes, and that means they’re not exactly the crack team that Nancy would have liked. “Argyle is here to use his super senses and I’m here to make sure none of you get eaten in case.”

“At least there’s plenty of other options,” Eddie says, watching the curious party ahead of them. “Buffet style. Hey, do we know exactly where this campsite is?”

Because they’ve been walking through the woods for fifteen minutes now, the gray October sky pushed out by the thick canopy of trees. The woods in Hawkins cover a vast expanse, bordering the town on all sides. It brushes against the high school, it wraps around the trailer park, it’s visible from Chrissy’s bedroom in Loch Nora.

“I don’t know how we’re cover,” Chrissy says and Eddie squeezes her hand. 

“Innocent young couple on a walk,” he says and then makes a face. “Into a wood where four people recently went missing. Not great. But I think they were hoping to use your…you know, thing?”

“Ah,” Chrissy says heavily. “My thing.” 

No wonder they’re the team that’s been sent out into the woods. Because when a party of six go into the woods on Thursday night and two of them emerge, blood-stained and hysterical, on Saturday morning, it’s a clear sign that something needs investigating. 

“We just have to find the damn campsite first!” Nancy hollers over her shoulder. 

“The police actually doing their jobs,” Eddie muses, as they follow in Nancy’s quick footsteps. “Who knew?”

“Be nice,” Chrissy chides. Unfortunately, on a few occasions, the Hawkins Police have made their jobs a little harder by interfering, trampling evidence or arresting the wrong suspect. Hopper is in their corner, the only one privy to the truth about their town, but he can only do so much. There’s too much for one man to cover up without people noticing. 

But in this particular case, the officer in charge has locked it down pretty well. The location of the campsite has been kept a well-guarded secret, and so far the two survivors have been hidden away at the local hospital, with police watching their doors. Chrissy wishes she could tell them that they don’t need to fear this - whatever killed their friends can’t walk through the front doors. It probably has no need to leave the woods. 

Especially with all of these willing, interested parties…which is why Nancy is here. 

Argyle stops abruptly behind them and when Chrissy turns back, she can see he’s got his nose raised to the air. 

“Got something?” she asks, as Eddie calls for Nancy to stop. Argyle inhales deeply - his senses aren’t as strong as when he’s in wolf form but he can still hear, see and smell things that the rest of them couldn’t even dream of. 

“I think so,” Argyle says and then wrinkles up his nose. “Definitely blood.”

“Yay,” Eddie says, so completely deadpan that Chrissy isn’t quite sure if he’s joking or not. But Nancy is stomping back this way, so they follow Argyle as he takes them through a clump of bushes. 

It’s out of the way - no wonder no one else has found it. They have to push through thick greenery to find the clearing and the first sign that they’re not about to head off a cliff is the flash of neon yellow. 

The campsite has been cordoned off by police tape…or what’s left of it. Eddie nudges at a scrap of tent fabric with his toe, looking disappointed. Aside from the flattened grass and the odd stray bit of debris, the site is empty. The bright police tape is the only sign that anything happened here at all. 

“I suppose the police took most of it away,” he says despondently. Argyle paces around the clearing, still focused. 

“This does not smell good,” he says finally. Nancy pushes herself up from where she’s been investigating some of the items scattered around the camp. Some of it is ordinary - a chocolate wrapper, a tent peg - but some of it shouldn’t be here. 

“There’s too many pieces of the tent,” Nancy says worriedly, rubbing her fingers against the scrap in her hand. “Far too many…”

“Yeah,” Eddie says in a strange voice. He’s staring down at his hand, all jokes faded away. “Generally what happens when something shreds the tent to get at what’s inside.”

Unlike some of the others, the piece that Eddie is holding is stained with blood, rust red against the thick material. Argyle just looks repulsed - he clearly tracked the strong smell of blood here. 

“So they are dead,” Chrissy says, heart sinking. This is what she hates about this job. Somehow they’re always just a little too late to save someone. Even with her visions she doesn’t always know when something is coming. 

“Shit,” Nancy curses and digs a plastic bag out of her pocket. “Okay, all evidence gets bagged up. We need to find something that can lead us to whatever this thing is.”

They poke around in the undergrowth until Chrissy’s fingers start to grow cold. Who goes camping in September anyway? 

But then she finds something trapped under the wet mass of leaves, black and shiny against the slick ground. 

They’re running. She can see it, how they race through these woods - the exact same ones that they’re standing in now. Eddie has her by the hand, fingers clenched tightly around her own, while Nancy easily keeps pace. She could effortlessly overtake them both, disappearing through the dark woods before either of them could protest about it. But it’s Nancy and she wouldn’t leave them.

“Where are the others?” Eddie shouts. 

“I didn’t see them!” Nancy says to Chrissy’s horror. “Don’t stop. We can’t help them if we’re dead.”

“Do we get out of the woods?” Eddie asks, almost stumbling over a vine. Chrissy just manages to veer around it at the last second. “What the fuck do we do?”

“Get out first!” Nancy shouts but Chrissy can hear the strain in her voice. Their first plan failed. They’re running for their lives. Whatever they’ve been hunting in these woods has found them first. 

“Shit!” Eddie says furiously before an unholy screech behind them cuts him off cold.

“Move faster,” Nancy says urgently. She’s twisted her head back to look as she runs, her Slayer reflexes and grace allowing her to do so. “Don’t look back!”

“It’s behind us, isn’t it?” Chrissy asks, her voice coming out in a pant. She hasn’t run quite like this since their coach last year made them run laps. “We can’t outrun it!”

Nancy skids to a halt, pulling a knife out of her jacket. Chrissy tries to stop and finds that Eddie won’t let her. 

“Get out!” Nancy shouts and Chrissy tugs against Eddie’s grip. She’s made the mistake of looking back at their friend and there’s something dark, with leathery skin and glinting eyes up in the trees. 

“We can’t leave her!” she shrieks and Eddie merely stops and lifts her up instead. He’s done it before, pulling her into his arms, sweeping her legs up to cradle her but that’s always been to take her to bed. Now he does it with a frightening look on his face, that he won’t be stopped or reasoned with. 

“She’s our friend!” Chrissy argues but Eddie just shakes his head. 

“She can fight and we can’t,” he says. His arms are like a vice grip around her waist, keeping her in place. “I’m not leaving you to be eaten by that…that thing.”

The monster behind them is little more than a shadow as it tracks Nancy from the trees, nothing more than the glow of its eyes as it circles her. Chrissy tries to crane her neck to get a better look, anything that might help identify it. But all she sees are tattered wings, long, twisted hands digging into the bark of the tree. 

“Chrissy!” 

This voice is too close and Chrissy slams back into her own body to find herself cradled in Eddie’s arms. His look of relief almost makes her want to cry and she wonders how long she’s been gone in the vision. 

“What was it?” Nancy asks urgently, crouching by Chrissy’s side but Eddie just pushes her back. He can’t bear anyone being close to Chrissy when she’s had a vision. Nancy means well but she only wants what Chrissy has learned. 

“Give her some space!” he snaps and cradles Chrissy’s head with his palm. “Chris, baby, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Chrissy says. She’s really fucking not. She keeps hoping that maybe one day this will all get easier but judging by her friends’ concern, it’s only getting worse. She remembers being bent down, plucking something out of the grass. She must have fallen when the vision hit her. 

She raises her hand because whatever she grabbed is still tucked tightly in her palm. Her friends all stare as she opens her hand, and she takes in their faces as they try to work out what it is. She suspects that Argyle must already know - or think he knows - as he breathes in. 

“Is it another piece of fabric?” Nancy asks finally, with a frown. “It’s not green, like the others…”

“Someone’s bag?” Eddie asks and prods at it with the one hand that isn’t still supporting Chrissy. Chrissy knows what he feels: the smoothness of it, how supple and strangely familiar it is. It’s not fabric. It’s the only piece of the monster that they have and who knows how it came to be here. Who knows what it cost one of the campers to cut it off. 

“It’s skin,” Chrissy says. 

@hellcheerweek

[eldritchaccident]

Timing: In the early hours of the morning Location: The Jones household basement Feat: @faustianbroker & @eldritchaccident Warnings: None on the list, but a large beast does get stapled back together Summary: What happens when a phone call becomes a visit

The downfall of having a physical form was, of course, the risk of damage.

It was a risk Leviathan had happily taken in stride for centuries, and it had never really bitten the demon in the ass too badly until now. The monstrous, semi-aquatic creature was tucked away in the dark recesses of a damp cave that sat along the coast of another dimension, its sides rising and falling with fluttering irregularity. Every once in a while the silence would be broken by the sound of scales dragging across stone as it repositioned itself, battered body aching and bleeding blue onto the cavern floor. It didn’t have much time to make good on the deal it had been forced into accepting, it knew. It had to move soon, but it was in too much pain to even try. They had cornered it here, a half dozen of them, bearing down upon it with ferocity that it knew came from fear. But they wouldn’t kill it, they wouldn’t stoop to that level. No, they had other ideas. They would still make use of Leviathan yet. There was little sense in wasting the talents of one of their own kind, after all, like Leviathan had wasted Wyvss’Kgorr’s. So, with teeth cutting into its neck and its spine threatening to shatter under the pressure, it had accepted the deal. The other demons left it then, satisfied with the results of this single-use league, and went back to their respective dimensions, likely to never coordinate with one another in such a way again. 

Leviathan would be proud of causing such a reaction once it felt less like it was on the brink of death.

There wasn’t a way to tell how much time had passed here, cut off from the starlight as it was, but every moment that passed stacked an additional brick of unease on the wall that the demon was trying to build around itself. All of this had happened because it cared too much, because it was too curious for its own good. It wouldn’t let such things get in the way again, it told itself, even if it did have to return to Wicked’s Rest. It wouldn’t (it probably would). Laying there in the pitch darkness, Leviathan was acutely aware of a sudden tug in its chest. It lifted that massive head, many eyes blinking out of sync as it focused on nothing but dark. A low growl started in its throat and it shifted lazily before wincing in surprise as a sudden light filled the cavern. It was only a pinprick at first, but it blinded the beast into submission, eyes squeezing shut and head rearing back, away from the offensive glare.

Those eyes remained shut, until it heard a sound. It wasn’t sure what the sound was, but it knew it had not come from itself. Blinking them open again, squinting against the light, Leviathan peered into the space in front of it while its eyes adjusted. That tug in its chest grew stronger, heart hammering against prehistoric ribs. The light was a ring in the air, and in the center of it, a dimmer source of illumination, and… a figure. A person. 

“... Teddy?”

—

Days of non-stop work, weeks of planning, months of research. All boiled down to a pin prick point of focus. Determination. Hope. Teddy’s blood, sweat, and tears ran rivers. But the ritual was working. Energy effused through every vein, every pore. Alight inside, illuminating their skin and the dim basement around them with an eerie blue glow. 

Teddy's breath felt like fire, each labored movement came at cost. This wasn't the kind of magic that naturally flowed through them. Summoning was much more Van’s thing than Teddy's. But there was no way they were going to risk hurting her, or even the possibility of bringing her near something so dangerous. 

Hell, Emilio was supposed to be next to them too, but Teddy wouldn't let that happen. Was supposed to be by their side in case shit went sideways, or they somehow dialed the wrong demon number. But he'd been through too much with Basil or whatever the fuck that demon was called. Still on bedrest. His favorite thing. So no. Teddy had to do this alone. Had to make contact. Had to hear from their father. 

And it was working. 

A hole ripped through the fabric of the universe, tore a portal through to another dimension. The brusk smell of the endless ocean burst through first. Unmistakable and nostalgic. Enough to know Teddy was doing something right. A hazy picture began to form next. A room too dark to see, something that Teddy couldn't allow their heart to race at. At that moment, it was like they were a twelve volt battery channeling a whole power plant through its cells. All while trying to recite the dictionary backwards from memory. 

And then its voice rang through. Rough, rich, and rumbling deep into Teddy's bones. 

“D-dad!” Ted called out, the portal shrank slightly as their focus faulted, their breath hitched until they could catch themself and steady it once more. A sizzle at their fingertips reminded them how little room for error there was, and how dumb of an idea it was to do this alone. 

— 

All those ideals of closing itself off from others crumbled in the hopeful and frightened face of Theodore Jones, who called out to it with a term of familiarity that it hadn’t heard in so long… It groaned, picking itself up off the floor of the cave and dragging that enormous body closer to the portal. Without any care for what might happen if its child lost focus and the portal closed on it, Leviathan stuck one bestial, webbed hand through the opening, gripping the edge of the luminous tear in reality as if it were merely a rung on a ladder. “Teddy,” it repeated slowly, eyes closing again as it hauled itself closer. It wasn’t sure which would be easier—helping Teddy make the portal stronger and larger, or shifting into something smaller. The latter would be advantageous to fitting into the basement of their home, which is what the background behind its child appeared to be. But the former wouldn’t be a bad idea either, so Leviathan summoned the last of its strength to do both at the same time. That handful of eyes snapped open again, glowing a bright ethereal blue as it tried to strengthen the connection with its own power, continuing to pull itself through the portal as seafoam bubbled up around it and sloughed off parts of its body. Shedding its previous form didn’t get rid of the wounds, and the pain of ripping them open drew a long, grating cry from its jaws as it slumped to the floor of the basement, thrashing its body farther into the room and curling its tail around itself. 

The spiny, webbed dorsal fin flattened as the creature let out a long, exhausted sigh. Gills flapped uselessly, but the lungs in its anatomy kept it from being in any immediate peril. Drying out would be unpleasant, but that was a concern for later. Leviathan was still slicked with blue blood, long head swinging around to face Teddy. Even among the perplexing layout of the demon’s features, pride could be seen. “Just… the person I wanted to see,” it rattled.

—

The portal wasn’t necessarily supposed to work like that. Was built to be more of a phone call than a bridge, but— Ahh. Leviathan’s energies pooled into the ritual, like the sea meeting a freshwater spring. A brackish backlash that somehow both soothed and burned with a familiarity that only stood to bolster Teddy’s resolve. It wasn’t expected, but they couldn’t help the elation, that quickly melted away into horror as they realized exactly what shape the beast was in. 

Leviathan slithered through and the gateway snapped shut. A sickening pop and rush of air and energy propelled Teddy backwards, falling into the great creature’s side with a soft thud. A moment of shock left the caster breathless, whirling around to take stock of what just happened. Long distance facetime connections don’t usually end with an instantaneous house call. 

A horrible part of Teddy’s imagination briefly wondered whether it was an improperly done ritual that had marred the Leviathan’s hide in such a vicious manner, that somehow this blood was their fault but the bite marks and claw wounds were more than enough evidence that something else was at play. 

“W-what happened— Dad are you okay??” Teddy’s voice croaked, their hands found its face, or at least what they could hold from such a small state beside it. “What can I do to help?” They were tired, spent from the spell, from the variant magic running through their veins, from the weeks of exhausting research and need to get it just right. But goddamn there wasn’t a fucking thing they wouldn’t jump up and do for Leviathan right then. 

Their dad was home, really properly there, not just on the other end of a half-thought dream. It looked at them with pride and Teddy’s heart soared with all the ache they’d carried these months without their father. Thinking they’d never get to see it again at all. Hell, if Levi wanted a few human sacrifices Teds could think of a few less than pleasant neighbors who hadn’t been so kind during Pride month. “What do you need?” 

—

The demon groaned and shifted its body weight again, but held its head still in the caster’s hands. “Fine, I’m fine,” it breathed, not wanting to worry Teddy more than it inevitably would. “They ah… well. It was as I feared.” The greater demons had taken issue, and had pursued it. “I was found.” It sucked in another long breath, closing its eyes again and just enjoying the feeling of being embraced. “It’s okay. I needed… to come back here. You… made that much easier,” it admitted, closing its eyes. “As for what I need… time. Just time.” It let out one last ragged sigh before blinking and swiveling its gaze to meet Teddy’s. 

The human emotions that had plagued it while it remained tethered to its ward had never fully left. Or rather, they lingered in spite of the involuntary compulsion to experience them having been removed, and now they only existed in the Leviathan’s breast because it wished it so. Hours ago, it had wanted to feel nothing, to return to numbness, but how could it still want that when Teddy was here in front of it, pressing their hands to its scales and asking how they could help? Void above, they’d never wanted anything but to help their father and make it proud of them, and Leviathan could have done much better in showing them just how proud it was. In the end, it had become cold. It told itself this was to spare them both a more painful goodbye, and while that might have been true, it was not the whole truth.

“I am sorry,” came the creature’s low, rumbling apology. “For everything. Please, tell me… how have you been? What’s happened since I had to leave?”

—

Fine wasn’t a word they’d use to describe the gouged flesh and torn hide, but Teddy also knew the beast well enough that it would deny any fussing and worrying unless given forcefully. Years ago, a young Theodore had tried to salve the demon’s wounds with stolen Hello Kitty bandaids, glittery stickers, and ‘healing’ pancakes with extra shrimp. But the Jones house never lacked for those dumb enough to pick a bone with them. So Teds got a lot of practice in. Even shapeshifting demons from before the dawn of time needed a little TLC after a rampage or two. 

This seemed worse, somehow. In a way that Teddy couldn’t put into words but felt deep in their gut. They didn’t want to leave its side, but some of the weeping wounds needed a little more than just time. “Too many— even for you to fight?” They guessed tentatively. A spark of undeniable skepticism lacing their sentence, as if anything in the great vastness of the void above and below could ever come close to the might their father commanded. The question was a good enough segue to step aside for a moment. Grab some tools and tenderly start to work. A needle and thread would do about as well as a kayak in a hurricane, so the next best thing would be a staple gun and duct tape. Emilio would be proud. 

“Made easi— I helped you? Dad I just— It wasn’t supposed to be a physical tear— that was all you.” Mend the big gaps, ignore the sounds of pain, wipe off anything too mucky, sanitize with vodka. Teddy’s brain went all methodical in times like this. An engine built to bring things back to calm, to safety. Even so, the talking was nice. Hearing his voice made them feel a little less alone in the world. Sure, Teddy had a pretty tight family they’d forged for themself here, but Levi was their dad. And that was— a bit of a sore subject. 

“Lots.” They admitted. Their mind flashed back to Canada. To the worst parts first. How many times they’d be injured, only to be saved by Leviathan’s blessing. How many times they nearly died. But it wasn’t all bad. “I uh— I think I’m gonna marry Emilio. That’s a big one. Didn’t really see that coming.” 

—

There was a long pause before Leviathan answered the first question, for the demon disliked the answer. “Yes. Even for me.” They had no natural predators but themselves, and while Leviathan had spent centuries battling ferocious creatures and armies of men, it still could not stand up to the might of six others at once. “But I am alive, so who really won?” it added with a grating sound that was maybe supposed to be a laugh. 

Dying, of course, had never been the true peril of being caught. Leviathan had wondered for a time if they would merely seek revenge, but knowing what it would do if faced with such a crisis of personal security and safety, it knew that it would have used that leverage for more than just death. The scenario with Wynne’s demon had been different���more had been at stake. Or, well, things outside of itself had been at stake. There had been no room for loopholes. But of course, it could not tell Teddy any of this.

The demon hissed softly in response to the staple gun, flinching away from it without wanting to, eyes tightly shut. “Maybe not,” it ground out, “but I didn’t have the strength to even contact you, much less… create a portal from the ground up. So yes. You gave me an anchor. You helped.” 

Lots. That was nondescript. But they’d have plenty of time for talking, it knew, so it didn’t worry too much that the full truth was being withheld for now. It had its own secrets, after all. “Marry?” it piped up, looking up at Teddy again. Humans were really pretty crazy about that kind of thing, weren’t they? It stood to reason that Teddy would be just as susceptible to romanticism. Hm. I suppose my faith in the slayer to look after you was well placed. It would have to thank him later. “That is very good news,” the demon purred, carefully lifting a front leg and brushing the back of a clawed, webbed toe against Teddy’s side. Its teeth were bared in something that was probably supposed to be a smile, though given the beastly form it had taken, it looked more like a grimace. Ah well. “I am… here for you. I’m not leaving again, Teddy.” There was a beat of powerful silence. “I promise.”

—

“Naaaah, I bet you had them all scared. Just a flinch and they’d be quaking in their eldritch boots.” A childish lie, hoping to be true. Teddy nuzzled in closer to the hardened scales and expanse of rough flesh. Worming their way between the folds of its arm into a crook that snugly held the all too human Jones. A body never meant for comfort or its ilk, but to the Leviathan’s ward? It was home. Teddy was home after far too long, even if it wasn’t exactly the same, even if it never would be again. They had their dad and everything seemed just a little more okay. 

From their squished up position, using the big amphibious lizard-thing as both blanket and mattress, Teddy surged with a pride vibrant enough to spur what dregs of energy was left in their system to spark outwards and shatter the one lightbulb in the basement. Leaving just the candles and one very persistent glow-stick from a parade in June to keep the space from total darkness. Thankfully. Teds didn’t exactly want to explain that one just yet, and the Leviathan probably needed some quiet and peace to rest. 

“Better that you’ll be here for it. Who else is gonna give away the blushing bride?” To be fair, most of Teddy’s ideas of what marriage was came from old movies and pop culture. Growing up, Levi had never been shy about multiple partners and enjoying itself whenever the whims arose. The desire to tie their life to Emilio came from somewhere else entirely. All wrapped up in the ways the hunter made them feel so secure and safe, in the respect and admiration they had for him. In the love for his personality and how perfectly it complimented their own. Love in a completely new form, as steady as a stone. 

The wriggling human stilled after the Leviathan’s next statement. Its promise. Teddy’s breath stopped short, they let the weight of what it said sink in, even if they couldn’t fully process immediately what it would mean, the elation and joy sparked up right away. Like a giddy toddler, they pressed themself further into the beast’s side. “Thank you, dad I— I needed you. I think I always will. I love you.” 

—

Teddy was wrong, but Leviathan would let them believe what they liked. It didn’t matter, anyway. What had truly transpired was something the demon would not—and could not—speak of. Eyes flicked up toward the shattered bulb—the beast wanted to ask, it wanted to know what had become of Teddy since it had fled this plane, how the child’s power had truly manifested itself without the demonic runes on their bones overpowering whatever had been dormant all these years… but they would have time. They would have all the time that they needed, and Leviathan would ask every question that rolled across its mind like a cavalry of tumbleweeds across the desert. 

“I am going to make sure I write…” It paused to suck in a tired breath, “a very long and embarrassing toast.” There was another rumble of amusement in its throat as it thought about that day, whenever it came about, and it felt itself warm from the inside out. To see Teddy happy was all it needed, whatever form that came in. 

“I am sorry it was for so long. But I think it was the correct choice.” Leviathan shuddered to think what might have happened to Teddy if the other demons had sensed the bridge between them, had sniffed out their familial bond and chosen to use that against it. “Even so…” A second apology hung silent in the air, felt rather than heard as the demon pulled Teddy closer to itself, if that were possible. “I love you too.” Another short, pained sigh slipped free from its maw. “I think… I need to take a very long nap. Much healing to be done.” It shifted its massive head. “You do not need to stay. I will remain here until I feel I can safely return to my disguised form.” If Teddy was so certain they’d be marrying Emilio, then the return of their father was probably a bit of news worth sharing with him. “When you’re ready, go speak with Emilio. I do not know if he is still as angry with me as he was when I left, but… you’ve always been great at diplomacy.”

[iciatheguardess]

".... I believe it's finally about time I do this."

Icia sits down by her fireplace and starts writing down the same thing on many, many pieces of paper.

This is what she writes:

"Help Wanted to reclaim Digital World"

"I am forming a party to rescue a digital world from a tyrannical AI that is terrorizing and abusing many. Due note that this will not be a safe or small feat, and there will more than likely be many perils involved that could result in serious harm and death, or possibly abstraction. All help is appreciated, but this is not for the faint of heart. I will be willing to supply more details to any and all who are interested. There will be no 'reward' other than the honor of rescuing those in danger and access to a grand, royal, fantastical kingdom that shall flourish once freed (although hopefully, all will be able to access it once saved). Transportation will be by pirates across the void, and I can introduce all who would like to meet them beforehand."

"A letter will be sent out by wind to all who are interested/ willing to fight once plans are finalized and set in stone. I look forward to working with whoever is willing to join me."

"PS: Weapons and a strong sense/understanding of self are highly advised. You may visit me at my house or find me on a walk to ask questions in person, and I will answer to my best ability."

"With my utmost gratitude and fair wishes to you all,

Icia"

Icia finishes the flyers early in the morning, letting the wind carry some to varying locations and visiting other locations she knows of to post them. She posts the flyers at Candleton, the circus, the inn, Oceansbay, the bar, anywhere she can think of.

Now all she has to do is wait.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

OKAY IM FINALLY FUCKING DOING THIS

GOD

Okay so.

You heard her

KINGDOMQUEST WOOHOOOOO

Here are the basic rules and info:

I do not have definite days for any of this yet. However, I'm aiming to be ready in 2-3 weeks.

Any number of characters are allowed to join, but you will only be able to rp 1 at a time (with exceptions if you have a good reason, like how Raina and Lance used to be one person). There will be checkpoints where people may switch to different characters between sections

Ik I said you can have as many characters as you want, but please ensure you'll actually use them. I'll try and make this long enough for everyone to use their characters at least once, but really there's no guarantee. Don't just add characters because you can.

I may do what Elsie did and split the quest into two parties. In that case, you can have one active character in each party. This is unlikely, but if it happens then that's how this will go.

THERE WILL BE NO CHARACTER DEATHS EXCEPT FOR THOSE THAT ARE DISCUSSED WITH ME BEFORE HAND. Any other "deaths" (losing all HP) will just be knocked out and unable to use for the rest of the quest unless revived. This also goes for permanent injuries.

No abstraction. None. Characters can get close, but there won't be any full abstraction.

No OP moves (that should be a given).

No Kingdom characters will be allowed to participate in the quest. They are part of the objective, not the fights. Even against Hexe, no CURRENT kingdom members will be able/allowed to fight

No being a smartass and finding loopholes or questioning the rules of the dungeon (you know who you are, love you <3)

Just so yall know what to expect. There'll probably be 4 sections, maybe just 3. There'll be a boss for each, and the very final section will just be Hexe. Plan accordingly.

PLS ask me if you're confused abt something. I'm probably forgetting a couple things to add here but shhhh, yall get the idea

If yall wanna do lore drops during this too, you totally can! If they're really big and will kinda be like a side thing, do be sure to let me know first!!!

Ok I think i got everything down....

Once again, ask me if you're confused abt something or have ideas bc god knows I need those. Also, be sure to DM me which characters of yours will be joining (if any).

And I think the only big delays will be for Dusk and Jessy trying to escape the Railroads AND me being lazy but Imma try and not have that second one happy

OH YEAH ONE MORE THING

THERE WILL BE LORE SCATTERED ABOUT FOR A COUPLE OF MY CHARACTERS, ESPECIALLY SOME THAT HAVE GAINED SOME POPULARITY...

KEEP YOUR EYES PEELED.

I'll reblog/edit this with any necessary information

But for now

GOOD LUCK.

(BTW you don't have to participate if you don't want to, it's ok to not be interested! Also if a character IS participating, just do a really quick in-rp post (or have them send a letter to Icia) & tag me in it so I know.)

[nowiamcoveredinyou]

Professor Malfoy and Miss knight

Part 1

Part 2, part 3..

Draco Malfoy x oc (Elizabeth knight)

Warning:- none!

The dawn broke, letting Malfoy know the day has come. His son would probably already be at school. Hogwarts. And he will be going there, probably for the first time in a few decades. After being a windower Draco Malfoy was heart broken. He had a hard time coping with everything that went on. His parents tried their best but bringing him back on track was hard. So a letter came from professor Minerva mcGonagall after six and a half months of his misery, it contained condolence from her and an offer letter. An offer letter to him, asking him to teach potions in Hogwarts. Mr and Mrs Malfoy were overjoyed and as for Draco, he smiled recieving it. After six and a half month his morning had something to look forward to.

"you'll do great Draco" said lucious Malfoy as he was getting into Hogwarts express.

"you didn't have to come to see me father, I'm not a child. Infact I'm a father of a child." he replied making a swish movement of his wand that made all his stuff get into the train.

"ofcourse, I know but" lucious Malfoy trailed off a little, "scorpious would be so happy".

Draco inhaled a deeb breath, while releasing it slowly. His son, his only son. Atleast he'll get to be with him everyday.

"I hope he does, bye father" waving him goodbye he got into the train. Sitting beside a window he kept on recalling his early days of Hogwarts. Him bullying Weasley. It made him smile subconsciously, for later they all became friends or atleast they didn't hate eachother.

____________________________________________

Heart in hand he got down from his train. His heartbeat was probably audible to each wizard who went past him. With each step he got closer to Hogwarts. A special place for all the wizards. And finally looking up he was relieved.

"Hogwarts" he muttered under his breath.

"Mr Malfoy" called Minerva mcGonagall as he entered her office.

"how are you professor" said he.

"oh look at you" she said absolutely giving no attention to his question, "I never thought you'd become polite keeping in mind your childhood days and how you behaved with Mr Potter and Mr weas.." she stopped herself. Perhaps Draco's current state wasn't the right time to say all these. "Yet I'm extremely sorry for-"

"it's okay" he interrupted her, "I'm fine, I don't like to hear about it anymore, or recall it".

Professor mcGonagall nodded and they stood silent for a moment.

"come with me I'll take you to your class"

With a single nod he agreed. They went to the classroom where senior year's students were supposed to be taught potions.

Professor mcGonagall opened the door and every chatter of the students stopped. With each step she took the students straightened their backs and waited for the person she indicated to follow her.

As soon as Draco entered there were whispers, he could only hear a few, and make sense to some of it, they were something like "he's Draco Malfoy, Malfoy family is famous" or "do you know how he treated Mr Harry Potter in their school days?" And some were, "he's scorpious's father".

"SILENCE" mcGonagall yelled, "I'd like to introduce you all to your new potions teacher, Mr Draco Malfoy".

He stood infront of them, sad, nervous yet managed to wish them morning as they did too.

"I hope you can manage from here Malfoy" she said, "or professor Malfoy from now on"

And after six and a half months Malfoy chuckled, may it be sadly but he did. He loved the sound of 'professor Malfoy'.

"yes I would" he said and with a bit confidence he faced the class, "so I'd like-"

"may I please come in?"

Everyone turned to the door. The running footsteps stopped at the door of the classroom. Panting she stood for permission to enter the class. Messy black hair, dark brown eyes, perfect lips and flushed cheeks caused by running ofcourse. Her robes hugged the curves of her slender figure perfectly.

"you'll never learn Miss knight" scolded professor Minerva mcGonagall, "oh Malfoy do tell her to be in class in time, she's always late for all her classes."

Draco's eyes didn't blink for once, Draco barely heard anything Minerva said. He just stared at her.

"please do come in Miss Elizabeth knight" snapped professor mcGonagall, "or you're lack of punctuality will make Ravenclaw lose this year's house cup."

Draco stared at her, as she walked in looking down, yet eyeing her friend to shift and make place for her. He watched her placing her book and wand. He saw her friend whispering to her ear and that instant her eyes met Draco's. And then, after seven months Draco Malfoy finally got a little colour back to his pale cheeks.

To be continued...

[the-dreaming-writer]

Crush VI.

The lid had lifted soundlessly, unattached to the rest of the wood, and at once, I felt a wave of dizzying nausea rush over me. It was an alien sensation— yet it was eerily familiar, and my mind readily supplied me with a memory so vivid, I now wonder if the events that followed came solely from the box, or if it was merely a catalyst for something that had been a longtime brewing.

I suppose it doesn't matter much now.

My memory of early childhood is patchy, isolated images and impressions, but this came to me better than most. It had been the morning after a sleepover— important because we had been a group of sleep-deprived thirteen year olds, none of which lends itself well to coherent decision-making. One of the boys had had the bright idea to go up on the roof— and although the rest of the girls had stayed back, I remember agreeing largely because they had all but counted me out.

It was perhaps also why I had showboated, making a point to linger on the edges of the roof, boasting how unafraid I was. I was afraid, although only the correct healthy amount, as soon-to-be events would prove, and I suspect all of us secretly were, under our faux teen-bravado.

Like you probably guessed, I fell, although to my credit, through no fault of my own. It had been a strong gust, sudden enough to have even stumbled the athletic kids, and in an instant, I had found myself without footing, toppling face-first off the roof.

It wasn't a very tall roof, as you can also guess, since I'm here talking to you. I can also tell you that it was only a two-story house and that the fall shouldn't have been long enough to even think a single full thought. Except that was not what had happened.

I had clenched my eyes shut, arms shielding my face as I braced for the impact.

It didn't come.

For a moment, I had wondered if I had just fallen on the roof, looking like a dumbass, but I had felt absolutely nothing. Nor had I heard the laughter that would have absolutely followed if I had.

I have been told numerous times, by people I have shared this story to, that they too have similar childhood memories. Ones where they flew, levitated— dreams so vivid they had been stored as memories in our prepubscent brains.

I usually left it at that, had even half-believed it, but I know— in my heart, that it had been something deeply different. One, this was a memory in my teens— while theirs were almost always as a baby or a child. And two, I hadn't been flying. I'd been falling.

I know because I remember the air whistling past my ears, I know, because even though my eyes were tightly shut, I could hear the surprised shouts of the others fade away at frightening speeds, and I remember— that sensation, that unquestionable certain sense baked into the core of every living thing, that I was falling.

And then I had opened my eyes, eyes I had kept closed in fear that it was the only thing keeping me from the inevitable ground, and I saw the sky. I remember how plainly blue it was because I remember wondering, despite everything, how I had managed to flip myself midair, why I couldn't see the lip of the roof that I had fallen from, where the sun had gone.

And then I hit the ground, or I assume I hit the ground, because a blinding pain shot up my arms, my nose, and then everything went black. I had woken up in the hospital soon after, fortunately with just a broken nose— though I'd been disappointed that I wasn't going to have a cast.

And that was that.

No crippling new fear of heights, not even a long-lasting mark to show for it. My friends had watched me fall off the roof, normally, which then earned me a bit of precious respect in my school, and my dad had told me that the slowing of time in danger happens sometimes— although now I have to distrust that explanation as well.

Truth be told, I had all but forgotten the experience until that very moment— on my couch, lid in one hand, the other holding onto the table with an intensity that I hadn't consciously chosen, staring into the interior of the box— if you could even call it that.

It was the sky. Cloudless. Sunless.

I tore my eyes away from it, a herculean task that I am sure I only managed because it permitted me to do so, and my gaze landed on the bottom of the lid, onto the face that had been looking inwards, where a single line of engraved symbols lay, circling around another identical knob.

A warning. Except it couldn't have been— since there had been no way to know of it before lifting the lid. A mocking, then, although the finality I felt from them were far too solemn to be anything but sincere.

Then my eyes were forced back to the sky, and I knew that this was the same sky, the one that had stolen me all those years ago, and the sensation doubled in strength— then again, and again, until I was no longer sure I was still in my room, although I could still see it, the table, the couch, the floors, and the walls.

For the next few minutes, although it had felt like hours, even days, I could only think one thought— and the rest that I'm about to tell you, the descriptions, the wonderings, the paranoia, would only come after, although not long after. But it's important to stress, again, that during that long moment— there was only the sensation, growing stronger with every second. The one sensation.

I was falling.

(...)

[cherryblossempearl]

I finally finished my story :0 I apologize for the delay; I hope yall enjoy :D

Brotherly bonding:

(segment 1: Rather at peace)

Sunlight peered through the window, making Daniel groan. While last night was great, he was too tired from all the walking to get up. His body was extremely worn out from chasing Claire all the way to his car. He was very greatful she didn’t leave him for dead, but dang was she a menace.

Shifting to his side, Daniel smiled. Even though he would of probably died last night, he didn’t regret going into the forest at all. Not only did he find inspiration, he found a friend. A somewhat creepy one; but a friend none the doubt.

It wasn’t often that he made friends, or true friends for the matter, so this was a rare occasion for him. With a schedule like his, it was not easy making friends right away, and with his long- term friends, it wasn’t easy keeping them. Except his friend William, who was rather attached to him. To bad he was all the way back home in Alpine- his home planet.

Usually, he was in his office most of the time, and with the workers his parents company had, made it less than enjoyable. Just then, a loud sound buzzed off from his phone, signaling him to get up for work. Sighing, he got up and off his bed, only to feel a sense of tiredness wash over him afterword’s.

As much as Daniel wanted to sleep in more, he had to get up. Even he knew how long he takes to get ready, and he was for certain he did not want to see Yalena’s pissed off face again after the last time. It was embarrassing for sure.

Putting on his slippers, Daniel got up and walked towards the bedroom door. Some breakfast would be good right about now, his stomach was growling. He opened the door and headed to the kitchen, hurrying to the fridge.

“What should I eat today?” Daniel thought to himself; scanning the fridge for something filling. He did have some left-over roast from last night’s dinner, but he didn’t really want to have dinner food this early in the morning. He shrugged, getting the roast anyways, he could always use some of it to make a sandwich.

Cutting into the roast was definitely harder cold then when it was warm. It took Daniel a few try’s to finally get a decent slice out of it. Putting the slice on a sliver plate, he put it in the microwave to let it heat up a bit. Now all he needed was some eggs and bread.

As Daniel headed to the pantry, he could hear the faint ringing of the doorbell. He grimaced, geez- he didn’t even make his breakfast yet and he already had to interact with people today. He grabbed the loath of bread, leaving it on the counter before processing to the door.

Whoever it was, he hoped it was not Yalena. His assistant had come to house one time because he had slept in late; and like he said before; he did not want that to happen again. He got she was passionate about her work, but he’d wish she’d tone it down a bit.

When Daniel made it to the door, he mentally prepared himself to interact with the person outside. “Please let it not be who I think it is,” he said to himself as he looked through the peephole. Luckily, it wasn’t Yalena; this time. It was his little brother, what was he doing here? Wasn’t he supposed to be heading to school by now?

Daniel stood there for a few minutes, dazed by his brother’s sudden appearance. Meanwhile, his brother went in for a hug, “let me guess big bro, you still haven’t had breakfast yet?” he snickered. Daniel snapped back to reality, oh how he wished he was just having his breakfast right now. “Travis?”, he exclaimed, “why aren’t you in school?”

Travis paused, “what do you think?” he tittered. Daniel raised his brows, he knew he should tell him to head back to school, but there could be only one reason why he was here this early. “Come inside,” he said letting go of his brothers embrace, and gestured to the hallway.

His brother grinned, “you’re the best big bro,” he said, rather happily. His brother walked past him as he headed inside. Daniel sighed, he knew his parents weren’t going to like this- if they ever found out of course. He closed the door, and started following his brother.

(Segment 2: Travis enters the picture)

Travis sighed as he flopped onto the couch, getting comfortable in the cushions. He loved going to his brother’s place, it was much more relaxing here. “Soo, what’s been up big bro?” He asked as his brother entered the living room after him. Daniel rubbed his neck, “Not much- just the usual stuff I do and such,” he then smiled all of a sudden, “I did make a new friend yesterday though.”

Knowing his brother, making friends was a rare thing for him, so in his eyes, it was something to celebrate. Travis raised a brow, “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” He joked lightheartedly. Daniel rolled his eyes, “It’s not like I hate making friends,” he mumbled, “it’s just people I’m around tend to be a bit much sometimes.”

Travis found himself nodding in agreement, “that’s part of society we live in,” he commented, “a lot of the company’s workers are a bit much; especially the blond one,” he mumbled off, “although I do think she’s kind of hot not going to lie...” Daniel grimaced, “I think she hates me,” he uttered, before pausing, “wait what?”

Daniel looked at Travis, concerned for his wellbeing. “Travis… are you feeling well-“he questioned with his brow raised. Travis shrugged, “eh I little tired and stressed but I feel alright now,” he said rather nonchalantly. His brother looked confused, and just looked at him weirdly for a few minutes.

“You know she’s married.. right?” He uttered with the very most concern. Travis raised his hands in defense,” it just an opinion big bro- “He reasoned playfully, “don’t get all worried about it.” Daniel still looked sketchy.

“Anyways,” Daniel continuing, “her name is Claire.” Travis grinned, and was about to open his mouth when Daniel stopped him, “No Travis, we are just friends.” Smirking, Travis shrugged, “you never know big bro,” he quipped, “someday I might be the best man for your wedding.”

Daniel grumbled, clearly annoyed at his little brother’s stubbornness. Just then a dinging sound came from his brother’s pocket, which made Daniel dig into it, and bring out his phone. Travis looked at him curious, “who is that? His brother didn’t answer, as he suddenly put his phone back in his pocket. “Sorry Travis, I got to go, like now,” He looked at him before heading down the hall.

From looking at the expression on his brothers face before he left, he could definitely tell it was an Yalena message, as he was rushing. She’d probably sent a text on Daniels phone telling him to hurry up, or else she would head to his place; again. Travis had heard the story from bro himself, so it made since why he was so urgent to head out.

(Segment 3: Lonely)

It was quiet without his brother around; maybe even too quiet. He kind of regretted heading here in the morning now, his brother always had work in the mornings. Sure, it had given him time away from the stresses of school; and to be fair their parents; but he would rather spend this free-time with someone he cared about.

He took out his phone, scrolling through mindless apps. Travis was already feeling bored in a matter of minutes. No matter how much he tried, he couldn’t get his mind off of his problems. It was easier to do that when his brother was around, that’s for sure.

Heading to Inquiry; which was a local search engine on the web they used; he scrolled the news, hoping to find something interesting for once. As usually though, it was the same things. Planet news, New technology replacements, lastly half- breed outbreak’s on record; which was probably going be taken down sooner or later.

Just as he was about to head off the site- he found an ad with a rather recognizable model. Heather Henderson; a popular model at Phoenix, one of the perfect figures of what people say humans could be- hat sounded so weird to think about, why did he think that? While Travis could definitely appreciate a good-looking woman; she was still a human being, or at least hopefully most of one.

People are weird; yes- he knew he was weird too in some sort of way; but idolizing random people you don’t know too much about is rather creepy in his opinion. With a click of a button, he headed off the site. Looking at news didn’t help him feel any better, which should have been expected. The news wasn’t the happiest thing in the world.

He hated feeling this way, the stress was killing him enough. Travis knew he thrived in social interaction; with people he liked anyways. It had always made he feel warm on the inside, it felt like he could fall free from his problems. When he was alone however, that was the opposite.

Travis couldn’t help but think about his problems when no one else was around, there was nothing else to focus on. He didn’t want to think like this, but he couldn’t help it. Sighing to himself, he laid back on the couch, and closed his eyes. Maybe sleep could get his mind off things.

(Segment 4: Memories)

It turns out it didn't. Travis kept tossing and turning endlessly. Even sleep didn’t help him, he was too stressed out. Taking a breath, Travis tried to relax, to drift off into dream world. His dreams would be with him, and he wouldn’t be alone.

After a few minutes thankfully, he did go to sleep. A calm tranquil feeling filled his mind, putting him at rest. Now all he had to do was dream. No parents, no school, just him and the people he chose to dream about.

FLASHBACK…

Travis sat there, drawing a rather confusing picture. The sit next to him was empty, where twenty minutes ago a person was sitting. His brother told him he would be back right away, and yet, he hadn’t. It shouldn’t have taken that long to get a glass of water.

Groaning, Travis scribbled on his piece of paper. ‘Uh he’s taking forever,” Travis complained, he knew his big brother took forever getting ready, but he wasn’t getting ready; he getting a drink. That shouldn’t take this long.

Feeling very impatient, Travis hopped off his seat, and headed to wherever Daniel was at. He searched the kitchen, but his brother wasn’t there. That was confusing. If his brother needed a drink. Why wasn’t he here?

Running past the few maids and butlers roaming the hallway; Travis looked into multiple rooms, trying to find his brother. He had no luck either, as the rooms were empty. Thinking for a moment, Travis thought about the few places his brother could of went.

As he was thinking, a voice interrupted his thoughts. “Are you alright little sir?” A butler asked him, concerned as to why he was just standing there. Travis looked at him, “I’m just thinking where my brother went, Zion,” he mumbled in frustration, “he told me he was just going to get water- but he hasn’t come back yet.”

Zion raised a brow, and sighed, “Why I think I saw your parents take him to their room this earlier,” he said giving a small smile of compassion to the boy, “you’ll find him there.” Travis groaned to himself, “of course he’d be there,” he beamed back at Zion, “thank you Zion,” he quickly murmured before running to his parent’s bedroom, of course it was his parents that took him away.

Just as he was about to head to his parent’s bedroom; his brother appeared out of nowhere. Travis and Daniel both yelped out of surprise. “Travis- you scared me,” Daniel mumbled out nervously, “I-“ “Why were you gone so long bro- I was waiting!” Travis complained, cutting him off. His brother rubbed his neck, “mom and dad wanted to talk to me..” he paused, “I’m sorry bro- but I don’t think I can draw pictures with you right now.”

Travis frowned, “why does our parents have to stop everything fun,” he whined. Daniel sighed,” mom and dad…just want what’s best for me, so I have to understand.” He looked at Travis, “I promise we can draw next time though,” he softly smiled. His brother gave him reassuring hug, “you promise?” Travis spoke up a bit, skeptical. Daniel nodded, and hugged him tighter, “I would never leave you on purpose Travis,” he beamed, “I promise.”

They stood there for a few minutes, just hugging each other. Travis hoped his brother would keep his promise; but he understood why he couldn’t sometimes. “Ok- I’m going to keep drawing then,” Travis grinned as he let go of the hug, “see yeah big bro!” he said before running off again. He didn’t see his brother’s soft frown behind him, as he silently wished he was running with him too.

END OF FLASHBACK

Travis slowly opened his eyes- what time was it? Getting up, he picked his phone off the side table; it was around one pm. In the after- noon…; dang was he asleep for that long? He sighed in relief, at least he wasn’t stressing so much as this earlier; that was good. He thought for a minute, his brother won’t be home until the later; so- what should he do in the mean time?

Still feeling a tiny bit tired, he laid back down on the couch, getting into his comfortable position. Using his phone, he put on a parkour app. It was to hopefully distract himself for a little while longer; at least until brother came back from work. While he could watch tv- they had too much romance tv shows, as well as movies going on. It would make him cringe.

It would be not until sundown that Travis would see his brother again, but he was alright with that; for now- that is. Knowing his brother would be home brought him a lot of joy, much more than anything else really. Feeling rather sleepy again, he put his phone back on the coffee table; then laid back down again. Smiling to himself; he closed his eyes, as much more memories flooded his mind.

The End 😊

….

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

….

…

Or is it >:)

Daniel huffed as he opened the front door to his home, he was finally back. Work was just as draining as before, and he did not enjoy a single second of it. Taking off his shoes, he first closed the front door before heading down the hallway.

Was Travis still here; or was he gone already. Knowing his brother, he doesn’t like staying alone for long, so he could at least presume he wasn’t here. Checking the living room however, was a different story. Travis was laid down on the couch, fast asleep. Daniel chuckled, looks like he stayed after all. He knew how fond his brother was of his place, he should of know he would stay.

Taking something out of his pocket, Daniel quietly walked over to the coffee table and laid something out onto it, which was for Travis to see in the morning. Tiptoeing quietly back out of the living room, Daniel started heading towards his room.

After a tiring day like this, Daniel needed to sleep. Opening his bedroom door, he quickly flopped onto bed, and closed his eyes. All he wanted for to sleep now… and maybe see his friend Claire again. As he started to drift into sleep, he couldn’t help but wonder what Claire did today, and how her sisters photoshoot went.

....

If he has time tomorrow, he definitely will try to reach out again.

Now its the end :3.. for now

I hope you all enjoyed, and again I’m sorry for the delay. Hopefully, when I start my next short story, it will come out way faster. Thanks for reading. Also, Daniel and Claire are just going to be friend’s guys (Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm)

[scrawlingwithstyle]

One Good Turn (5/?)

The story of how “you,” an apparently average person, join the Avengers. 

A Marvel fanfiction based on my friend’s recurring dream. 

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1434

Tags: @arrow-guy, @ifitistobeitisuptous

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

You can barely sleep that night, but you know you need to in order to refresh your brain for the morning. Stark had said twenty-two hours. That gives you till five p.m.

The morning takes too long to come, so you’re up before the sun, mulling over your options while you eat breakfast. You have a list in your mind of what powers would pair best with the combat skills you’re learning from Nat and the healing factor you already know you want. You just have to shuffle through them to find one that best suits you.

Shapeshifting comes off the list pretty early when you realize that changing your size or shape might counteract all your training. Longer or shorter limbs would make you clumsy. An animal form would be even worse.

Flight also crosses your mind. It’s practical in some ways. You consider the advantage to dodging, and then an even better thought comes to mind: heightened reflexes.

Having powers that aren’t apparent at first would be good for hiding in plain sight or keeping a secret identity. On top of that, a danger sense of some kind would make it easier to make split-second decisions.

It’s barely six a.m. when you realize you’ve decided on your second power. To make sure you’re certain, you let yourself think about it for a bit longer while you finish getting ready for the day. And besides, you don’t know what time it’s okay to call.

It’s five to seven when you can’t stand it anymore and call the number for Avengers Tower.

“Morning,” greets Stark. He sounds like he’s been up for a while. Maybe he hasn’t even been to bed at all.

“I’ve decided,” you say.

“Perfect. How soon can you be here?”

You look at the clock. “I don’t have work today, so… twenty minutes?”

“Alright. I’ll let Banner know to expect you at the lab.” He hangs up without a goodbye.

You frown a little but don’t take it personally. In the brief time you’ve known him, he appears to be a bit brusque with everyone.

As promised, you arrive at the tower within twenty minutes. You pass by very few people on your way up, including Natasha. When you make it to the lab, Bruce is the only one there.

He greets you from the far end of the room and then asks, “What other ability have you decided on?”

“You know how Spiderman just kind of… knows when something bad is about to happen?” you say, unable to hold back a grin. “Something like that. An extra sense for danger.”

He furrows his brow and nods. “I think I understand. Unfortunately, it’ll take some time to program the device given your specifications. Probably at least a couple of hours, give or take.” He looks you up and down. “If you want to spend some time in the gym, or up in Clint’s archery range, that might be a good way to let off some energy.”

“Oh,” you say, somewhat disappointed. He’s not wrong, though. You’re feeling pretty amped up. “That sounds like a good idea.”

You haven’t been to the archery range yet, and you doubt Clint is here this early to show you around, so you head back down to the gym and find a treadmill. You figure if a brisk jog doesn’t help, there’s always a punching bag you can beat up.

Steve shows up about thirty minutes in while you’re taking a break and just lying on one of the mats. He reaches out a hand, and despite your desire to stay on the floor, you grab it and let him pull you up. “Are you okay?” he asks.

You smile. “Yeah, just nervous. And excited.” You pause at a thought. “How did it go when you got your . . . ?” you gesture to all of him.

He chuckles. “It hurt like hell, and I wanted to sleep for a week straight.”

Your face pales. “Oh, is that all?” you ask weakly.

He claps a hand on your shoulder, laughing. “You’ll be fine. It’s a different process, and it shouldn’t make any drastic physical changes if you didn’t ask for them.”

Relief washes over you. “Thank God.”

You spend some time watching him, fascinated, as he lifts weights labeled in the triple digits. “What are those things made of?” you ask after a minute.

He finishes a set and sets them down before answering that it’s adamantium.

You gape at him for a minute before you find your voice again. “I know Tony has money to burn, but that is a lot of money to burn.”

Steve nods. “I know. I told him it wasn’t worth it, but he had them made anyway.” He shrugs sheepishly. “Now I use them all the time because I feel guilty that they cost so much.”

You go back to your own workout, now and then glancing over to see what he’s doing. You tell yourself it’s curiosity. You’re lying; it’s his muscles. Fortunately for you, he doesn’t seem to notice, but you have to stop when Nat comes in because she absolutely would.

During another break, lying on one of the mats, you doze off a bit and only wake up when Natasha says your name.

“Are you ready?” she asks, squatting by your side.

Anxiety twists in your chest. “I think so. Is it already time?”

She nods and stands, offering you a hand to help you up. “Bruce is waiting for you.”

Working off nervous energy has made you sweaty and sticky, so you’re hesitant to go directly back, but you’re also too anxious and excited to stop and shower before you go. You take the elevator, nervously rocking on your feet until the doors slide open.

Banner greets you again and ushers you deeper into the lab to a large machine that kind of reminds you of an airport metal detector, except that it’s fully encased in glass. He presses a button on the control panel and the front of the glass opens up.

“I’m ready when you are.” He gestures toward the open door.

You take a breath and step inside, and he closes the glass door behind you.

“Stand in the white circle,” he says, voice muffled.

You look down and center yourself.

“Ready?”

You take another deep breath and flash a grin. “Hit me.”

He hits a few keys and the machine whirrs to life. The very air around you begins to vibrate, and the sensation reverberates through your bones. It’s not pleasant, but it isn’t painful either; it’s just really weird.

You open your mouth a little, but forget what you’re about to say when you feel your teeth rattling against each other. It’s unsettling enough that you opt for closing your jaw tightly to prevent it from happening again. You realize after what feels like a solid five minutes that you never asked how long the process was going to take. But you’re not willing to open your mouth again to ask, so you just shut your eyes and wait for it to stop.

Another strange sensation takes you: a warmth that blooms from beneath your sternum, and slowly spreads to your extremities. Again, it’s not awful, just strange. Once you feel it in the top of your scalp and the ends of your fingers and toes, it grows uncomfortably warm before fading almost instantly, along with the deep vibration.

Your ears start to ring, and your body feels as though it’s still buzzing, even though you know it’s stopped. It takes a moment to relax your jaw, which is stiff and painful now, and your voice creaks when you speak. “I forgot to ask how long that would take,” you croak.

The door opens, and you step out on shaky legs.

“That was twenty-five minutes,” Bruce replies, “but it’ll take a couple days for the powers to kick in and your body to recover. You’re going to be pretty lethargic and weak, but functional till then.”

You laugh a little. “I didn’t think about that either. It’s a good thing I don’t have to walk home.”

“We’ll have someone drive you.” He helps prop you up and leads you to a nearby chair. “Your legs should be back to normal, more or less, in maybe thirty minutes. You can sit in here until then.”

You nod, sitting back. “I think I’ll take a little nap, if you don’t mind.”

He smiles. “That’s fine. I’ll wake you when you’re good to go.”

Your eyes are already shut. “Mm-hm. Thanks.”

[casspurrjoybell-17]

Heart’s Choice - Chapter 2 - Part 1

*Warning Adult Content*

Carlos Martinez  

Sometimes it takes a minute for my brain to catch up to my mouth, especially when I'm stressed or under pressure, which is what happens when I open my front door dressed in my underwear and find myself face to face with a pair of officers and some unexpected news.

"Dead? What do you mean he's dead?"

The male officer looks me up and down but I'm pretty sure he's not checking me out. 

More likely he's comparing me to some profiling list in his head and checking off boxes.

Mid to late twenties ✓ Male ✓ Longish hair ✓ Medium brown skin ✓ Obviously doesn't have his shit together ✓ Latino-looking ✓ Probably a criminal of some kind ✓

"I mean that he is no longer alive, Mr. Martinez," the man says.

"He is deceased. Passed away. Expired."

"Está muerto," the female officer joins in helpfully.

I rub my hands over my face and do my best not to scowl. 

"I get that, thanks. What I mean is... what happened?"

"That's what we're trying to establish, Mr. Martinez. My name is Detective John Turner. This is Sergeant Latoya McKenzie. May we come in?"

"Uh..." 

I glance between the pair. 

I'm pretty sure I can refuse but less sure I can do so without hurting my chances of appearing 'not guilty.' 

They haven't said as much yet but also I'm pretty sure they're not here just to tell me Kyle died of natural causes.. 

"Of course."

I step back and hold the door open as they enter. 

Two pairs of eyes rake across my living space, doing inventory, drawing conclusions and I cringe as I see it from a visitor's perspective.

I'm not a slob but I'm not Marie Kondo, either. 

Most of my stuff is from thrift shops or hand-me-downs from friends. 

None of the furniture matches, every dish I own is from a different set and it's been a week since my last weekly cleaning day. 

I wince at the overflowing laundry basket, the dirty sink and the two-day-old pizza box occupying the coffee table.

"Sorry about the mess. I, uh, wasn't expecting guests," I say and then mentally kick myself.

'The cops aren't guests Carlos.'

Detective Turner quirks a brow but merely nods at the couch. 

"Can we sit?"

"Of course. Uh..." 

I scramble to clear away the pizza box, several dirty napkins, an open DVD case, a book and a packet of cigarettes.

The cops take the sofa, while I perch nervously on the edge of a well-worn La-Z-Boy.

"You smoke?" Sergeant McKenzie points at the Marlboro Lights.

"Huh? Oh, no. My aunt does."

"Your aunt lives here, too?" Detective Turner asks, pulling out a notepad and pen.

"No, no. She's in Oregon."

"Then why you got her smokes?" Sergeant McKenzie swipes a finger across my countertop, as if checking for dust.

"They're not hers. They're mine."

The pair share a glance and Turner scribbles a note.

"You just said you don't smoke. So which is it?"

I frown. 

It feels like I'm already being interrogate and I don't even know what the deal is yet. 

"I lived with my aunt until recently," I say.

"Relatively recently, anyway. I was... feeling homesick, I guess. Missing her. I saw these at the gas station and bought them on a whim. Not to smoke, just to... just to have, I guess."

"Decorative cigarettes. Right?" Turner asks, making another note and my frown becomes a scowl.

"No offense, officers but what happened to Kyle and why are you here?"

Detective Turner takes a breath and studies me with a penetrating stare.

"Kyle Peters was murdered, Mr. Martinez, some time last night. Can you tell us where you were between the hours of ten p.m yesterday and two a.m. this morning?"

"I was here. Asleep."

"Anyone vouch for that?" Mckenzie asks and I shake my head. 

"I live alone."

"You didn't text anyone, call anyone? Facetime your girlfriend?"

"I don't have a... no. I had dinner, took a shower and went to bed. I was tired."

"Hmm."

Turner makes another note and my temper finally wakes up 'along with the rest of my senses'. 

These two obviously got here early, hoping to take me off guard and they succeeded. 

I'm sitting in my living room, dressed in my underwear, being questioned by cops. 

It doesn't feel real and in the dreamlike state of shock after learning my assistant is dead, who knows what shit I might say to incriminate myself?

"Look, just tell me what happened to Kyle," I say.

"When was the last time you saw him?"

I turn to Sergeant McKenzie. 

"Yesterday, around lunchtime."

I scowl at Detective Turner. 

He's hot, no denying that but obnoxious. 

"Two pm. I gave him twenty bucks to go get us some burgers. He never came back."

"That didn't concern you?"

"Sure it did. I didn't get lunch, lost twenty bucks and had to finish the rest of the day's work alone."

"You didn't think to call him? Make sure he was all right?"

I meet his sexy Russell Crowe stare and refuse to blink. 

"No. He's only been working here two or three weeks and it's not the first time he's dipped in the middle of a shift."

"Two or three?"

I narrow my eyes at him. 

"What?"

"You said 'he's only been working here two or three weeks.' So which is it? Two weeks or three?"

"Shit, I don't know. I'd have to check the books."

"Can you check them now?"

Glaring, I stand and stalk over to my 'desk' which is really just a piece of scrap plywood bolted to some two-by-fours and painted white. 

Painfully conscious of the detective's eyes on my back, I rouse my geriatric computer from it’s slumber and open a spreadsheet.

"Two weeks and three days," I say, and clear my throat.

"He started on the 17th of last month."

"Thank you. That's very helpful."

I turn and find myself almost chest-to-chest with Mr. tall, dark and antagonistic. 

There's a moment of silent masculinity measuring and then I yield, glancing away and taking a tiny step back, bumping into the desk. 

Like Aunt Tony used to say, pick your battles or pick your tombstone.

Oddly, Turner seems equally off-balance, as if he hadn't meant to stand so close and takes a step to the side, allowing me a clear path back to my seat.

Excruciatingly conscious of the fact he's watching me, I make my way back to it and sit down.

"So. Are you going to tell me about Kyle or not?" I ask.

"I assume someone's spoken to his aunt."

"She's been informed," Turner says stolidly, as if Lucille can expect a standard government-issue letter in the mail.

"Kyle was found by a runner in the park, early this morning," Sergeant McKenzie says. 

"Where the trail goes under the highway between Chestnut and Main." 

She pulls out her cell-phone and holds it towards me. 

"He was surrounded by symbols like this. Any significance to you?"

I squint at the screen, then school my face into a featureless mask as a shiver runs up my spine.

"No. What is it?"

"Some sort of occult symbolism, as far as we can tell from the shit on the internet," McKenzie says, pocketing her phone again.

"Kyle into that kinda thing?"

I shake my head. 

"No. Not as far as I know."

Detective Turner sighs. 

He hadn't retaken his seat and leans against the back of the couch, arms crossed. 

Now he straightens and pulls a card from the breast pocket of his crisp white shirt and holds it out to me.

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Martinez. We'll be in touch if we have any further questions."

"We're sorry for your loss," Sergeant McKenzie adds.

"I hope we can count on your cooperation as we investigate."

"Of... of course," I say, taking the card reflexively.

"If you think of anything else, give me a call," Turner says. 

Then, with a bit more awkwardness, they're gone and I'm alone again.

As soon as the door shuts at their backs, I dash upstairs and snatch my phone off the bedside table, ripping out the charging cable and bringing up Aunt Toni's contact. 

Hands trembling, I tap her number and listen with my heart pounding in my ears as it rings.

Voicemail.

Again.

‘Toni Martinez. I'm busy. You know what to do.’

Beep.

I draw a breath, words swirl in my brain. 

Then, like I have the last three times I've called, I hang up.

I said some shit to Toni the last time I saw her, when I left for Spring Lakes, some shit I needed to say but maybe not quite the way I should have said it. 

She raised me and overall she did a good job but she'd hurt me, too and with my words, I hurt her back.

That wasn't my intention but words are like toothpaste, hard to retract once they're squeezed out.

That symbol the sergeant showed me was familiar, too familiar and my first thought was to run to Toni for advice. 

Now, I shake my head at myself as I get dressed.

I told Toni I didn't need her.

Time to prove myself right.

The rest of the day passes in a blur. 

I fix a busted tail light, change a battery, flush a transmission and order some specialty parts for a certain vintage Volkswagen. 

The whole time I keep my phone with me, waiting for Lucille or Tony or the cops or someone to call me but it stays silent.

The shop is silent, too. 

It's as if nothing happened and by the end of the day I've half convinced myself it was all a dream, that tomorrow Kyle will show up bright and early for his shift, with some wild story about why he never came back with that burger the day before.

As for what I'd seen on the sergeant's phone... maybe I was wrong. 

It wasn't that clear of a picture, after all. 

Maybe my coffee-deprived brain had just filled in the blanks. 

I mean, what were the chances that mark would show up here and that it would have any relation to Kyle?

I've pretty much convinced myself of this, that Kyle met a tragic, untimely but ultimately mundane end, by the time I close up the shop for the day. 

He was the victim of a mugging or a drug deal gone wrong or maybe he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time but it's got nothing to do with me.

It weighs on my heart, of course. 

The poor kid was so young and while I can't say he was destined for greatness, who knows what impact anyone else might have on the world? 

Now whatever impact Kyle might have made, good or bad, is forever lost.

'I'll have to buy a suit for his funeral,' I think, as I trudge upstairs after work.

'If I'm invited to his funeral.'

I strip out of my clothes and step into the shower.

'Funerals are depressing as fuck. I hope I'm not invited.'

I wash my hair, soap up, rinse off and reach for my towel.

"Why you gotta do this to me, Kyle?" I sigh as I wipe the steam from the bathroom mirror and stare into my own dark eyes.

"I give you a job. You take my twenty bucks and get yourself killed. Where did I go wrong?"

Something moves in the reflection and I gasp and spin so fast I almost fall on my ass.

I thought there was someone in the room with me, an intruder appearing at my back.

Instead, I groan with a strange mix of terror and relief as I find myself face to face with Kyle's ghost. 

[joe-moi]

ok i'm finally caught up after reading the morning the paper (this blog) here's what i'm thinking, sorry it's so long 😭

usually i'm not someone who cares about over analyzing bc most things do tend to be that deep, but i think we're reading too far into the friend group part of jk and csw a bit, we have no way of knowing if she's been around his friends or not, i think it doesn't help that he probably has more lowkey and not recognizable friends in ny, like music friends or something, i don't think it's weird we haven't seen her with nat and charlie bc i think if they were spotted all together that would make the relationship look a lot more serious, like jk and m were always spotted with nat and charlie in the early days so ppl would definitely make it a thing if jk started bringing her around them too

as for all red flags i think we're judging all this as if it's a full on serious relationship when it's not, maybe i'm giving them too much credit but i think they both know exactly what this relationship is, like it's fun and something new but it's not going to turn into marriage or anything, and i do think they like each other but i think they know this isn't something lasting through the strike ending since he'll be so busy, i honestly don't see them trying to make it work at all and just going back to being friends or pure fwb whenever they're both in ny, i do think maybe chase might have stronger feelings only because she's used to having strong short term relationships but i think this is a fling for her too, that's why they're ok being very friendly publicly

they are in a honeymoon phase and i know you turn blind during that but i don't think it's fair for us to judge it like a potential long term thing just yet and be questioning his judgement like he's this oblivious (god i hope not) 😭 idk the anons calling whatever they have going on weird and/or toxic rubbed me the wrong way i really think they're just two people having fun while they're unemployed

i could be wrong maybe we'll see csw in atl and i'll have to eat my words but that's what i'm thinking

oh last tidbit, i was going to say jk hanging around the it girl friend group surprised me at first too as someone who loves rachel and ayo specifically, i'm very biased in this part but now i think it does kinda make sense for him, bc yeah they are kind of it girls rn but they're doing it in a very ironic and sort of dorky way, like if you watch clips of ayo and rachel together they're humors very silly and dorky, they seem to enjoy fame a lot but none of them have an ego about it maybe jk likes that, it is funny imagine what a conversation between jk and them would sound like tho 💀

Another perspective about this! But I think we’ve beaten this horse to death y’all. We just gotta wait and see.

[spnae]

38 When the Levee Breaks

Depictions of domestic violence. Chapter title taken from the Led Zeppelin song by the same name.

Willow walked into the library to find a tired Giles still pouring over the information Xander had procured on his extended trip. There was so much material to go through but they were finally making sense of it all. Giles pinched the bridge of his nose as Willow set down a tea tray in front of him.

“How’s it going? Have you found any glaring translation mistakes that make it all fall apart yet?”

“No, I haven’t, in fact everything I’ve found seems to support what you have already told Buffy. However I do wish you hadn’t used the word ‘immortal’ to describe her condition until we can confirm it.”

“How would you have liked me to put it, Giles? We both know she should have never been able to get up after being run through and according to the girls there she did way more than just get up. Her pain tolerance is through the roof and she’s healing from more severe injuries than she used to. Even when Warren shot her… I took the bullet out but she was up and around a whole lot faster than she should have, even with my help..”

“That does not equate to immortality! Perhaps she just got an extra boost of her natural Slayer abilities. This passage here—“ he gripped her arm lightly to pull her towards the passage.

Willow winced and pulled back a little, “I’ve read it. If that were the case she would probably be healing faster and getting stronger too and yet those things are relatively the same as always.”

Giles narrowed his eyes a fraction “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, go on, you were saying?”

“I confess that it does seem as though Buffy is a unique case,” Giles pushed himself back from the desk a little with a large sigh, “We need confirmation. For her and the other girls. Unfortunately for that we would need one of the other girls to reach 26 and then receive a mortal wound, and considering that no Slayer on record has ever lived that long— How did she seem when you told her of the possibility?”

Willow sat down heavily, “Fine I guess. You know her. I mean obviously there are some definite perks for her and Spike. I think she’s more worried about it not being true. Probably comes with being in love with a vampire, I guess.”

“Naturally.”

“I don’t think we’re going to get anything looking like confirmation for a long time,” She said a little lamely.

“I suppose half of an answer is better than none at all.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Giles started closing books and organizing the table. “Is Ruby still visiting with her family?”

“She got back early this morning. She says things are a little weird with her parents. Sheena is doing a lot better though, they had a really good visit.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Oh, Willow, would you mind fetching that curious sword Spike was assaulted over?”

“Sure, taking a break from the Slayer life puzzle?”

“It’s time I focus my energies elsewhere for a while. I rather think it’s best if we both do.”

“Yeah you’re probably right I’ve been obsessing over this for a long time now. I was afraid to tell Buffy much of anything and then I just blurted it all out after I found that last little bit. I probably shouldn’t have said anything at all.”

“I suppose we all have things to atone for.”

Willow walked over to where the sword was being kept and laid it on the desk in front of Giles. Then poured tea for them both, “Do you still think I’m a ‘rank amateur’?” She smiled at him.

Giles returned the smile, “I think you have learned a great deal since then. Although I do caution you to keep up with your studies.”

“Yeah, that's part of the reason why I accepted the other half of the duplex. I think it’s a good idea if I am closer to the Devon Coven. As well as I’ve been doing with everything. I still think I need that connection and I’m not sure if I’m getting that in Rome, not the way that I would like to anyway. At least being here in Scotland, I’m a little closer to Devon,” she shrugged her shoulders.

“Well I think that’s a very mature decision. You’ve definitely shown growth, that’s for certain.”

“Thanks,” she sighed heavily, “Now, what on earth do we think this thing is?” She asked, picking up the sword and setting it down again.

Giles let out a long breath, “I’m certain it’s a sword of power of some kind. I haven't spent a lot of time on this to be honest.” He pulled out a magnifying glass and peered at some writing on the blade.

Willow gestured with her hands, “May I?”

Giles moved aside and watched as Willow ran her hands over it touching the hilt and the length of the blade, “Oh there’s definitely something coming off of it. It’s subtle, I can barely make it out but it’s old and strong.” She shook her head squinting down at the blade. “I might have to try a few spells to help figure this one out.”

“Whatever you need to do,” Giles resumed his seat and pulled another book towards himself as he joined her in her examination of the sword.

Hours later Giles and Willow entered the living room with the sword in hand. Buffy and Spike were already there waiting for them along with Ruby and Xander. Faith and Callum came in a few moments after.

“So what’s going on?” Xander asked a minute later.

“Willow and I have been spending the afternoon working on Spike’s sword.”

“Buffy‘s sword, Spike’s bike,” Buffy said cheekily.

“We have co-ownership,” Spike corrected, “Yours mine and ours remember?”

“We really should have someone look at your bike and see if we can get it fixed.”

“Don’t remind me,” he whined.

“You can always just steal another one,” Xander smirked.

“Didn’t steal this one, Harris. Got it off a baddie who was done with it.” He said, wrapping an arm around Buffy.

“Well, I’m afraid the sword in question can't belong to either one of you.”

“Aww, man, every time I get a fun sword I have to destroy or give it back or– this stinks.”

“I feel you, Pet.”

Buffy sighed, settling into Spike on the couch, “Alright, so what’s wrong with this one?”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say ‘wrong’, perhaps ‘significant’ would be better.”

“How so? It’s not some big apocalypse-y something is it? Because I don't think I’m up for one of those right now,” Faith huffed as Callum wrapped his arms around her from behind.

“So totally last season,” Willow joked before catching Spike’s eye.

He wasn’t amused, having been part of the LA front just a few months ago. “So what’s the deal with it then?”

Giles straightened up at that and there was suddenly an almost childlike glow to his face, “This sword most certainly belonged to Sir Lancelot, given to him by his foster mother the Lady of the Lake.”

Callum‘s eyes lit up mirroring Giles, “You’re putting me on! Can I hold it?” He slipped his hands out from around Faith’s waist and held them out hopefully.

Giles was slightly taken aback by his sudden enthusiasm, Callum was normally more reserved around him, but he passed the sword over to him anyway.

“This is amazing, I can't believe I’m actually holding Sir Lancelot‘s sword!” Callum‘s eyes were alight with wonder.

“Woah, there buddy. You’re not gonna like totally geek-out on me, are you?” Faith asked him sardonically.

He looked at her with a very boyish grin, “Oh I think I’m well past that. I’m definitely geeking-out, you have no idea how obsessed I was when I was a kid.”

Faith gave him a bemused smile. Callum had been the very definition of a strong shoulder to lean on ever since the attack on the castle. Giving her everything she needed, even when she didn’t realize she needed it. He had still been going to work and running errands for his family per usual but when he was with her, he was utterly hers.

Faith had been so consumed with the goings on at the castle and her own inner thoughts over the last week and a half that she had hardly given a thought to his needs and wants outside of the point they intersected with hers in the bedroom. The light in his eyes now at seeing something he was so fervently interested in was startling. Something swelled in her chest, an emotion that was unfamiliar to her. What was this? She was happy to see him happy but she didn’t know what to call it and the confusion led to something much more familiar, anxiety.

Faith took a deep breath trying to breath through it the way Angel had taught her; before her anger flared. There was no reason she should be anxious or angry over the scene unfolding in front of her. Instead she tried focusing on the pure joy on Callum’s face as he examined the sword. She released the breath and watched the way his fingers skimmed lightly over the blade. Her very hot, tall, muscular Scottsman holding a very nice looking sword. Oh yeah… that was a much better, more familiar, feeling she could deal with.

“Yes, I confess I had a bit of an obsession when I was a child as well,’ Giles uttered in solidarity.

“What good little English boy didn’t?” Spike scoffed, “No offense Cal, you know what I meant.”

Giles cleared his throat, “It would seem that this sword is meant to be a key to some great treasure of Lancelots.”

“Do you think it could be the Holy Grail?”

“Surely not. From what Willow and I have uncovered it seems to be a personal treasure that he wished to keep secret and safe even from Arthur himself.”

Buffy crossed her arms in her lap clasping her elbows, “Probably why these biker dudes are after the thing.”

Spike inclined his head towards them, “Treasure usually means money. Do we have any idea where this treasure was kept?”

Willow stepped forward with a large map of Scotland, “I have a pretty good idea actually. I was able to use the sword in a mapping spell to find out where the lock for the key is and it looks like it is in some sort of a sea cave up north, I’ve never heard of the place.” She unfurled the map of Scotland, laying it out on the coffee table next to the spot where Buffy and Spike were sitting and pointed to a small charred dot, “Some place called Smoo Cave. Have any of you ever heard of it?”

Callum, Giles, and Spike peered at the map as she spoke.

“Oh sure I have,” Callum nodded, “family holiday one summer when my brother and I were in our teens. It’s an interesting place, beautiful and eerie at the same time, but I don’t think it was mystical. They run tours inside. It’s a pretty popular tourist spot. Hell we stayed at a bed and breakfast pretty close to the cave and it’s not the only place to stay up there. Pretty sure someone would have noticed.”

Willow shrugged, “Most mystical places are hidden in some way. I’ve heard of some really weird ones.”

Buffy turned towards Spike, “Didn’t you tell me Angel took you into one once that was inside of a tree?”

“The Deeper Well, yeah, that was one hell of a humbling experience. Talk about eerie. Great big bloody hole that goes all the way straight through the world, playing prison to countless comatose ancient baddies.”

“Plus Angel made you hold hands with him.”

“Bloody hell, Slayer, how is that your takeaway? Make it out like we were snogging, why don’t you?” he huffed, “For the rest of the class. Peaches was palming a wire. It was a battle strategy! Nothing else.”

Giles rolled his eyes, “Yes, well, I’m sure it was quite effective knowing the two of you. As we were saying, Willow and I believe that the sword will lead you to and unlock the location.”

Spike looked at the map too, “I’ve heard of Smoo Cave, never bothered going.”

Callum shrugged, “The cave is massive and has these amazing waterfalls inside. My brother and I got into a bit o’ mischief when we snuck off to explore on our own, climbed up to see the waterfalls from a higher ledge. Nearly got kicked out but the view was worth it.”

“Sounds pretty,” Willow said.

Giles continued, “Willow and I think Buffy is quite right that our demonic friends after the sword are looking for the treasure within.”

Buffy interlaced her fingers into Spike’s hand, “And you want us to check it out.”

“Well, I imagine it can wait a few more days until Spike is back to full health.”

“Bones are healing nicely, shouldn’t be long now.”

Be faster if you had some of my blood.

Buffy, you know how I feel about that. A taste here and there is all in good fun but I’m healing up just fine with the pig’s blood.

Buffy snorted loudly drawing Giles’s attention, “Is there something wrong Buffy?”

“Oh ah, no, just– I thought he might heal faster if–”

“That’s enough, Slayer. If you're in such a big hurry that you want to go knick a bag o’blood from the hospital for me, fine.”

“What’s the rush?” Xander asked.

“No rush really, unless we think these guys are going to try to get it on their own.”

“I don’t know if they could, not without the sword,” Willow admitted.

Faith cast a look at Callum then to Buffy, “Probably be smart to take backup anyway. I think Callum and I should come with you.”

Callum couldn’t help the grin on his face and Faith was surprised by how happy it made her to have put it there.

Buffy raised an eyebrow, “You seriously want to go on a treasure hunt with me and Spike?”

“Sure, why not? We can give the whole couples retreat thing a try. Maybe there will be something for us to kill.”

Callum grinned widely as he set down the sword and pulled her into what would be a crushing hug to anyone else but was only a comforting embrace to her, then kissed her temple, “When do we leave?”

Buffy laughed dryly, “Well, we should definitely give Spike’s leg a few more days and someone really should stay with Giles.”

“I’ll stay. I have to be fix-it-man anyway if I don’t want to keep being homeless-couch-surfing-man and I don’t need to go back to Rome for anything so I might as well hang on here.”

“Oh really, you don’t need to. Let's just plan this out first.” Giles stated.

“No, Xander has a point. I don’t like us being all spread out. I want us all together again as soon as we can, so it makes sense.”

Spike straightened himself up, “Look, Pet, I understand the bit with the house and Giles. But I got Ruby to think about now too so unless you feel like taking a baby vamp as a fifth wheel...”

Ruby had been sitting quietly listening. She shifted in her seat and arched an eyebrow, “I don’t need a babysitter here.”

Spike shook his head, “Course not, but I don’t think I’m comfortable leaving you here at the castle without one of us around. Will is going back to Rome and even if Xander does stay here I just, I don’t like it. It’s not like this sword thing is a pressing matter is it? Unless we think the rest of these biker guys are going to come after us. Not like they can reach us at the castle now that Red’s done her spell work. Might try jumping me in the tunnels again but what the hell? I also got to think about getting the bike fixed.”

Callum smirked at that, “Alright, English, how about we go on this trip and I get you set up with someone to help you get that bike fixed for a song?”

Spike folded his arms across his chest, “How do you propose to do that?”

Callum shrugged, “I know a guy.”

“Still doesn’t help us out with our little Ruby problem.”

“Seriously, I’m right here. An adult and everything.”

Willow cleared her throat, “What if I take her back to Rome with me?” she asked.

Everyone looked puzzled at Willow, “What are you talking about?” Buffy asked.

“Will? Are you sure you want to do that?” Xander asked seriously.

Willow caught his eye, “Not now Xan. I mean yeah I would have to make some slightly different travel arrangements to accommodate her but she could come back with me. She can stay in your room, Buff. It could be all the good. Just think about it. She doesn’t know any of the Slayers in Rome and it might do everyone some good to get her away from the castle for a little while. It would also give the Rome Slayers a chance to meet her. Andrew can do his watcher thing with her, you know how he loves to tell stories. He can fill her in on the last couple of apocalypses. She can train with Vi and the girls and I can keep an eye on her. It’s not like we’re going to be back in Rome long and it might even give you two a chance to continue on your seriously interrupted trip.”

“What about Kennedy?” Xander’s voice was cold.

Colder than Buffy had heard him in a very long time. Buffy turned towards Willow, “I want to know about that too. How do you expect that to work out? I mean even if she has moved out, do you think that she’s just gonna be totally fine training with Ruby?”

Willow shook her head, “I can handle Kennedy.”

“Will, you’re on a breakup trip. What makes you think you can handle Kennedy if she decides Ruby is the reason you’re breaking up with her.”

“Because our relationship was sinking like the Titanic long before I even left. We had a fight, Buffy. We had a fight,” her voice cracked.”

“Willow?”

“We had a fight and Dawn tried to defend me… Kennedy laid into her and it just sort of got worse from there.”

“She didn’t hurt the bit, did she?” Spike said with a barely contained growl.

Before she could even answer him Xander slapped his leg like he just realized something and looked at Willow seriously, “I knew there was more to this. You don’t want Ruby going with you to keep an eye on her, you want backup… maybe even a little protection?” Xander’s voice was quiet but his words hung in the air as realization settled over the room.

Willow looked from Xander to Ruby, eyes wide and frightened.

Spike stood up looking at Willow, he placed a gentle hand on her arm. He was angry that Kennedy would even think of hurting his friend. When had she become his friend? He kept his voice calm. “You want to tell us why you feel the need for backup at all? Never mind the fact you want a clueless fledgling to fill the post against a Slayer. One that I suspect has been doing a bit more than being an insensitive lover. You know we’re here for you.”

“Willow?” Buffy stood up next to Spike. She caught Faith’s eye and shrugged in a silent plea to give them the room.

Faith patted Callum on the chest, “Come on, babe. This isn’t for us.”

“Don’t fancy a trip to Rome do you?” Callum murmured to Faith.

Spike caught it and gave Callum a ghost of a grin. He knew he was only joking but it meant something to him that he would be willing, even after just knowing Willow for a few days. He gave Buffy’s hand a squeeze. It meant something to her too, he could tell.

When they had left Buffy spoke, “Sit. We need to talk.”

Ruby’s eyes were wide as she looked from Buffy and Spike on the couch and over to Giles who was looking deeply troubled in one of the barrel chairs and then to Xander who had collapsed in the other. Willow sat glumly at the opposite end of the couch she was on. She couldn’t keep her eyes from Ruby’s a moment ago but now Willow wouldn’t look at her. She cleared her throat, “Maybe I should go too… I—“

Willow shot her a pleading glance that froze her in place. Ruby settled back into the couch, still uncomfortable but willing to stay. Willow had been a pillar of strength holding her up the last few days, clearly she needed the same now.

“Willow, talk to us. We’re your friends, you’re family. What’s going on?” Buffy asked, “What happened with Dawn?”

“It’s nothing, just stupid stuff it—“

“Willow, if anyone knows what it’s like to be in a seriously unhealthy relationship, it’s us.” Buffy said, waving a hand between her and Spike.

Spike snorted, “Got that right, some of it even with each other. Past tense of course.”

Willow gave a watery chuckle and cleared her throat, “We’ve been fighting— a lot. For a while now. Mostly we just avoid each other or I avoid her— We’re just—“

“If you say oil and water I might break something,” Buffy said.

“How do you expect me to come to you when—“ Willow buried her face in her hands.

“Look Red, I sure as hell ain’t proud of it but the first part of our relationship was— You remember our talk the other day?”

“Yeah, I— Spike, this isn’t the same thing.”

“Not saying it is. Just saying, remember who you’re talking to.”

Willow hunched over a pillow in her lap. “We fight. Kennedy doesn’t really understand how things work with the Scoobies; she wasn’t too happy about Xander coming to stay.”

“Thought she was twitchy,” Xander mused.

“She doesn’t get the magic thing and— Meditation is a big part of maintaining balance for me. In order to wield the magics that I do now I have to maintain a pretty strict meditation schedule. It helps with the magic, it helps with my mental state, it's just all-around a good and I have to do it.”

“Meditation, equals good, got it.” Xander said.

Buffy eyed Xander disapprovingly, “Go on Will.”

“She keeps making snide comments about me not doing anything. She says I’m using it as an excuse— but I have to keep up with the meditation and the exercises the Witches in the Devon Coven gave me if I don’t want to backslide because the temptation is always there and I know— I’m better, I really am but if I don’t keep up with it I run the risk of going right back. She’s never seen me at my worst, she doesn’t know— she doesn't get magic she doesn’t—“ she broke off.

“She doesn’t understand you’re always going to be an addict,” Giles supplied, “one who is doing splendidly, I might add.” He gave her a fatherly smile, “I’m rather proud of the progress you’ve made.”

“You mean she doesn’t want to know. She’s denying a part of you exists that you’ve worked hard to come to terms with and it’s bringing out the worst in her. Gee where have I seen that one?” Spike gave Buffy a sideways glance.

“Riley.” Buffy nods.

Spike’s face soured, “Except Kennedy isn’t content taking her frustrations outside the relationship, she’s taking it out on you ain’t she?”

Willow paused for a moment, “We fight— she’s a Slayer so, you know, strong. I don’t think she meant it the first time and I— I didn’t want Dawn to know we were having problems. I didn’t want anyone to know…” she inhaled and shrugged out of the top she had on over her tank top. She took another deep breath and ran her hands down in front of her, palms facing herself flat like a pantomime. There was a shimmer of air around her and suddenly there were healing bruises visible on her arms and one on her cheek.

“You’ve been using a glamour.” Giles murmured as he placed a hand over his mouth. “Why didn’t you come to us? Any of us?”

“I just— she’s a Slayer, she’s sort of in charge in Rome when Buffy is gone and—“

“Why didn’t you go to one of the other Slayers for help?”

“I wasn’t really sure who I could trust. The girls kinda look up to her. I did sort of try to say something to one of the Slayers Kennedy had gotten a little carried away with during a training session, but she sort of just shrugged it off as slayer stuff and I ended up just backpedaling and I kinda laughed it off.”

“Willow—“ Xander started.

She held up a hand, “Most of the girls like Kennedy. I was just feeling a little… isolated I guess.”

Buffy looked at her confused “Willow, I only went to Paris because you talked me into it. Was this going on then too?”

Willow nodded, “Just a couple of arguments, we’d snipe at each other and then make up and it was fine. It really wasn’t that bad then.”

“So when I called you from LA looking for Buffy—“ Spike started, suddenly feeling guilty for taking Buffy away and not going straight to Rome.

“We were doing alright there for a while, but then…” she paused so long it didn’t seem like she was going to start talking again.

Ruby moved closer to her, “Willow?”

Willow couldn’t bring herself to look at any of them, “I guess I was sort of used to the stupid arguments after a while. I mean she would just start up over nothing and then I started avoiding her. Angel came to visit. She didn’t like that for some reason I still don’t understand unless maybe Angel said something about her getting a little rough with the Slayeretts during training. Then Connor started coming around a little and she started getting a little rough with me… but it still wasn’t— it wasn’t that bad…”

“How long?” Xander asked.

“She grabbed me a few times before but that was it really. We mostly just argued,” she gestured towards her current bruises, “This— this was—“ she turned her eyes towards Xander, “Remember your ‘Dr. Who’ marathon with Andrew?”

“Yeah, you said you were going to come for the third day and then— but I just thought that was because Buffy called about the castle.”

“It’s sort of what set her off. Sort of— I mean I guess it was technically Spike’s call a few days later really, but the same situation. Kennedy thought I was talking to Buffy again—“

Spike looked confused, “When I called? That was mostly business, we just discussed the warding around the castle and started toying with the idea of ensouling Ruby.”

“Yeah, that didn’t really matter. It kind of got me thinking. So when I got off the phone with you I placed an order at the local shop for supplies, they actually had what I needed on hand so that was super easy. Anyway, I started packing just after that and Kennedy, she just— she lost it. I didn’t even have time for a binding spell before— Dawn came in to see what was going on and then— then Kennedy grabbed Dawn’s arm and—“ for a moment Willow felt like she was back there. Packing her suitcase for Scotland in her bedroom when Kennedy came in.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing? Are you seriously just going to run off to Scotland just because she calls? Are you really such a codependent little bitch that you can’t let her deal with her own problems?”

“That was about the situation at the castle I think I can help out and—”

“What the hell are you going to do that they can’t handle up there? What the hell are you gonna do any better than them?”

“This isn’t just about research. They need a witch.”

“They can find another witch, you're not leaving!” Kennedy had grabbed her upper arms, she spun her around, shaking her violently and threw her down to the bed. Willow hit her open suitcase hard enough she knew she was going to have a bruise on her side.

Slowly she pulled herself back up into a standing position. “Ken— Kennedy, p-please stop! You’re being st-stupid, this is part of my job! I’ll just call the library they will understand, I’ll only be gone for about a week or— or so—“

“I'm not an idiot, I know you have a thing for Buffy!”

“That’s ridiculous. You're being completely paranoid!”

“How dare you talk to me that way!”

“Buffy asked for my help!”

“Buffy, Buffy, Buffy! It’s always all about Buffy! Like the sun shines out of her every orifice!”

“She’s my best friend Kennedy! We’ve been over this! She needs my help!”

“She’s been gone for months and she calls now? How stupid do you think I am?!”

“You don’t understand this isn’t jus—“

Willow had been cut off with a hard backhand to the face. “Shut up! You’re just looking for an excuse to leave me!”

Kennedy’s words might have stung if she had been coherent enough for them to register. The blow was so hard it had knocked her into the nightstand. Willow’s head swam and for a brief moment she wasn’t sure which way was up. But then there was another voice breaking through the fog and Willow pulled herself up instantly unwilling to show weakness.

“Yeah well I think you just gave her a pretty damn good one!” Dawn yelled from the doorway. “I think it’s time for you to leave!”

Kennedy rounded onto Dawn, grabbing her wrist as Dawn attempted a somewhat feeble smack of her own. Kennedy pulled her arm enough to topple Dawn to the ground.

Something about the action was enough to pull Willow out of her shock. She threw her hand out in front of her with an incantation and shoved Kennedy out of the bedroom door, into the hallway and against the wall. Then Willow struggled to get to her feet and help Dawn up. “You absolutely will not hurt her!” she said, standing up to her full height. “Dawn and I are leaving and when we get back you WILL be gone!”

Even in that instance Willow could feel the darkness growing. Using magic in anger, even for just a moment started to ignite forgotten feelings. Delicious feelings of power drowning out weakness. She took a deep breath and shook them off as she watched Kennedy retreat out the apartment door.

Willow collapsed onto the bed taking deep breaths and trying to calm herself. She’d almost lost control and that wasn’t something she could allow to happen. She could hear Dawn locking the front door and walking back towards her in the bedroom. When she looked up, Dawn was in front of her holding her arm where Kennedy had grabbed her, “What was that all about? Are you alright?”

Willow stood up shakily, “I’m fine Dawnie. Are you alright?”

Dawn eyed her dubiously, “What happened?”

“Nothing. Just a fight. I’m fine. I need to go to Scotland—”

“Was there another attack?” Dawn asked worriedly.

“No, Spike called, we were brainstorming how to strengthen the castle’s defenses and what to do with their captive. They need my help and Kennedy—“ Willow choked, she couldn’t say anything else.

Dawn narrowed her eyes, “Why would Kennedy be upset about that?”

“Dawnie, please don’t make a big deal out of this please? I’ll handle it, okay?”

Dawn rubbed her arm, “So what do you want to do?”

“Well first I’m going to finish packing and call Andrew. I’ll take you over there. Then I’m going to take Xander and we’re going to go up to Scotland to help Buffy out.”

“Willow, are you sure you’re okay?”

“Just go pack your things, alright? I can’t do this right now, Dawn.”

Dawn frowned and looked like she wanted to either fight or cry but she left the room with an uncharacteristic lack of drama for which Willow was grateful. It gave her a moment to ground herself. She pulled open the nightstand drawer and eyed the little jar of salve. It would help cut healing time down on the bruises that were coming. That was the real reason she had made it in the first place but she didn’t want to use it. She wanted to keep the bruises this time as a reminder why Kennedy wasn’t going to be getting any more second chances. She tossed it into her suitcase and continued packing, she also knew she didn’t want anyone else to see the bruises too so she decided to cast a now familiar glamor to cover the bruises new and old. Then she finished packing while deciding just what she was going to say to Xander and Buffy. The idea of seeing them, getting away from Rome and seeing her friends, was like a lifeline that she clung to desperately. Her friends would make everything better.

It took Willow a moment to come back to her senses and realize Ruby was absently rubbing her back and shoulder. It took her another moment to realize that she had apparently been telling the story out loud to the group and Willow choked as the words caught in her throat.

“She hurt you, she hurt my sister, you felt yourself going dark again and you didn’t think you could tell us?” Buffy’s voice came out hard and cold. Much more than she intended. Spike squeezed her closer to him. Let the girl talk, Pet. There will be time for our anger later.

Willow’s eyes shot up, “Buffy I’m— I thought I could handle it. I thought I—“

And suddenly Buffy understood, “You thought you deserved it…”

Willow let out a sob and buried her face in her hands. Ruby drew her closer to her. Her face was a mixture of concern and bewilderment. As much as they had talked over the last few days they hadn’t had much time to talk about Willow’s personal life and they had both been making it a point to avoid the subject of her current relationship. It suddenly hit her just how right Spike had been when he asked her to take things slowly with Willow. They were going to have to have a serious talk later. She pulled Willow against her a little more, stroking her hair. The desire to care for her and protect her was growing stronger by the second.

Buffy slipped off the couch sinking to her knees to hug Willow, “Look at me. We’ve all done horrible things. You do not deserve to be treated like this. No one does. Not me, not Spike, and not you. Do you hear me?”

Willow dissolved into fresh sobs as Xander rushed over to the other side of Willow.

Spike and Giles looked on for another moment until Willow settled her breathing. Buffy looked up at her friend, “We’re going to get you through this and we’re going to get you and Dawn up here safe and sound.”

“What about Kennedy?” Willow choked.

“I’ve been getting a few rather disturbing reports from the Australian Outback I think she would be particularly well suited to handle,” Giles said with an edge of steel in his soft tone. He got up from his seat fumbling with his crutches, “In fact I think I have some phone calls to make. Please excuse me.”

Giles gave Willow one last fatherly smile, “I will be in my suite with my contacts list if you need me.”

Xander patted Willow on the shoulder, “I’ll see if I can help move things along.”

“Thanks guys,” Willow choked out.

Spike watched the two men go and stood suddenly, not giving a damn about his leg, “Tea?”

Buffy arched an eyebrow at him and turned back towards Willow, “What do you think Will? Tea?”

She nodded weakly, “Yeah, tea sounds good. Thanks.”

“Be but a moment.” The truth was that he just needed to do something. Anything. What he wanted to do was rip out Kennedy’s throat and make her his third Slayer. He was angry enough to do it, soul or not. Buffy’s friend; his friend was in pain and fetching tea was something he could do for her. He’d annihilate a sparring dummy later. He went into the kitchen, leaving the three women in the living room.

Buffy gave Willow one last squeeze before rocking back on her heels and resuming her seat on the other couch. “Willow, have you talked to Kennedy since you’ve been here?”

She shook her head, “No. I’ve kinda been trying not to think about her…” She fingered the bruises around her arms lightly. Five blotched circles for each finger Kennedy had wrapped around her arm. Other bruises, in other places, were fading but still visible, including a nasty one on her chest just below her collarbone.

“Guess we have a lot to talk about too, huh?” Ruby asked quietly eyeing the marks on her pale skin.

Willow turned watery eyes towards her, “You sure you even want too?”

“You’re barmy if you think I’m going away that easy. If you can put up with a murdering-blood-sucking-mental-case I’m pretty sure I can figure out how to deal with whatever you got rolling around.”

“Yeah I kinda get the murdering part better than I like to admit.”

“You didn’t loose control and kill your want’a be girlfriend too did you?”

“No, I magically skinned the man who murdered my girlfriend and then I tried to destroy the world.”

“You did save my life before that though,” Buffy chimed in trying to remind Willow of the good she had done as well. As horrible as things were at that time, as awful as everything had been, Willow still had the presence of mind to save Buffy‘s life even when she already knew she couldn’t save Tara.

“Wow I— Okay, the mega witch thing is starting to make sense. Is it weird that I’m kinda turned on by that? That’s probably the demon part of me talking huh?” Ruby looked at her quizzically then cracked a smile.

“Yeah, probably,” Willow chuckled lamely.

“At least I got a grin out of you, that’s something. I can live with being weird,” she shrugged with a grin, “Sort of feels good to know you got a dark side too. Do you think some of that meditation stuff would work for me? You could teach me.”

That made Willow sit up a little straighter, “You’d really do that?”

“Course, if it helps keep us both in check, why wouldn’t I?”

Buffy shifted her gaze between the two women. Ruby still had her arms wrapped protectively around Willow and Willow had found one of Ruby’s hands entwining their fingers. Ruby released the hand around Willow’s waist in order to move a few stray hairs from in front of Willow’s eyes revealing a faded bruise near the outer edge of her left eye. She fingered it lightly, “That bitch doesn’t deserve you,” Ruby whispered.

“That’s what I’ve been saying from day one,” Spike said loudly as he brought tea in for Willow and Ruby.

Ruby quickly but gently extracted herself from Willow to take them from him and handed one to Willow. “A nice cup’a for you.”

“Thanks,” she murmured.

“Think nothing of it.”

“Where’s mine?” Buffy pouted playfully.

“Kitchen, didn’t want to risk spilling. I want to get some blood too.”

“I’ll come with you. Willow, are you alright if I go?”

Willow glanced at Buffy and back to Ruby, “Do you mind staying with me?”

“Wasn’t planning on going anywhere until sundown anyway,” Ruby smirked.

Spike held out a hand towards Buffy, “Think they’ll be just fine, Pet.”

A shot of electricity ran through Buffy’s hand along with barely contained rage that nearly edged out her own feelings towards Kennedy as she took Spike’s hand. Their eyes locked, “Spike?” She asked as she let herself be drawn up and out of the living room.

“Don’t want your tea getting cold do we?” Outwardly his tone was light, but through their link he was seething.

That trip Giles has planned for Kennedy had better be the one way kind.

It’s a permanent post and I doubt it’s a super happy one judging by the way he talks about it. I guess they are having trouble with some nasty called a yara-mara-who-who.

Spike cracked a genuine smile as they entered the kitchen, “You mean a yara-ma-yha-who?” he asked aloud.

“Oh humm yeah, that’s it.”

“Bloody brilliant,” he said, handing her a cup of tea and turning to prepare himself a mug of blood.

Buffy hopped up onto the counter between the sink in the microwave, “You know these things?”

“Enough to say I’m glad he’s not sending us, Love, nasty little blighters. Australia is full of that sort a thing. Even if the yara-ma-yha-who don’t get her, there’s a good chance something else will.”

Buffy frowned, “I don’t know, as angry as I am at Kennedy….”

“Oh come on, Buffy, it’s not like it’s a death sentence. Place started out as a penal colony and those folks survived just fine. I imagine Giles thinks it’s a bit of poetic justice in a way. As nasty as these things are, they normally leave their prey alive,” he shrugged a shoulder, “Well I say usually— 50-50. Point is that it’s not exactly a death trap. I mean if you exclude all the supernatural nasties that go bump in the night, even the regular creepy crawlies are pretty dangerous. Given the bitch happens to be a Slayer I’d say she actually has a fair chance really.” He huffed.

“But who’s to say we don’t deserve that too?”

Spike narrowed his eyes at her realizing where her mind was. Their initial relationship really was a train wreck and it had hurt them both on many levels. “Well for starters ours was a mutually screwed up relationship. We beat the hell out of each other didn’t we? And not just physically, Pet.”

“Well yeah, pretty much what made it so sick and twisted.”

Spike shrugged and took a sip of blood, leaning against the counter on the other side of the microwave, “Could have stopped you if I wanted.”

“Doubt it. And you’re seriously not making me feel any better about this.”

“Far as I’m concerned that wasn’t even close to what Kennedy is doing to Willow. You and I— I’m not saying it was right, far from it, but we had something of an understanding. We started out trying to kill one and other, not really your typical meet-cute now is it?”

“No, I guess not.” She sighed, thinking about all the times they had tried to kill each other. Her mother standing over Spike with an ax, Sike taunting her about Angel, and even the time she beat the crap out of Spike when he wouldn’t let her turn herself in when she thought she had killed Warren’s ex-girlfriend.

Spike’s voice sounded through their link and she realized that she must’ve been projecting towards him. That was a different time, Love, and you know it. We are both different people now. “There are much worse punishments than being sent to Australia, Pet. Point of fact, plenty of folks live there happily and by choice I might add. She’ll be fine, and if some beastie gets her then ‘Que sera’. Lot better than the bitch deserves if you ask me. Not all that different from sending any of the girls to their new posts really.”

Buffy shrugged and hopped off of the counter, “I guess you have a point.” She strode closer to him. I’m going to do a sweep of the castle and call Dawn. I expect to see you upstairs later.”

“I’m a might curious about how the bit is doing myself. You talk to her since Red got here?”

“Yeah, sure I have, she didn’t say anything about Willow.”

“Yeah well the witch has certainly put on a convincing ‘nothing to see here’ show.”

“I still can’t believe I didn’t see it.”

“Didn’t want you to see it. Ashamed I suspect.”

“It’s just scary how good she was at hiding it.”

“You know how you were when we were together before, you would have staked me to keep your friends from finding out about us. Is it really all that surprising?”

She looked down at the floor, “This isn’t the same thing.”

“She’s just been putting up the emotional smokescreen a bit thicker than you did. Hell of an actress it turns out.”

“No kidding… I think that’s what bothers me so much.” She wrapped her arms around him loosely and they stood there in silence for several minutes while Spike sipped his blood.

“How’s the leg?” Buffy finally murmured against his chest.

“Walking better tonight aren’t I?”

“You’re still taking the elevator back upstairs.”

“Of course, promised my lady I’d take care of myself.”

Buffy made a happy little hum as she pressed into him closer, “Maybe you deserve a reward.”

He set down his mug with a grin, allowing Buffy to lean in for a kiss and moaned when she pulled away a little too soon. “You’re a tease, Slayer.”

“Just a little something for you to think about. I’ll see you upstairs, give me about an hour?”

“As you wish,” he drawled.

Buffy pinched the bridge of her nose, as she held her phone to her ear.

“Hello?”

“Oh thank god, Dawnie,” her breath came out a little too relieved.

“Buffy? What’s wrong?”

“I— I just talked to Willow and— Dawn… did you know? I mean Will says that you didn’t know. She said that she’s been hiding it from you, but did you know about what Kennedy was doing to Willow?”

“I knew about the night she brought me over to Andrew and Vi’s. I mean I sort of freaked out on her when she smacked Willow and she just grabbed my arm. The bruise is already gone thanks to Willow’s stinky salve. I’m fine. What’s been going on with Willow? Is she going all scary again?”

“No, it’s not that. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m still at Andrew and Vi’s place. It’s been all school and studying and movie nights with ice cream. I haven’t seen Kennedy at all.”

“Okay, that’s great. But why didn’t you say anything about it?”

“Will was super freaked and she just wanted to get up to the castle ASAP, and then I guess I was just afraid you’d freak out. This whole thing has just been kinda crazy. I just didn’t want to make it worse. I remember when Will broke my arm and this whole thing was a bit too much like a bad re-run.”

“This isn’t the same thing, Dawn. It’s kinda the opposite of what was going on with Tara…”

“Is Willow really okay?”

“She’s safe here and we’re keeping an eye on her. Do you know if Kennedy has moved out yet?”

“I went back the other day with Vi, Kennedy wasn’t there and it looked like most of her stuff was gone but not all of it so I just grabbed some more clothes and came back with Vi.”

“Alright, I guess that’s good news…”

“Buffy? Is everything alright?”

“I— I should have been there. You are my responsibility Dawn. Not Willow, not Vi, not Andrew. Me.”

“Just stop. First of all, you’re not just on a sex romp with your boyfriend, you are actually working. Like paying the bills and everything. Second, I’m the one who told you you should go up to the castle with Spike. Third, I’ll be 18 next month, Buffy, I’m not really a little kid.”

“I swear Spike just had this conversation with Ruby.”

“That’s the new vamp Willow got the orb for right?”

“Yeah. Humm… Dawnie, listen. There are a few things I was waiting to talk to you about but things keep coming up and the timing has just been really off and it looks like we might be taking another detour before we start heading back down to Rome and—“

“You’re thinking about moving up there permanently aren’t you?”

“I— how did you know?”

“It’s not hard to figure out. I know Italian isn’t your thing, Buff. You barely go out unless you have someone with you that speaks the language and I know how much you like being up there close to Giles… it’s sort of logical.”

“When did you get all insightfully?”

Buffy could almost hear her shrug over the phone, “I dunno. So…should I be looking into transferring my credits? I’m sure it’s too late to enroll for the fall semester, how soon do you want to do this? Would we be staying in the castle or are you already house hunting? What about Willow and Xander?”

“Wohh, slow down. We sort of already have a place in the works for all of us.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I— I kinda thought we would have already made it back down to you by now and I could show you pictures or something. I don’t want to mess with school, I mean, if you didn’t want to move up here at all I would understand and you could stay with Andrew and Vi, but I—“

“Do I get my own room?”

“A big one with double closets and your own private bathroom.”

“Are we talking shower only or is there a tub?”

“Both. Nice big tub.”

“Rent or own?”

“Own.”

“Spike is on board?”

“Totally.”

“And I get to make all the decorating decisions in my room?”

“If you want to, yeah, absolutely!”

“Sold!”

“Are you sure?”

“Totally!”

Buffy couldn’t help a laugh as relief washed through her. “Cool, you start getting things ironed out with school, I’ll see what I can do on this end. I was sort of hoping to get into our new place before Christmas so you can start the spring semester up here but I don’t know how realistic that is.”

“Sounds more realistic than trying to get into the fall semester now. We’ll figure it out, Buff. How is Willow anyway?”

“Pretty rough. We still have a lot to talk about.”

[fictumlibrary]

multiples of 5 for rina and taichi 🤡

how do they hide their pain when they’re upset? do they try to hide their pain?

they do what they do best: act. both of them have the bad habit of covering up any negative feelings with smiles and laughs because they're clowns. the thing is that they're close enough that they can tell when the other is just acting, so it doesn't work on each other.

if something already happened to tear them apart, what would make them come back together? is it even possible?

they were already separated when taichi was sent into mankai as a spy and rina was just super confused because she wasn't told anything, so she thought taichi had left god troupe without telling her and he also wasn't talking to her (since he felt guilty and reni didn't want her knowing, but she didn't know that) so they didn't talk for a while. they finally make up when she's told the truth and she becomes part of mankai instead. after that she resolves to never let that happen again and she is reLENTLESS so rip. as for taichi, he doesn't want to go for that long without talking, so it would definitely be possible to get over any obstacles. long story short: they're too soft and emo for each other to stay apart for too long.

who misses the other more, or really thinks about them more?

at first it's definitely rina since she was the one who had feelings first and was aware of them. while he's being a spy, it's definitely taichi, since he's consumed with guilt and can't stop thinking about what rina would think. after that i'd probably say rina again, just because, once again, she's more in tune with her feelings and therefore thinks about them more. taichi catches up soon enough, though.

do either of them have any vices?

taichi sometimes has the need for attention, though that mainly comes from a need to be accepted by his peers. rina tends to let her emotions build up inside until they spill over and she causes a scene.

what’s the one deal breaker for either of them (lack of communication, fear of commitment, etc)?

for both of them, it comes down to hurting people. they don't have any time for anyone who intentionally and unapologetically hurts someone.

who’s the first to blame themselves?

taichi. they both blame themselves, but rina will go through her emotions first before getting to that point whereas taichi will go straight there.

do they have any regrets (regarding the other, or just in general)?

most of their recent regrets come from what happened during the autumn troupe's show. taichi obviously regrets what he did to mankai, but he also regrets leaving rina out of it, especially after he realizes just how hurt and concerned she was. on the opposite side of that, rina regrets not getting involved sooner, if only so taichi didn't have to suffer alone.

who sleeps on the couch? can either of them sleep without the other?

neither since they have separate rooms, though taichi would definitely volunteer if that wasn't the case. they can sleep without the other, but rina can't sleep unless they've sorted out what's wrong first. she refuses to go to bed angry at taichi or anyone else close to her if she can help it.

who would be more likely to save who?

honestly it could be either of them depending on the situation. before they're even dating they're ride or die besties okay they would die for each other. it never gets that dire but they would sldkfjskldfj

if one of them were to come back after a long time, who would come to who? would it go well? would the other person take them back?

since rina is the one to come to taichi after the autumn troupe drama, i think it would be the other way around this time. it would go well because rina would see taichi and just immediately go in for the hug.

angsty relationship asks

[eowynstwin]

a break in the narrative / neighbors

previous

On a cold winter's day in the early morning hours, you knock on your neighbor Captain John Price's door to make a noise complaint. - “I hope you don’t mind if I join you this morning?” - ao3

You learn John’s routine, at least as far as it overlaps with yours, fairly quickly.

He showers first thing in the morning, when normally you are still in bed trying to convince yourself out of it. In the limbo of fading sleep, it is a Herculean effort not to imagine it, not to picture steaming hot water flowing across broad shoulders, between and along full, plush pectorals, dripping along chiseled arms and down that narrow waist to…

You shake your head hard, and then wince when the action sends your toothbrush stabbing into the inside of your cheek. You are drowsily and unwillingly awake. The flow of water on the other side of the wall shuts off. You pretend, as you move on through your own routine, that you’re not thinking of long, strong legs, or anything else that lives below his abdomen.

It’s harder to hear the further away you get from your shared wall, but with a little time you’ve learned how to pick out the sounds of him working in his kitchen. There might be the thunk—never a harsh clang—of a pan on his stove, or the soft clicks of his fridge opening and closing. He doesn’t cook for very long, and washes his dishes in the sink rather than the washer.

You find that little detail endearing. From what little you know of him, it just seems appropriate.

There’s usually some quiet after that, and you’re pretty sure it’s because he’s eating. You picture him standing in his kitchen, leaning against the counter, plate balanced in one big hand. He hasn’t struck you yet as someone who would sit down alone to eat.

And he’s always alone. You have not heard anyone else in his flat. Not once.

You wonder at that as your own breakfast heats up. Does he have friends? Family?

A partner?

Your microwave beeps. You scowl at yourself. That’s none of your business. You don’t even know the man.

After he eats, you usually hear him step outside. You’ve peeked through your window, once, and have found him smoking a cigar, standing casually on his front doorstep. He’d been looking out into the street, his gaze moving evenly and methodically across the surrounding neighborhood, calm and attentive to the morning.

SAS. You’d known immediately what he was doing. An unexpected sense of safety had flooded you immediately, and continues to resonate in the here and now as you hear his door open and close.

Today, though, that safety is threaded with a little anxiety. You have to leave early, and it will be the first time you’ve faced him since that morning you’d spent trying to talk to him while ogling his bare chest.

He hadn’t been shirtless when you’d discovered his smoking habit. He probably is not now, either. You cannot decide if it’s a pity or a relief.

You check your hair a little nervously in the mirror hanging by your front door. Breakfast sits warm in a deep jacket pocket, a couple of English muffins wrapped in their plastic and bundled into a tea towel. Lunch is in your work bag, which sits ready and patiently waiting by your feet.

You’re just delaying. Your hair is fine. You breathe a little shakily, pick up your bag, scold yourself for a simpering idiot, and leave your flat.

“Morning, John,” you say as you step out, smiling, trying your best to sound casual.

His gaze comes to you immediately, and your knees feel very weak when those gorgeous blue eyes warm with a smile.

Goodness. Does he smile at everyone like that?

“Mornin’, love,” he replies, and you resolutely ignore how much love—which half your coworkers call you, too, stupid—makes your heart flutter. “Early start?”

“Yeah,” you say, locking your door, feeling your face already heating with a blush. “And a full day, too.”

He turns his head and exhales a puff of bluish smoke. “Wish I could say the same.”

You wrap both hands around the strap of your bag, lean against your door. You can’t help but surreptitiously look him up and down. House slippers, large. Long legs, hugged by worker’s denim, loose at the ankle and snug at the thigh and hip. A tight gray t-shirt providing an easy reminder of what you’d seen in all its glory only a few days ago. And—

“Mutton chops,” you say.

His brows raise. “Sorry?”

You slap a hand over your mouth. “That wasn’t meant to be out loud!”

John gives a laugh that sounds like it isn’t often used. The beard you’d first met him wearing is now trimmed neatly into two even swoops of dark auburn that make his smile look even fuller than before. “I suppose you haven’t seen ‘em, have you?”

You’ve often heard the buzz of his razor going as you’ve dragged yourself out of bed. At that point, of course, his shower is done.

Does he shave shirtless, with a towel around his waist?

You blink hard and shake that traitorous thought out of your head. “Sorry, I—don’t get me wrong, I mean, it suits you!”

The bristles of his mustache sound against the palm of his hand as he rubs his face. “You think so?”

Those gorgeous blue eyes are on you again, soft and appreciative, the same as they had been the morning you’d first met him. It makes your entire body feel a little warmer than it should.

“Anyway,” you say fretfully, scratching at the strap of your work bag, “I wanted to say, I imagine it’s hard to be home sometimes, isn’t it? With nothing to do, I mean.”

He gives a huff, but this time it’s a laugh that’s only trying to be amused. He looks out into the street. “Shouldn’t be, really.”

Most days, you hear him pacing. You think you’re able now to puzzle out his moods according to the tempo he beats against the hardwood floor. Slow, even, steps seem to be days that are better—those are days you don’t have to knock on the wall after he’s turned the TV up. When he blasts some sort of audio, it’s always following a stretch of agitated, arrhythmic circuits that travel the whole length of his flat.

You’ve noticed, though, that when you knock, and after he’s turned it down, the pacing does not resume.

You open your mouth to say something when your phone starts dinging furiously. You huff, dig it out, look at the screen—and roll your eyes.

“And I’ve kept you again, haven’t I?” John says ruefully.

“No!” you exclaim, clearing the notifications and looking up at him. “No, it’s just my coworker losing his bloody mind.” You suck on your cheek. “I should probably get going, though, sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, picking up an ash tray and stubbing out his cigar. The rueful quirk of his brow does not leave his face, and the smile he gives seems perfunctory. “Get there safe, will you?”

“Sure, John,” you reply. You want to say something back, tell him something that will make his day easier, but you don’t know what would help, or even be welcome. So you just say, “Thanks.”

You’ve only walked a little ways away when you look back at him, and see him standing with his hand on his open door, about to go inside.

As if he’s felt you gaze on him, he turns and looks at you. You stop in your tracks.

How are his eyes still so blue even this far away?

You lift one hand up. Wave a little hesitantly.

He waves back, easy and casual as you please.

You duck your head, and hurry away.

Your heart jumps to your throat the next morning as you hear him step outside.

You do not need to leave early today, but you’re at your mirror anyway, tidying up your bed head and frowning at yourself.

This is a terrible idea. You have no business doing what you’re about to do. You’re only opening yourself up to disappointment. He’s no one to you, why are you even thinking of doing this? So what if he’d been fucking disappointed when you’d had to leave? You’re just neighbors. It’s been what, a week since he’d come home? If he’s getting attached, it’s no responsibility of yours to deal with.

And really, had he even been disappointed? It’s not like you know him. Maybe that’s just his face. Maybe it’s just your overactive imagination.

Part of you knows you’re making excuses. You aren’t prone to that kind of stupidity. You’ve heard him pacing. You remember shouldn’t be, really.

You know what it’s like to be lonely.

So you get one big mug of coffee in hand, open your front door, and step outside.

John, as expected, is standing there with a lit cigar between his fingers. “Morning, love,” he says, brows lifted. Of course, he hasn’t expected to see you today.

“Morning,” you reply, smiling.

It’s a little colder today, and he’s in a fleece-lined jacket and dark beanie. This surprises you.

“I didn’t think you could get cold, John,” you say, indicating the gear with your mug. “Unless I really was dreaming the first time we met.”

You want to cringe at yourself immediately. Stupid. You have no intention to flirt. You're just being a good neighbor.

The mutton chops spread in a smile. “Bit different when there’s no heat at your back, isn’t it?”

“I suppose,” you reply. You bite the inside of your cheek. You hope you sound casual. “I hope you don’t mind if I join you this morning?”

The expression he gives is one that is going to live with you for a long, long time. He blinks at you, slowly, and fixes you with a gaze that goes from surprised to pleased. As it was before, it’s an expression that tells you that you have done something more meaningful than you can know.

“Be happy to have you,” he says, his tenor low and soft.

So, you leave your doorstep to stand with him at his own. He steps to the side, giving you space, and though there is a polite distance between you, something is humming in the empty air.

He surprises you by offering his cigar. Your brows shoot up, and you look from it up to him.

“Maduro,” he says. “Don’t worry—wouldn’t offer if it wasn’t good.”

“Oh,” you say, “thank you, but I don’t smoke.”

He shrugs and takes a drag. “Just came outside to stand with me, then?”

You sip your coffee. It’s the same question you’ve been agonizing over all morning. “Maybe I’m tired of my own company.”

He huffs at that. “Think I know how that feels.”

Silence falls between you, and it is surprisingly comfortable. You think it’s because the two of you are used to not actually speaking to each other—your days occur in parallel, intersecting only with knuckles on the wall. Conversation has not been necessary to be the kind of neighbors you are.

So why are you doing this? Why are you out here, if you’re not even going to speak to him? You’ve been content with the degrees of separation that have characterized your acquaintance with John Price.

Haven’t you?

You peek at him through your lashes. He is every bit as handsome in profile as he is straight on. The mutton chops make his face look fuller, incongruously younger, despite the crows’ feet at the corners of his eyes.

“Do you like to read?” you find yourself asking.

He turns back to you, brows raised. Somehow the cool morning has seeped into his eyes, sky blue tinted almost periwinkle, sharp and intense and yet still undeniably warm. “Read?”

You have to avert your gaze. Look at the pavement, a sign on the street. “I have plenty of books I wouldn’t mind loaning, is all. It would be something to do.”

His gaze is still on you. You can feel its weight, like hands on your arms, around your wrists. You bring the rim of your mug to your lips and pretend that nothing inside of you is thrumming with the awareness of it.

“Like what?” he asks.

You sip, insisting to yourself that it’s only the heat of your drink warming your ears. “Different things. A retrospective on the Battle of Actium, a Da Vinci biography, an Iranian professor’s memoirs. Those are nonfiction, but I have plenty of novels, too. Space operas. Westerns.” Romances, too, but you aren’t going to mention those.

“Sounds like you’ve got a big bookshelf,” says John, and you think he’s smiling at you.

“And too many books,” you agree. “Which you’re welcome to, if you like.”

You hear him exhale, see pale smoke bloom in front of you both. The scent is earthy and sweet, and a part of you regrets not taking his earlier offer.

The same part of you wonders if it’s what he tastes like.

You’re saved from having the throttle yourself for the thought when John replies, “Think I’ll read ‘em all.”

You blink, and look at him incredulously. “All of them?”

He grins. “You’ve offered a bored soldier on leave something to do, love. There’s a few men I know who’d propose on the spot for that.”

You go completely blank for a single heartbeat. Your brows are trying to make it into your hair. All of the blood in your body rushes to your face, and finally you sputter in protest, “That’s—I—really, now!”

John only adds fuel to that embarrassed flame when he laughs at your expression. It’s a good laugh, a real one, that comes from deep in his chest.

“That’s ridiculous, John, you’ve having me on!” you grouse, covering your mouth with your mug.

“You don’t know too many military men, then,” he chuckles. “They’d fall all over themselves for a pretty girl like you.”

You think your whole body might be hot enough to start steaming. You look at him petulantly. “It’s not nice to tease.”

He smiles and takes a drag. Paints the air translucent blue with his breath. “Haven’t been.”

It’s too much—you can’t string any sensible thoughts together to bring this conversation back under control. This is not how you’d expected the morning to go, is not what you would ever admit to having hoped for.

“I’ll just get those books, then,” you mutter, trying to ignore the smile he wears as you leave his doorstep.

You have a moment to breathe back inside your flat. You realize, as you search along one shelf, that your heart is pounding in your chest, and the scent of his cigar has trapped itself in your lungs. This not good. You should not be this easy.

John is just a bored soldier on leave. He said it himself. You have no business getting worked up over some flirting that likely, to him, means nothing.

If he was even flirting at all, you remind yourself to consider. He’d certainly been amused at your reaction. You don’t think he’d been making fun, but certainly he could’ve just been pushing your buttons.

Haven’t been rings low and purring in your ears.

You return with the three books you’d mentioned, and John takes them all into the crook of his elbow. The stack is dwarfed in his arm.

“Which one should I start with?” he asks, ashtray and cigar stub balanced in his other hand.

You give a surprised laugh. “Why should I care?”

He tilts his head, pins you with amused eyes. “‘M relyin’ on your expertise, I’m afraid. Been a while since I’ve read anything other than reports. Might not be smart enough for the real deal, anymore.”

SAS. “I doubt that.”

He shrugs, and looks at you expectantly.

“Da Vinci, then?” you suggest.

“He did that painting, didn’t he?” John asks. “Louvre. The woman. Uh…”

“Mona Lisa?” you supply, laughing and scandalized. “You have to be teasing now!”

“Well, maybe I’ll be smart enough to talk to you after I finish the book,” John says, accommodating with self-deprecation. “Da Vinci it is.”

You can’t help yourself. “Should I assign you comprehension questions, too? Name three things you remember and such?”

John smiles. “Be something else to do, anyway.”

Oh, this is dangerous. Every good sense in your head is pounding on the inside of your skull, warning you in one unified voice. Bored soldier, pretty girl, knocking on walls, books lent and borrowed. The story writes itself in your head, saccharine and heady—followed swiftly by ugly, mundane, inevitable denouement.

You are familiar now with the narrative of disappointment. You do not want John to wear its mantle.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” you say lightly, taking a swallow of your coffee as casually as you can. “I need to get ready for work.”

“Sure,” says John. He looks at you too fondly to stomach. “Appreciated the company.”

“Anytime,” your dumb, traitorous, too-honest mouth gives away.

The next morning begins as the rest do. John’s shower wakes you up. You resolutely don’t think about hot water and hotter skin as you drag yourself out from beneath the covers.

You brush your teeth. His water shuts off. A pan thunks in his kitchen while your first cup of coffee brews.

Silence. You drink. He eats.

You make your second cup. He steps out for his cigar.

A decision hangs on the knob of your front door.

This routine has been comfortable. Safe in its predictability. Measurable in its contributions to your daily life. The previous morning does not have to be anything other than an interesting deviation, a graze up against something more exciting and infinitely more fraught. You can keep the memory of John’s smile, John’s laughter, John’s kind blue eyes sweet and harmless in its ephemerality.

You can ignore the disappointment that stretches hairline cracks across that facade.

Your mug is warm in your hands as you stand in your living room, still and unmoving. From the quiet, the sound of a book falling over on your shelf, lost now of the support of its fellows, captures your attention.

You realize he is going to have to return your books at some point, and relief suddenly floods you. The decision is already made, isn’t it?

He smiles at you when you step out into the morning chill, bundled like you were the first morning into two coats. “There she is! Was hoping you’d join me again.”

Does it show on your face? The warmth that blooms inside of you at that sentiment so openly expressed?

The corner of his eyes crinkle as you stand there, transfixed and unable to hide your pleasure at his words.

“Morning, John,” you finally say. “Finish Da Vinci yet?”

As before, he steps aside, makes room for you on his doorstep. As before, you take the space next to him.

He takes a drag, eyes still on you and creased with amusement. “Not quite,” he says, exhaling. “Always was a poor student. Might take some time.”

You sip from your mug to hide your smile. “At least it’s something to do.”

The smoke from his cigar lingers in the air, mingling with the steam of your coffee.

next

a/n: the books I referenced here are The War That Made the Roman Empire by Barry Strauss, Leonardo Da Vinci by Walter Isaacson, and Reading Lolita in Tehran and Things I’ve Been Silent About by Azar Nafisi. I wholeheartedly recommend every single one.