#oh and some grunts! too far away to identify but the shape is there

[russilton]

George and fish post George and fish post george and fish post George-

[phoenixyfriend]

#9 “Tell me to stay and I will be here for as long as you’ll have me.” with Obi-Wan & Jango & Satine? (... or Obi-Wan/Jango/Satine, I'm not picky)

Hurt/Comfort Dialogue Prompts

Oh, I'm going to make this deeply stupid and AU because I got struck by a plot bunny and I'm taking it out on a prompt.

Satine hates the man named Jango Fett.

They've met before, once or twice. He'd known her father, before the latter's assassination. She'd met Jango when she was a child, before he'd lost his people at Galidraan, before she'd lost her sister to a terrorist group and her father to a blaster shot. She'd thought him gruff but kind, at the time, and very sad.

Now, she just wants him to trip on a pipe and brain himself on one of the many rusted, broken beams around them. She won't strangle him herself, won't turn her back on her oaths and commit violence, but she's not too proud to hope for an accident.

"Pick up the pace, princess."

"I am a Duchess," she snaps, lifting her skirts to step delicately over something that might have been machinery at one point.

The only light they have is from his helmet, and the only reason she hasn't fallen from the fabric catching on some matter or other is that he has a sense for when she gets caught.

He'd suggested that she pull the skirts up to gird her loins, and then found that the numerous layers made it impossible. He'd offered to cut the skirt down to something more manageable, without depriving her of the coverage she still needed in the cold of these darks, dank ruins. He'd then found that the vibroblade did nothing against the skirts.

(She was a pacifist, not stupid. Of course her clothing was reinforced.)

"I don't care," he says back through grit teeth. She's not sure why he hasn't just left her for dead, but she's not going to complain. Much. "Just move."

They've been making their way through the ruins for hours. They still don't know how they got here. They have no way to find out.

They just head up, and hope it gets them somewhere.

(Signs litter the walls, all in a script unfamiliar to them. Archaic, or simply foreign, they don't know.)

"Wait."

She freezes.

Fett moves behind her, light shifting with the noise of his beskar, and then he says, "I'm going to turn out the light for a second. Give us a minute to adjust to the dark after I do. I think I saw something glowing, but I can't tell with the flash on."

She nods, sure that he can see it, and they are engulfed in the dark again.

It's not for long, because the glow that Fett described is real. Faint, far off down the hallway and a pale blue that winks in and out in multiple spots at once, but there.

"We'll need the light to make it there without you getting rust sickness," Fett mutters. He flicks the headlight back on. "Might get some kinda hint out of it, whatever it is."

"You'd risk it?"

"Don't have any other choice," Fett tells her. "Move out, Princess."

----

They reach the blue glow, entering a large, cavernous atrium, just as dark as the rest of the ruins so far, but much less cramped than the previous hallways.

It is mostly floating motes of something, and the something in question makes Satine's skin crawl. She has no idea what it is. She doesn't think Fett does either, but he's a little busy trying to get a scan of the room around them. Satine can just barely see the floor from the blue light, and she steps closer carefully. Part of her screams about deep sea fish and wild space ancients, creatures that use light to hunt, but they've had nothing else yet. No hints.

This place feels ancient. Perhaps the spirits that linger are even older.

"Kryze!"

"I'm fine," she calls back, deliberately refusing to understand the man's worry. She just... reaches out.

And one of the blue lights comes to her.

Fett swears and comes closer, but Satine pulls her hands to her chest, cradling the little light to herself. It's larger than she'd expected, perhaps the size of a Chandrila plum. It's warm, too.

"You're going to get yourself killed," Fett snaps.

"It's friendly," she says. "I think."

"You think," Fett hisses, the noise crackling through the vocoder. He puts a hand on her shoulder. "Listen--"

The lights coalesce. They are, for the moment, blinding, and Satine flinches away.

Fett has a blaster out before Satine can even open her eyes again. She knows the noise better than she'd like. She can identify which blaster it is by the click of the safety alone.

Any Mandalorian her age can.

"Oh dear," an unfamiliar voice says. "I'm afraid that--well, yes, Mando, hello there. I'm afraid that the blaster won't do much to me. I'm already long dead, you understand."

When Satine manages to blink the spots out of her vision, it's to see a glowing, slightly blue-tinged human figure in clothing that is distinctly Jedi, if very... very outdated.

The man--she thinks it's a man, beards usually indicate such--smiles and waves at her. "I apologize for the light show. It's been quite some time since I've had reason to take a solid form."

"I can imagine," Satine says, her voice weak even to her own ears. The man isn't much older than her, or at least wasn't when he... died? Or perhaps he was elderly when he died, and just rolled his age back as this spirit for some reason.

He smiles kindly, and then looks past her shoulder to Fett. He rolls his eyes, and smirks, and says, "Su cuy'gar, Mand'alor."

"I am not Mand'alor," Fett growls out. "I don't hold that title anymore."

"You do in spirit," the figure claims. "None other can say the same, not yet."

Before Fett can argue further, the man smiles pleasantly, and says, "I don't suppose you could remove yourselves from my shrine? Just a few steps back, thank you."

Satine looks down. She notices the raised platform and carved sigils and the stone column she hadn't seen in the earlier darkness, and flushes. She steps back and down, and Fett does the same.

"Now," the figure says. "As I was saying--"

"What are you?" Fett demands. "Ghost of a Jedi?"

"Something like that," the figure allows. "I was not just a Jedi, but... yes, I'm something you could call a ghost. I'd prefer simply a spirit."

"Like the ka'ra," Satine mutters, and grunts in disagreement.

"Those, Duchess, are only Mandalorians."

"Then I suppose it is fitting that I am both," the spirit says, and his form shifts.

Armor. It does not cover all of him--his pelvis and head are distinctly bare--but the shapes are distinctly Mandalorian. The colors aren't quite exact, with the blue glow he carries about him, but she's fairly certain she's seeing blue, green, and black. Reliability, duty, and justice.

Fitting, for a Jedi. The symbol for the Order is on his pauldron, even, and the hilt of his saber hangs easy at his side.

The gasp that comes through Fett's vocoder is harsh. She can't imagine he likes this.

"You--" he cuts himself off, takes a breath audible even past the helmet, and tries again. "There is no way you are Tarre Vizsla."

"No, I'm afraid not."

"So you must be Obi-Wan Kenobi."

The man smiles and tucks his hands into his sleeves, the swinging of the fabric allowing them the glimpse of vambraces beneath. He ducks his head in a shallow nod. "I am indeed."

Satine feels how empty of blood her own face is. She can't imagine Fett is doing much better.

"This is the Kar'ta-yaim be talyc rang," Fett mutters, horrified in a way that Satine feels her own self echoing. "You..."

"Well, we certainly never called it that," Kenobi says, head tilting faintly. "But I imagine that after the siege... Yes, Temple of Bloodied Ash would certainly reflect our final days."

It was one of the few stories that didn't pit Jedi and Mandalorians against each other, in the histories.

It had been the first attempt to coexist, the warriors of the saber and the warriors of iron. None managed to wed the two philosophies the way Kenobi had, but that hadn't mattered. They'd lived together, in peace. The reports had been clear enough, that there hadn't been weapons storage. There hadn't even been real defensive measures, barring the force fields. The Jedi had refused to let war reach this building, even whilst the Sith still raged across the galaxy. The other temples could handle the atrocities afar. The children, the elderly, the infirm, they were all to find a home here. The only weaponry were the sabers and whatever metals the Mando'ade carried in their armor.

Just a place of peace, a home to research, to children, to hospitals, all slaughtered to the last man, and set ablaze after. Nobody had ever tried such an attempt at peace between Mandalore and Jedi since. The location has been lost for longer than anyone remembers, but...

"Why are we here?" Satine asks.

"I wonder," Kenobi says, seeming far too pleased for the revelations of the last minute. He strokes at his beard, and then turns and sweeps an arm across the air. As he does, a whirring noise surrounds them, stuttered and heavy, but growing in power. Bit by bit, the sections of the wall that he'd gestured at begin to glow.

There are lights set into the wall like circuitry, warm and bright. The generators, which much be centuries old, at the least, continue to run.

"They draw energy from the river in the mountain," Kenobi says, before either of them thinks to ask. "Come along, my dears."

Satine hesitates. So does Fett.

Kenobi turns, presumably noting that their footsteps aren't following him. He smiles, and the corners of his eyes crinkle.

Satine can't remember how old he supposedly was, at his death. His eyes are much older, but...

"I assure you, it's perfectly safe," he tells them. "The building won't hurt you."

"The building?" Fett asks, sounding perhaps a little more dubious than the situation warranted. They were already talking to a figure of legend.

"Yes, the building," Kenobi repeats, indulgent in a way that Satine would have found irritating if aimed at her, but rather approved of like this. "The walls are already straightening out, I feel. And the droids are going to be clearing out the debris soon enough. The rust will be a little difficult to manage, of course, but..."

"What do you mean the walls are going to straighten out?" Satine asks. "And how... this place has been dead for centuries, hasn't it? How did you wake it?"

"Duchess Kryze, I didn't wake the Temple," Kenobi tells her. She doesn't know how he got her name. "You did."

She doesn't know what to say in response. She stays quiet, and waits for him to elaborate.

"Is it because she woke you up?" Fett asks, clearly unwilling to play a waiting game. "You're a... guardian? The keyholder to the power?"

"Mand'alor," Kenobi says, with a smile playing on his lips behind the carefully-groomed beard, "I am the Temple."

What.

He smiles and starts walking backwards, gliding in a way that makes it clear he doesn't need to step, really, because his feet don't stay planted where he puts them. They have to follow, now, or risk losing him. "My consciousness, my very self, is woven into every bit of this building. I have no flesh, not anymore, but while my sense of self stays coherent in the Force... the Temple is my body."

"How?" Satine demands, hurrying to keep up. She tries to ignore the way the flagstones shift and settle ahead of her, still and level by the time she steps forward. She tries to ignore the grinding of metal, as it's pulled into the walls like it's soup instead of stone. She tries to ignore the creaking of the foundation about them, and stays focused on the pleasant smile of one of the only two Mandalorian Jedi in history that maintained the balance.

"Do your history books carry the name of my apprentice?" Kenobi asks.

"Skywalker," Fett says immediately. "And... Tano, I think, before she changed it. She escaped, didn't she?"

"Yes, she was away at the time," Kenobi says, voice distant for but a moment. Somewhere far off among the tunnels, there is a mighty crash. "I'd fought until I couldn't any more. My armor, what I had of it, protected me from the flames. I'd worn a helmet during the siege, and it filtered the smoke, even as I lay dying from other wounds... between that and the Force, I lasted long enough that Anakin found me. The others had all died of smoke inhalation, if they hadn't succumbed to their injuries or the flames themselves by that point."

"The fire didn't reach you?" Fett questions.

"Mm, no, the alcove I was in was all stone, and there wasn't anything flammable enough nearby to reach," Kenobi says, sounding distant again. "In any case, Anakin found me. He was... distraught. Desperate. Not entirely sane, I think, but with what he walked into, I can't find it in myself to fault him."

"Master Kenobi," Satine finds herself saying. "What did he do?"

Kenobi's smile is sad. She'd call it resigned, really. He's lived--sort of--with this situation for centuries now. It makes sense. "He took my mind, my soul in the Force, and 'saved' it in a way that would leave me tied to the world past my death. It was ingenious, but... I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. I don't think Anakin realized what he was doing until long after he'd already succeeded at the impossible."

"He cursed you," Fett declares.

Kenobi shrugs. "I think he expected the temple to be cleaned and re-inhabited again soon enough. It wasn't, as you can see. The generators have been gathering power for centuries, but the fire destroyed most of them, and we didn't have anything in reserve with how much we poured into the shields during the battle. I couldn't fix the ruins, and with the horrors that had occurred, nobody was coming back. Anakin said he would, he promised, but... he disappeared. He visited, and he spoke with me, but a few years in he was simply... lost. I had a connection to his ship's signal, and it winked out in the blink of an eye, and never came back."

Oh. Terrifying.

"For all that I am the Temple, now, there are still secrets here that I don't yet understand," Kenobi tells them. "Your arrival, for one thing. The sediment carried up the mountain has slowly buried the temple over the centuries. There isn't a way in, save for two tunnels leading to the river, both of which I know are untouched."

"We just woke up here," Satine admits.

"Yes," Kenobi says. "You did. And part of me knows why."

"...part?" Fett asks.

It's a fair question to ask of a man who happens to have a brain that is also an entire building, somehow.

"Areas are cut off from my awareness," Kenobi admits freely. "Cave-ins and the like, mostly. There are one or two that I think I cut deliberately, due to what lay within."

Also terrifying, thank you.

"But I do believe I know what happened," he says, with that same damnably soft smile. "You two are the leaders of your people, yes? Tradition on one side, and peace on the other."

Satine shares a glance with Fett, and then turns to Kenobi and nods.

"Then I do believe it's simply the right time," he tells them. "You'll need to work together."

"I don't think so," Satine immediately denies.

"The Force works in mysterious ways," Kenobi tells her. "And if it brought you here--and you couldn't have arrived otherwise, I promise you that--then it was for a reason. Two leaders, the same people, with ideologies that I do believe are possible to bring together into, if not mixing, then at least coexistence."

"Impossible," Fett says. "The New Mandalorians are cowards, Kenobi. To share a culture with them--"

"Is as unlikely as Jedi and the old Mandalorians?" Kenobi asks, smiling so very politely that Satine wonders at how they aren't frozen stiff at the sight of it.

The sigil of the Order gleams mockingly from his pauldron.

Kenobi huffs out a breath, just a shadow of a laugh the slightest duck of his head, and then he turns and waves open a door.

Beyond him, sitting clean and pretty and entirely free of dust on its ancient stand, rests the Darksaber.

Satine stares.

She's sure Fett does, too.

"That can't be real," she says, her mouth moving before she can control it. "The Darksaber is lost, but it's popped up in history too recently to have been here since the fires."

"I saw it in Tor Vizsla's hands less than a years ago," Fett confirms. The vocoder cuts emotion from his voice, but not enough. "This place has been locked tight for centuries. The saber can't be here."

"The same could be said of the two of you," Kenobi points out.

It's true.

Satine steps forward, when it becomes clear that Fett won't. She picks up the weapon, holds it like the antique it is, square and unwieldy, but so very, very old that she cannot deny its importance. Weapon or not, it is her people's history.

She lights it.

The blade burns black.

"Turn it off," Fett rasps, and she does.

Satine looks back at him, and then to Kenobi. She turns fully, and steps forward, and holds it out to Fett.

He looks at her, uncomprehending.

"If you'd like to check for yourself," she says, and her voice is too quiet, but she can't help it. Something is happening, something heavy and broken, and she can't ignore the pressure of the future in this moment.

Fett takes the saber. He looks at it in his hands, and she thinks he is shaking.

"Your people need you, Mand'alor," Kenobi says, and there is no room for question. "They also need the Duchess."

"Why you?" Fett asks, voice strained and shattered in a way Satine can't even begin to pick apart.

"It was either me or Tarre, really," Kenobi says, with an idle shrug unfitting of the situation. "And I'm a little more... accessible, shall we say, to those who aren't sensitive to the Force."

Kenobi steps forward and rests an immaterial hand on Fett's shoulder.

"I already failed my people once," Fett says, barely audible.

"And now you shall save them," Kenobi says. His voice is firm. It is as if there is no question, to him, about whether or not Fett will succeed. "You won't be alone, either."

Satine shifts her weight, refusing to meet Kenobi's eyes. Her hands fist in her dress, and her mind races.

"What do you need of me?" Fett manages.

"...Mand'alor?"

"What do you need of me, Master Kenobi?"

Satine looks up.

Fett... Fett removes his helmet, and looks at Kenobi with an expression that is more desperation than deference.

"To cooperate with those who would follow a different creed," Kenobi says, so low it's practically a murmur. His hand, still intangible, reaches out to cup Fett's jaw. Fett leans into it. "To protect those who cannot do so for themselves. Our people are warriors, Mand'alor, but to refuse violence for violence's sake, after the wars that have killed our home and rendered it little more than glass, that is its own bravery."

"Master--"

"Listen to me," Kenobi says, and Fett falls silent. "You will need to protect them. The Duchess may have the funds and the support to bring forth education, agriculture, childcare, and so on, but there are many who would take advantage of that peace. She provides the home for tradespeople, but you are the shield that keeps them safe."

It could be a balance, Satine tries to tell herself. Maybe.

Kenobi seems so certain of it, and Satine may hate violence, but she is far from unaware of the pirates and warlords that nip at their borders.

"The foundlings need homes," Kenobi continues. "The stories need to be told. The culture is fading, Mand'alor. Bring it back."

His eyes flick to Satine, and she looks away.

(Her pressure was only ever on violence. Her advisors had pressed at the erasure of the rest, but if it meant children grew up without the worry of their parents dying in pointless battle, then wasn't it worth bending?)

(Couldn't she look the other way as they tightened restrictions on even symbolic vambraces, if it meant few too-small bodies in the streets?)

(Her planet was a wasteland. What did culture mean in the face of so many dead?)

(She knows Fett doesn't see it that way, but she is the only governing New Mandalorian with any blood on their hands. She knows the weight of violence, of lives taken by her actions.)

(She knows it, and she rejects it knowingly.)

Fett breathes harshly, and Satine closes her eyes.

"I agree to try," she says. "If we can get out of these ruins and back to our people... I will try. I cannot speak for my people on this, but to instate the old Mandalorians as a planetary guard... it may be doable."

"Little steps, my dear," Kenobi says. He looks down at Fett, who's... not well, it seems. "The Mand'alor needs some help, I think. I'm no trained mind healer, but I imagine I can help. More than most, maybe. There are few who know what it is to be a sole survivor."

He smirks, just a little, at the joke that he is not, in fact, a man who survived.

It's not very funny.

"I'll stay," Fett says. "I'll... I'll learn. Master Kenobi, you... Tell me to stay and I will be here for as long as you’ll have me."

"As a student?" Kenobi asks, catching on to just the same thing as Satine has. "Not in the Force, surely, but... you truly wish to stay?"

"There are none left alive that I would trust to show me the way," Fett says. Beseeching, he reaches for Kenobi, and his hands pass through. There's a pain in him that Satine can't quite comprehend, and Fett falls to his knees. "Please."

"You need only ask," Kenobi says. "The Duchess will look after our people until the King takes his throne, and then you will rule together."

They'll have to, Satine tells herself, and steps forward. She puts a hand on Fett's shoulder, and pulls him to his feet.

"Where do we begin?" she asks.

[abluescarfonwaston]

I’d know him blind

It didn’t come all at once. He’d really thought they’d made it out unscathed. That the box he’d opened in that mage’s abandoned laboratory hadn’t worked.

As they walked back thick fog rolled in. Obscuring the sky. The path ahead. The trees aside them. Even dimming Geralt and Roach a few paces ahead into off grey.

He jogged closer to them. Geralt gave him a look.

“What? Sorry I don’t want to get lost.”

“Why would you get lost?”

“Because?” He waved at the thick grey mist around them. “The fog Geralt? Not all of us can follow a scent trail. Even if it’s yours.” He fanned the thick smell of Geralt’s sweat away.

He stopped. Turned to him.

“Theirs’s no fog Jaskier.” Grabbed his face. Studying his eyes as the fog rolled in thicker. Obscuring even Roach right behind him. “It’s clear out.”

“Oh.” His hands started shaking and his eyes grew hot. “Then I suppose we have a problem.”

And Geralt’s face; hard and angry and concerned disappeared into the grey.

 “Ah Master Witcher! Master Bard! Haven’t touched your room!” Something wooshed past his ear. Jangled at his side as Geralt moved oddly next to him.

“Thanks.” Geralt grunted moving him through the bar.

“Ah! Master bard!” Footsteps. Creaking wood. People talking. It was. It was a lot and nothing at all because he had no idea where or what or who it was. “You’ll be playing for us tonight yes? Dinner and a bath as agreed?”

“No.” Geralt growled. “He won’t.”

“Of course!” He agreed over top him. “I will however need a stage,” He didn’t remember if the bar had one. He preferred not to use them anyway. Moving through the crowds instead. But he doubted it did. “Or a chair at least. Our little adventure has left me a bit short sighted.” He grinned at where he hoped the man was.

There was a lull. Where the only noise was the bar. He shifted his feet.

“He’s blind.” Geralt said finally. He leaned a little harder into his solid mass. Steady and warm and there.

“Temporarily!” He quickly assured. The arm not wrapped around Geralt’s flapped. Smacking sharply into something. “Ow.”

“Oh!” The barkeep Seemed startled. He was further to the left than he’d thought. “We’ll set something up then! I hope you make a hasty recovery Master bard!”

“Jaskier is fine.” He assured. “Now if you’ll excuse us.” Geralt pulled him from the bar.

 “Why’d you agree to play!” Geralt snapped at him after he’d been deposited on the bed.

“I don’t need eyes to play and sing Geralt. What? Am I supposed to just sit in this tiny room and twiddle my thumbs all week?” He yelled into the darkness.

Geralt exhaled with a forced slowness. “I need to go return this.” Metal sliding on metal. The chain of the necklace they’d been sent to retrieve. That had been locked in the box he’d opened. Very cleverly he had thought. “Stay.”

“Stay!” He barked. “I’m not a fucking dog!” He yelled at after him as the door closed and his footsteps faded away.

Something creaked. He flinched away from it.

The bed was firm under him. The blanket decent but not soft.

He drummed his fingers on his leg.

Someone walked passed the room.

He grabbed the blanket and found the wall. Carefully followed it into the corner. Curled up there with the blanket around him.

He couldn’t read. Write. There was no one to talk to anymore. Just him and the grey darkness.

He hoped if someone came into their room they wouldn’t spot him. Because he couldn’t run. Couldn’t fight. Not that he was particularly good at that normally. But he couldn’t tell if he was hidden. Because he couldn’t see.

He couldn’t see.

Geralt was gone and he couldn’t see and every time something made a sound he couldn’t identify he flinched.

Temporary. Should only last a week. Geralt assured.

But Geralt didn’t know that much about magic. Or he might have been lying. To keep him from panicking.

He was panicking now. But there was no one there to see. So he let himself.

And when he was too exhausted to panic more he fell asleep and he hardly noticed the difference because everything was dark anyway.

 Someone was moving in the room.

He shoved himself into the corner tighter as the footsteps creaked the floorboards and he breathed in to scream-

His nose filled with the musk of onion and sweat.

He relaxed in a boneless heap. “You scared me Geralt. I thought you were a thief or something.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Unidentifiable ruffling joined his voice. “If you’re going to play you should go down soon.”

“Right.” He stood. Throwing the blanket in the direction of the bed. “Where’s my lute?”

There was the familiar sound of Geralt’s feet softly hitting the wood even in his boots. Far too delicate steps for a man of his size. He exhaled, the terror receding with the recognition of each step. It was gently placed in his outstretched hands.

He traced the wood. Her finish. Ran his fingers down her strings.

She was familiar. Safe. He didn’t need to see to know her.

“Alright. Help your best friend down the stairs will you?”

“We’re not friends.” He grumbled as he did exactly that.

 Playing was wonderful. Even if he couldn’t dance with the songs. Move with them. Smile and wink effectively to charm the audience of their earnings.

The after was less fun.

People approaching. There was too much random noise to figure out who they were or where exactly they were. Talking to him. He chatted back. He always loved a conversation.

It was harder when he couldn’t see them. Judge how he was coming off aside from their tone of voice and words.

Something touched his knee.

He leaped back. Knocking the chair out from under him. Tripping on it as he backed away.

There were people asking him all kinds of questions at once and reaching out to touch him and-

Geralt’s hand wrapped around his bicep. The exact shape and warmth and way he always did. Hauling him up and away from the crowded room.

“Show’s over.” He growled.

He clung to Geralt as he was hauled from the room. Thrown over his shoulder.

He couldn’t keep track of the room or the people in it or where they were going. His eyes searched the darkness uselessly.

But the leather was familiar under his fingers.

The movement of it steadying.

Something creaked.

“Stop grabbing my ass Jaskier.”

“Wha- is that what this is?” He moved his hands slightly to better feel the muscle moving under the leather. “It’s very lovely. A lovely bottom.”

The world spun and the bed creaked under him as he was roughly dropped into it.

There were several moments of silence. He wondered if Geralt was glaring at him since he clearly wasn’t putting his Lute away for him.

“I know this might come as a shock to you but I can’t actually see you right now so whatever lecture you’re trying to impart with a stern face,” He demonstrated the expected face, “and disappointed eyes I can’t actually see. So they’re actually even less effective than normal. So there.”

“I.” A pause. “You panicked. Why?”

He grimaced into the pillow. Schooled his face and rolled onto his side. Propped his face on his palm facing Geralt’s general direction.

“I didn’t panic.” He scoffed and shook his head. “You kidnapped me from my adoring fans! Very rude Geralt.”

“You fell out of your chair.”

“Sabotage!” He said too quickly. “I was knocked out of my chair!”

“No you weren’t.”

“Are you telling the story or am I?”

“Tell it right then.” He growled.

His smile partially collapsed. It was a silly thing to have panicked over. He knew that. People touched him all the time.

He raised and lowered a shoulder casually rebuilding the easy smile. “Someone touched me and I over reacted. What a shame too. I’ve heard having sex blindfolded really ups the thrill of it and-“

“Stop.” Geralt groaned.

He barreled on anyway. “If anything doing it blind has to be its own experience. Really maximizing the sensory deprivation.” He rolled onto his back. “Put my lute away and come to bed. What are you doing? Standing there like a statue all night? Is that the plan? You are no longer allowed to make plans if that’s the case.”

He heard the quiet thump of her being hung up by the doorway. The soft padding of Geralt’s feet on the wood. He scooched over on the bed for him.

Geralt didn’t get in.

He frowned and pat the mattress obligingly.

“I touched you without asking too.”

He turned to him. The grey was almost black. So it was likely dark out. “So?”

Unhelpful silence.

He patted the bed again. “Either talk or lie down you broody old man.”

The bed creaked slightly. “I’m getting in.”

He snorted. “Gathered that thank you.”

A short huff of frustration. “Don’t want you to panic again.”

He rolled his eyes. “Well excuse me for wanting to know who’s touching me before they do.”

“I wasn’t-“ The bed creaked forebodingly. Hopefully it would stay in one piece. That had been an issue at some of the cheaper inns they’d stayed at.

He popped off his doublet and loosened the drawstring of his pants. He waited to hear the familiar sound of Geralt shuffling out of his leathers.

His side remained eerily silent.

“What are you doing- Sleeping in your clothing tonight? We don’t do laundry enough as it is. Don’t make it worse.”

“I didn’t.” An irritated sigh. He stared judgingly in his direction. “Fine.”

The familiar sound of Geralt struggling out of his deliciously form fitting pants.

He wrangled the blankets over him as he tossed his trousers aside.

“Geralt?”

“What?” Came the grit out reply.

“Stop being weird. I’m blind not glass.”

“I don’t need you screaming bloody murder into my ear if I roll over.”

He reached out into the darkness and grabbed for the irritating bastard.

“That’s my pec Jaskier.”

“You certain?” He fondled it a bit more. “Damn I forget how muscular you are sometimes.”

His hand was knocked away as he laughed. Quickly grabbed the offending arm in his before it could escape.

“It’s fine Geralt. I know you in the dark just fine. It’s not like I can normally see you once the lights go out anyway.”

A quite inhale and exhale.

Geralt shuffled closer. He curled into Geralt’s chest.

“Besides.” He yawned and draped an arm over him. “I don’t need to see you to know it’s you.”

I knew you by the way your feet hit the ground and your hand felt around my arm. He didn’t say. I know you by the way the leather moves over your muscles and you exhale.

Geralt snorted disbelievingly.

“It’s true.” He tucked a leg between Geralt’s and nuzzled himself to a comfortable position. “You’ve got a pretty strong smell.”

[write-ur-wrongs]

Thank you @itsjammin for the request! I didn’t fully proof-read this one so please forgive any grammatical errors!! I hope you like it !!

Geralt x reader where she’s having a really bad panic attack and Geralt’s not sure how he can help and he just holds her and helps her through it cradling her in his arms and just gently rocking her. After she’s calmed down, he just kisses her forehead and traces patterns on her back and just lots of fluff please!

Trigger warning: Anxiety / panic attack. 

_________________________________________________

You were fine. You’re breathing and you weren’t bleeding and you’re fine. You closed your hands into tight fists in an attempt to ground yourself, digging your nails into your palms as you breathed out slowly through your nose. You felt the weight of your legs on the fallen tree beneath you, pushed your toes into the tip of your shoes and felt the pressure you created. Slowly, you relaxed your fists and rested your open hands on your thighs, feeling the blood rush back into palms. The tiny crescent moon indents in your palm stung dully.

You weren’t injured. You weren’t in danger of being injured. You were fine.

Geralt was watching you wearily from across the crackling fire, his steaming mug of broth hovering inches from his face. You had been balling your hands into fists, knuckles white, and relaxing them slowly on repeat for too long now. He looked over at Jaskier quizzically, a brow raised, but the bard merely mirrored his confusion, returning the look with wide eyes and an animated shrug.

You were normally a steady presence in the group, matching Geralt in energy level and Jaskier in wit. They’d known you for over a year now and had only ever seen you in that light; steady with a silver tongue. Tonight, however, was a completely different story. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened today; you had travelled a peaceful route and stopped in a nice clearing. No one had crossed you and Geralt sensed no threat in the surrounding area. And yet, there you sat, breathing slowly but with great effort, empty eyes looking out at nothing while your forehead was creased with worry.

Geralt wanted to know what was up, but he was no wordsmith. Huffing slightly, he looked at the bard pointedly and jerked his head in your direction, silently begging Jaskier to ask you what was wrong.

Jaskier might be good with words, but never when the situation truly called for it. He could banter with the best of them and diffuse tension with ease, but you were giving off such a distressing energy, he didn’t dare say anything unsure of what you’d do once the tension in you boiled over.

As such, he shook his head wildly and pointed at Geralt while mouthing, “You ask her!”

The two men mimed wildly to one another, both desperate to have the other take charge, oblivious to the fact that you had transitioned from the desperate-to-keep-a-steady-breath phase and into the weight-on-my-chest-is-suffocating-me phase of your episode.  

Jaskier won out though, when he threw a torn piece of bread a the Witcher’s head. With a low grunt, Geralt gingerly placed his mug down and clasped his hands together and leaned over, bracing himself.

He cleared his throat a couple times before hesitantly muttering his question. Unfortunately, his noble attempt fell on death ears.

All you could hear was a dull ringing coupled with the amplified sounds of your body; every breath was deafening, your heartbeat was so loud you felt it in your ears, and you swore you could hear your bones creaking in their joints.

You hated this; all of it. You hated that you couldn’t identify the cause of your panic. That rationally, you knew nothing was wrong, but that wasn’t enough to keep you from spiraling as you were. Normally you could feel these episodes coming and stop them before the settled in full. Your mother had taught you countless coping methods and the healers you met along your travels helped you immensely; especially as new triggers made themselves known to you.

Yet nothing had happened, really. Geralt was a little colder than usual, and he did snap at you quite harshly but that wasn’t new. It was an occupational hazard. Jaskier had been moodier as of late, probably because Geralt snapped at him too, but they’re always squabbling and reconciling. It was their way.

You didn’t see this one coming. At the first sign of trouble, you grounded yourself and counted your breaths. When that didn’t work, you counted things around you; five conifers, three boulders, fifteen pinecones on the floor, and so on. But it didn’t work. You had even pulled out your vial of herbs – all to no avail.

Nothing was helping and everything was too loud. You were in pain but nothing actually hurt. The weight of your body against your bones was crushing but you felt like a ghost.

Oblivious to your internal struggle and unimpressed with the Witcher’s feeble attempt, Jaskier rolled his eyes at Geralt and whipped another piece of bread at him. Frustrated and frazzled, Geralt threw the bread back to the bard with force, shot him a death glare, and wiped his sweaty palms on the top of his legs before trying again.

“Y/N... hm… how –”

“I’m fine!” you barked, although your voice wavered in a way that clearly indicated you were far from fine.

Geralt looked to Jaskier in desperation, not wanting to have to try again, but Jaskier was already up and walking backwards towards Roach, mouthing ‘sorry’ and ‘good luck’ as he washed his hands of the whole affair.

Geralt rolled his eyes and muttered a quiet, ‘fuck’, before getting up to cross the fire and settle beside you uncomfortably.

The moment you realized Geralt had come to your side, your chin wobbled and you felt tears prickle at your eyes. You brought your hands up to your face and swiped at your tears quickly, doing your best to regain control.

Seeing you up close – how your jaw never relaxed, how you couldn’t sit still, the way you dragged the nail of your index finger down the side of your thumbs, seemingly unaware of the angry red lines you left behind – his heart broke.

“Come ‘ere,” he said, pulling you towards him.

Feeling his strong arms wrap themselves around you brought your tears to the surface in an instant. Before either of you could process what was happening, you were sobbing freely into his broad chest, hands grabbing at him desperately for comfort.

You cried for what felt like forever, raw and ragged sobs shaking you to your core. But no matter how deeply you surrendered into your panic, Geralt never wavered. He rocked you slowly, stroking your back softly. Every now and then he’d murmur words of encouragement into your hair and, despite all odds, you found that the low rumble of his voice comforted you greatly.

After some time, your sobs turned into whimpers, and your whimpers into choppy breaths. All the while, Geralt never released his hold on you. Only when he felt your heartrate return to normal did he lessen his grip and pull back to look down at you, smoothing back your hair.

“What –”

“I’m –”

You both laughed awkwardly into the sudden silence and waited for the other to go on. After a beat, Geralt tried again.

“Please –”

“Geralt –” you interrupted once more, shaking your head at the cyclical turn your conversation had taken.

“Y/N, you go.” He said softly, still drawing loopy shapes onto your back with his fingers.

“Oh Gods,” you breathed shakily, “I’m so, so sorry.”

“No, no,” he shushed, placing gentle kisses along your temple, “Y/N you have no reason to be apologizing.”

“Geralt, look at me!? I’m a mess,” you blurt, “and I’ve scared Jaskier.”

“Jaskier,” he replied with a small smile, “is a fool. He’ll be fine.”

“That might be worse! He’ll never let me live this down.” You say, your head in your hands. Geralt laughed softly at this, and gave your back a few comforting pats before holding you tightly and pulling you closer to him.

“If he dares,” he murmured in mock seriousness, his smile giving him away, “then I will kill him.”

“Geralt! Then who would write all those songs about you?” you said, turning back and smacking him playfully on his chest.

“Preferably no one,” he answered, face soft with laughter while his eyes remained trained on you, watching closely to ensure you were doing okay.

“Oh, you’d miss it, you big vanity.” You laughed, swiping at the last of the tears on your face and moving to stand up.

“Y/N… wait,” he said, reaching for your wrist and gently pulling you back down. “Are you… alright?”

“I’m fine,” you said, settling back down at his side, “Truly, I’m fine.”

Geralt let out a low, ‘hm’, in response, and looked at you dubiously, still acutely aware of your heightened heartrate.

“Okay, fine,” you admit, accepting that you couldn’t lie to him about this, “but I will be.” When he didn’t look convinced, you placed your hands on his arms and gave him what you hoped was a convincing look. “I promise, Geralt. I’m okay.”

He clenched his jaw tightly and breathe a sigh through his nose before speaking again.

“You didn’t just scare Jaskier tonight,” he said, slowly and with care, “you scared me too.”

You quickly cast your eyes downward, feeling shame prickle harshly at your chest. Geralt saw you bring the nails of your index finger to your thumb, ready to start your rhythmic stabbing once more, and hastily brought your shaky hands into his.

“Don’t punish yourself like this,” he whispered, rubbing his rough thumb over the tops of your fingers, “just talk to me.”

“I don’t know what to say, honestly,” you said, refusing to bring your eyes up to his. “I can normally manage by myself, I don’t,” you stopped to take a steadying breath, and Geralt responded in kind by holding your hands a little tighter, “I don’t know what was different this time. I’m… I’m -”

“Only human?”

“Gross,” you said, pulling one of your hands free so you could wipe your face, “and unfair.”

“Maybe so, but Y/N, I’m serious,” he said, putting his hands gently under your chin to bring your eyes up to his, “if you ever feel like you’re losing control again, you can come to me.”

“Yeah?” you asked, your voice small.

“Always.” He said, pulling your face towards him so he could lay another gentle kiss onto your forehead. “No matter what.”

At this, you allowed yourself to melt into his arms once more, letting his slow, steady, heartbeats soothe you as he continued to draw shapes on your back. 

[dzamie-oc]

Cynder's Spyro Picnic

AO3 Link: Cynder's Spyro Picnic Furaffinity: Cynder's Spyro Picnic Fandom: Spyro the Dragon (Video Games), Legend of Spyro Rating: Explicit Relationships: Cynder/Spyro the Dragon Characters: Spyro the Dragon, Cynder (Spyro) Summary: Cynder and Spyro planned a picnic. Spyro ends up being the food.

cw: NSFW (or nsft for filters), vore, dubcon, femdom. If you are a minor, or any of these are upsetting to you, DO NOT READ THIS FIC.

Once again, MINORS DNI

Spyro woke up to the feeling of a comforting presence moving away from him, then the unmistakable sound of his girlfriend getting up. Though hesitant to wake up, himself, the purple dragon cracked open his eyes to get a look at Cynder’s stunning, sleek form. The dragoness grunted as she stretched like a cat, arching her back as though to show off her flexibility and curves. Her wings, too, extended as far as they could, then flapped a couple of times, blowing some air in Spyro’s face. He smiled, and as a yawn from Cynder set off one of his own, he pictured the view from behind the dark dragon.

And then, in spite of the rest of his body, one part in particular stood tall, ready for action. Cynder turned to look at him, smiling. “Well?” she asked, “you ready to join the waking world with me?”

Spyro grunted. “Can’t the serial savior of the Dragonlands sleep in on occasion? The temple won’t get much dirtier with just another hour...”

“He could,” Cynder conceded, “orrrr, he could remember that he has no chores today, leaving him and his mate ample time to have that picnic they planned.”

“No chores? That’s great!” the purple dragon said, grinning, “that means even more time to sleep! See you in a couple hours, Cyn!” With that, he closed his eyes and laid his head down, then made exaggerated snoring noises that almost covered up the sound of Cynder’s claws clicking against the floor with her approach.

Suddenly, a quick, sharp pain in his tail sent a jolt through his system. Spyro immediately shot to his feet, nearly tripping over himself and his wings in his panic. He swung his head around to look at his tail, where he spotted a smug-looking Cynder holding the tip in her mouth. “Looks like Malefor’s influence hasn’t entirely left, after all these years,” he said, tugging his tail free.

His mate dropped the tail and stepped up against him, ducking under his orange wing. Her body was always a bit cooler than his, which he attributed to his firebreath and her lack of it. Subconsciously, Spyro extended his wing over her, hugging her black scales against his purple. “Then maybe some cute, purple dragon should show me what’s so nice about being on the side of good!” She winked and slipped from his light grip, using the shadow of his own wing to keep it open. A deft swish of her tail hooked their empty picnic basket.

And then started their game. Cynder was easily first to the door, and flicked her tail to the side, wiggling her hips to give Spyro a tantalizing view of the pink slit hidden below. Spyro rose to the challenge, and as he stepped through the door, he affectionately nipped at her horns. A light jolt of electric breath sent a shock down her spine. Cynder gasped and let out a small “eep!” as she stiffened; that was just the reaction the purple dragon needed to know he’d struck home. He dashed through the door before she could get her revenge that easily, and a glance behind him showed his mate hot on his tail. Nonetheless, Spyro was first to the next door. With a smug smirk, he spun around and sat while he tugged the door open, hind legs splayed slightly to show off his member like she’d teased him. Cynder slowed to a trot as she approached, then gave him a quick peck on the muzzle. Wind magic flowed from her jaws, swirling around the male dragon and sending pleasant tingles all over... just enough to make him miss her taking off to the next set of doors.

Back and forth, the dragons raced through the halls, stopping only to flirt with each other; the other occupants, Spyro reasoned, must have either been away or knew to avoid the duo while they were in this mood. Eventually, Cynder burst onto a grassy area, with Spyro soon barreling after her. And although the black dragoness soon slowed, her mate was not so lucky. Spyro shouted a warning, and Cynder turned just in time for him to plow into her side, sending them tumbling through the field.

“Ugh…” Spyro groaned, shaking his head, “did someone get the number of that train?”

“You WERE the train,” Cynder replied, her voice muffled from her position partially under his body.

With some effort, Spyro got up and shook himself, then offered a paw to help Cynder up. “Because I’m an unstoppable powerhouse, right?”

For his help, Cynder gave him a quick lick on his snout. “Oh, I dunno, I think I can freeze you in your tracks easily enough,” she teased, twining her tail around his. Spyro felt himself blush hot as his mate sidled up next to him, her flank against his and her tail twisting further around his. To make matters worse, the dragoness draped her wing over his back and purred low in his ear, “my, it seems I forgot to put food in the basket. It’s just us here, all alone, with no food.”

Spyro wasn’t about to be outdone, however. He nuzzled her neck and gently lapped under her chin and cooed back, “we’re clever dragons. I’m sure we’ll find something to do to occupy ourselves.” With their tails still entwined, he raised his and took hers with it. By the sound of Cynder’s breath coming slower and heavier, and the familiar scent of her arousal reaching his nostrils, Spyro’s play had worked.

“A-and what do you suggest we do, my love?” Cynder tucked her chin down, pinning Spyro’s head between it and her neck; surrounded by her scales, the male dragon smiled and sighed.

“Good question.” He unwound his tail from hers, strutted ahead of her, and laid down on his side. With a confident smile, he shifted his hind legs to show off the pink shaft poking out from his scales. “Maybe take a look around and see if anything catches your interest?”

Cynder’s dark scales tinted ever so slightly red, and her tail whipped behind her. Spyro’s smile became a grin when he saw it stay slightly raised as she approached him. The dragoness set one paw against his chest... and then shoved him. The world spun as Spyro rolled once and landed flat on his back under the shade of a nearby tree. Cynder stalked closer, licking her muzzle; when he tried to get back up, her forepaw was there again to hold him down. A slight weight crept up on his legs and wings, with a gentle coolness to identify it as Cynder’s shadow magic. From experience, Spyro knew he could only break free with his own powers, but he also knew he wouldn’t want to.

“Ah… I love this view,” Cynder said, grinning down at him. Spyro’s heart raced in his chest, the purple dragon unable to stop a hot blush and a broad smile from creeping onto his face. “The purple dragon of prophecy, pinned under me. Forelegs bound nice and snug-” she gently batted at his paws; Spyro tried to take her paw in his, but all he could do was strain against the shadows. “...and, more importantly,” the dragoness continued, turning around, “his hindlegs open. Everything on view, to browse at MY leisure.” The male dragon shuddered as she spoke, eager for her to “browse.”

Still, Spyro managed to push his libido aside to crack a grin. “So this is the plan of the dark Cynder! You won’t get away with this; even if it looks like I’m pinned down, my friends will hear me call for them!” He licked his broad muzzle, and when Cynder ducked her head down to look at him, they shared the same, sly smile.

The black dragoness didn’t respond for a few seconds, and Spyro followed her gaze to stare at her shapely, scaly rear. Her thighs and tail swayed back and forth above his head, dark scales framing the ruby ones between them, themselves drawing his gaze to the wet sliver of pink flesh visible in a slit in her scales. A drop of Cynder’s arousal fell onto his muzzle, and with an idle flick of his tongue, he lapped it up. Too small to taste, but he knew that wouldn’t be a problem for long.

“And how will you call for them, Spyro, when you cannot speak?” This was all the warning he got from his mate before that alluring sight drew swiftly closer, filling his vision with her ruby-red belly scales, and he felt her scales against his lips. The soft, smooth sensation soon gave way to a squishy heat as Cynder shifted her weight and ground her pussy against him while her tail slid against his - recently dulled - horns. Spyro once more poked his tongue out, only this time, it was not a drop of her juices, but enough to coat his tongue and more. It was a familiar, mildly sour taste, at once both sticky and slimy in his mouth, and one which he had grown to love for what it meant.

As his tongue probed deeper, filling his ears with wet smacks and squishes, Cynder added a new sound to the mix, a shaking exhale, audible even though her tail and thighs surrounded Spyro’s head. And when he tilted his head down to get at her clit, swiftly finding the sensitive nub of flesh with his tongue, his mate’s very un-villainous squeak was music to his ears. He swirled around a few times while Cynder kept grinding on his nose, then went back to probing the depths of her pussy, while her warm, slimy juices trickled down his muzzle.

As Spyro continued to explore Cynder’s soft snatch with his probing tongue, he became vaguely aware of her pressing against his belly-scales. A moment later, he was suddenly made MUCH more aware of his mate when a soft, wet sensation wrapped around his hard shaft. The dragoness suckled on his draconic pride, making him moan into her slit; out of habit, Spyro tried to reach up and grab her ass to get even deeper into her. Naturally, however, her shadows held him fast, reducing his efforts to a mere wiggle.

With an audible, wet pop, the heat around his cock vanished, followed by a playful giggle from his mate, one which only grew when the needy male tried to buck his hips up to meet her, only to once again find his body bound by shadowy restraints. “Oh? You want more?” Cynder purred. Spyro grunted in affirmation and nodded his head, rubbing his snout against her drooling slit.

To either side of his head, Spyro saw her powerful, black thighs shift positions, just before the dragoness dropped her hips down hard on his face. He closed his eyes as that soft, hot embrace slid against - no, around - his snout. The heat of her netherlips stopped just before his eyes before retreating. Rather than pulling off of his muzzle, Cynder instead grinded her drooling snatch against him; Spyro could hear her moan even over the wet "slck... slck..." of her inner walls clenching around his snout.

Breathing through the corners of his mouth, Spyro got back to work, exploring his mate’s insides and twisting his head back and forth. Cynder gasped, and this time, she muffled her moan with Spyro’s cock, turning into a low, guttural groan. Her own tongue, warm and slick and oh-so-talented, swirled around the male dragon’s member. With his vision surrounded by scales of ruby and obsidian, his snout held in place by the tight grip of Cynder’s netherlips to dominate his smell and taste, and his ears filled with the repeated squishes of her well-lubricated pussy walls and her needy, desirous moans, Spyro could barely take the sensation of his lover’s maw and tongue wrapped possessively, hungrily, around his rock-hard member. Each time he felt himself tense for his orgasm, however, Cynder drew away, leaving him straining helplessly against her shadows, and his cock twitching, close but not quite to his limit.

After what felt like an eternity of carefully-controlled bliss, the weight against his face increased as Cynder sat back with a cry of ecstasy; Spyro leaned into her, shutting his eyes once again and feeling her soaking-wet pussy walls slip over his face. Her hot, soft snatch took the base of his horns before everything went tight. His lover clenched around him as though she would never let go, forever claiming him for her perpetual pleasure toy. A brief moment - a split second - was all the relief he got before the quick, repeated spasms of Cynder’s orgasm tugged, squeezed, and kneaded at his snout, and although he would’ve loved nothing more than to taste her at that moment, trying would have had him bite his tongue off when the dragoness forced his muzzle tightly shut.

Finally, the weight around his head and snout vanished, and Cynder’s heavy breaths became the loudest sound around him. Still covered in her juices, Spyro didn’t dare try to open his eyes, but could hear her footsteps in the grass nearby... and just like that, he remembered where the two of them were. Well hopefully, he thought, nobody else in the dragon temple had seen them. He tested his limbs again, hoping to wipe her arousal from his face and “repay” her for the intense facefucking; to no avail, however, the cool and light-but-strong grasp of solid shadows still held him fast.

“Oh! I made an absolute mess. Here, let me help with that...” Something soft, warm, and wet pressed against his face - doubtless Cynder’s tongue - but only managed to replace her pussy juices with her saliva. “How’s that, Spyro?”

Unable to tell if she was asking seriously, Spyro decided to answer seriously. “Probably better, but it’s hard to wipe off my eyes with my paws bound.” A moment later, he felt warmth creep into his scales. Or, rather, the slight chill of Cynder’s shadows left him. Immediately, Spyro wiped his eyes clear and blinked them open to stare up at the gorgeous visage of the most lovely dragoness he knew. He grinned at her. “Some picnic, huh? You got a nice mouthful of cock, and I ate my fill of pussy.”

Cynder dipped her muzzle, and the warm touch of her tongue glided up the side of his muzzle a couple of times. “Mm-hm. We should have these picnics more often. I rather like the available meat!” Then, she changed sides, her forked tongue lapping gently at his scaly lips.

Spyro laughed. “Oh, by all means, feel free to have as much of the available meat as you want! Especially with a tongue like that.”

“Believe me, Spyro, I thoroughly intend to.”

Cynder licked just under his chin, then a bit lower, and lower still, working her way, tiny lick by tiny lick, down his lower jaw and neck. Spyro’s heart beat faster in anticipation of the dragoness reaching her destination between his legs, still standing proud and waiting for the much-needed attention. So he raised his head, brow furrowed, when she suddenly stopped mid-chest. However, when she started going back up, inching her way back to the tip of his snout, he set his head back, groaned, and smiled, his paw covering his face.

“Oh, you tease. One of these days, you’re gonna skip this charade and just blow or fuck me, and I’m gonna be too surprised to cum.”

The dragoness’s tongue glided achingly slowly up the underside of his neck and chin, warm drool quickly cooling in the air as she left it. Spyro felt her paw against his chest, where he knew she could feel his heart race from her affections. “Well, you’re in luck, my love,” Cynder said in a low, husky voice, “because I really, REALLY want you inside me. Right now.”

As he stared down his muzzle at her, she playfully nipped at his snout and gently held it closed between her jaws. Spyro’s smile at the cute display soon faded and fell as she continued to watch him with an increasingly smug look on her face.

“Oh no,” was all the purple dragon could make out before Cynder opened her jaws again, wider this time, and treated Spyro to a clear view of the pink inside of her maw, before her head darted forward and swallowed his snout in one go.

He groped blindly at her head and neck, but her paws swept his forelegs back along his body, and another swallow introduced his whole head to the grip of her throat. It wasn’t as tight as her pussy was when she came, but almost as hot, and the pressure didn’t let up. A number of firm points pressed into his neck scales; Spyro’s hide was tough enough to resist her teeth unless she really wanted to hurt him, and, as she tugged his head up and forward to bring him into a sitting position, it was clear that she didn’t.

Nonetheless, the dragon struggled. Twisting left and right to free his forelegs, unfurling his wings, anything to brace against her hot, gentle jaws and stop - heck, even slow - her feast. To his relief, she released his limbs, but before Spyro could push her head back and away, the dragoness wrapped him in a tight hug. Chest to chest, the purple dragon felt her heartbeat and breath against his own, and her warm breath ran down his neck and back, punctuated by a soft, tender grunt. The intimate display relaxed Spyro slightly, just enough for Cynder to stretch her jaws wider still and fit them over his wing-wrists and chest. Inside her snug throat, Spyro’s own neck was similarly made to bend along with it; as the dragoness’s drooling jaws slid down over a purple-and-gold torso, Spyro’s muzzle dipped past her collar, the magical metal expanding to let her prey in.

“Nnf, Cynder, please, I was gonna hang out with Sparx and stuff!” Spyro protested. The constant squeezing made it difficult to open his mouth, let alone speak, but Spyro managed. His mate-turned-predator once again freed him from her scaly grip, but that was little comfort, with his scaly chest now only a large bulge in her usually-slender neck. Again, he tried to move his trapped limbs, but all he got for his troubles was another swallow. His snout squeezed through a tight ring of muscle and into a more open, and somehow hotter, chamber.

Just then, a familiar soft, wet feeling slithered down his underbelly, ahead of Cynder’s jaws. As his head slipped fully into her gut, his other “head” sent spikes of pleasure up his spine when the black dragoness’s tongue curled around his tip. Spyro let his legs and tail go limp as she tenderly swirled the warm, wet muscle around his shaft, and Cynder eagerly took the opportunity to lift him up and tip her head and body back, sticking Spyro’s scaly purple ass towards the sky.

Her tongue ran up and down his needy cock even as the hard length slid into her jaws proper, carefully protected from her teeth. Distracted by this strange variation on a blowjob, Spyro hardly noticed as, bit by bit, he slid deeper, his cock slipping from her tongue to her throat while he helpfully curled his neck and body around to conform to the shape of her gut. Each swallow squeezed his cock between his drool-slicked, scaly underbelly, and Cynder’s soft, wet, squishy throat. Some part of his mind registered the heat of her insides creeping over his legs and tail, or the sensation of her tongue wrapping leisurely around the yellow, cone-shaped tip of the last appendage before it, with the rest of his tail, was finally slurped inside, but Spyro was far more focused on trying to thrust against the throat above his curled-up form.

Finally, his pink tip slipped into Cynder’s stomach, granted a reprieve from the constant stimulation. Spyro pants, catching his breath as his hindlegs and tail tumble in with the rest of him. It’s a tight fit, but Cynder seemed to have no difficulty taking all of him. With some careful wiggling and creative limb placements, the male dragon manages to right himself as well as he can while curled tightly into a ball of scales. “Alright, very nice,” he grumbled, “now let me out. I had plans for later today!”

Her stomach squeezed a bit more firmly against his body. As the pressure moved around, Spyro realized Cynder was rubbing her swollen belly. “Mm, once I’m ready. You feel good in there. But... I’ll give you some kind of release, if you know what I mean.”

“Cynder, c’mon! I know we took awhile here, I’m sure Sparx is gonna be waiting for me!” Cynder’s paws rove over more parts of her gut, and after a few seconds, Spyro splays his hind legs apart as best he can, giving in. “...lower and to the right.”

Aided by her paws, Spyro found her hot, slimy stomach walls pressing against his dick, shifting slightly as she tried to stroke him off through her gut. He braced himself against her stomach, awkwardly squirming against their soft embrace. The two dragons soon worked themselves into a rhythm, Spyro panting in the already hot, humid air in Cynder’s gut as he grinded his twitching, sensitive cock against her insides, and Cynder kneading between his legs, through the layers of muscle, scale, and fat. Deep in her body’s embrace, surrounded by slimy flesh grinding back against him, tension built in Spyro’s body, driving him closer and closer to climax.

With a lustful groan, Spyro gave himself over to pleasure, thick, white cum spurting from his cock, only to immediately land on Cynder’s stomach walls, rubbing against the purple dragon’s scales - not that he could tell, with the dragoness’s heat and slick stomach juices all around him. Spyro breathed hard, recovering from the release, and affectionately rubbed his partner’s belly from within. “Thanks, Cyn...” A few seconds later, he pushed out again, firmer, and reiterated, “but seriously, I was gonna spend time with Sparx today. How long are you keeping me?”

“Oh, I’ll let you out for dinner. And if you really want to spend time with your dragonfly friend, I can always go get him for you.”

Spyro was silent for a few seconds as her words sunk in, then he groaned. “Please don’t. I like your stomach better as the sole occupant.” Cynder’s gut shook with laughter, before starting to slowly sway back and forth as she walked away to spend some alone time with her tasty partner.

[thetravelerwrites]

Karrghed (Orc) Lemon

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Female Human/Male Orc Additional Tags: Exophilia, Orc, Florence Nightingale Effect Content Warning: Blood Mention, Serious Injury Injured Orc Words: 5310

A young woman running a ranch on her own is surprised when an injured orc stumbled out of the woods during a storm. She nurses him back to health and the two grow close. Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

The ranch your mother had left you when she died could hardly be called that anymore; a single woman running it by herself with no ranch hands could barely get the chores done by nightfall. When your mother fell ill, you ended up having to sell most of the livestock, and the majority of the house’s furniture, just to keep a roof over your head. As it stood, you only had three cows, one bull, a single carthorse, and a handful of goats, sheep, and chickens left. Your great mastiff, Jude, helped wrangle the goats and sheep, and was your only helper.

You subsisted on your small garden, apple tree, and by selling cows and goats milk, the chicken’s eggs, and sheep’s wool to the locals. Otherwise, it was hand to mouth every day of the week.

For the last few hours, the animals had been restless, which could only mean one thing: a storm was on the horizon. A big one too, judging from how the animals were stamping and lowing and throwing their heads around. You decided to forgo letting them roam for the afternoon, like you would on a normal day, and put them into the small barn, one by one, including the hens.

You knew the animals would be safe; your father had built the barn as sturdy as a rock. You were more worried about your garden. Too much flooding would destroy it, and then you were out of fresh produce. It’s not like you could afford to buy more.

It began to sprinkle as you started setting up a rain shield over your crops. Whether it would hold or not was the question, but you had nothing else.

The rain was coming down a bit harder as you finished up, and you were soaked through and getting cold. Just as you turned to go into your house and stoke up the fire, movement in the treeline caught your attention. You straightened up to see a man, orcish based on his coloring, stumble out of the woods clutching his stomach.

He wore furs and armor, looking to be a warrior from one of the strongholds to the north, but you weren’t sure which. He was too far away to make out any identifying features, but you could see a dark stain cascading down from where he was holding. Before you could call out, he collapsed.

Without realizing it, you were rushing out, heedless of the potential dangers, to reach the man. He lay face down in the grass, blood leaking out from his wound.

“Oh gods,” You gasped, settling down next to him, shaking him. “You have to wake up! You’re too big for me to move on my own!”

He grunted but didn’t move.

“Shit!” You swore, making a dash for the barn, throwing a blanket over the carthorse and leading him out into the rain. You made him kneel down in the grass and managed to roll the orc twice in order to get him onto the horse. The physician was too far away, so the only thing you could do was put the orc in your house, ride like mad to the doctor, and pray that he was willing to go out in a storm to treat a patient. Even still, the least you could do is get him out of the rain.

You somehow managed to get the orc into the house, though he was basically splayed out on the floor in front of the door.

“Watch over him, Jude!” You called to the dog. The big girl boofed at you and sat right next to the orc, not moving.

Afterward, you threw a riding blanket over your carthorse and vaulted up, urging it into a gallop and starting the two miles to the nearest town, praying the orc would still be alive when you got back.

The doctor, praise be, was actually willing to ride back to your house with you after gathering a few things based on your description of the wound. He saddled up his own horse and followed you the five minutes back to the ranch house with the wind whipping your face.

Thankfully, the orc was still breathing, though it was labored, and the blood was pooling on the floor underneath him. You helped the doctor pick the orc up and put him in your bed and assisted him in removing the orc’s armor and bloodied clothes, then you went out to tend to the horses to let the doctor examine the visitor in private, taking Jude with you.

“Oh, Jude, my linens,” You bemoaned. “I do hope the poor man lives, but I’ll be shearing the sheep early this year just to replace the bedclothes. I guess I won’t be making that winter coat I was planning.”

Jude whined a little and nudged your hip as you brushed down the horses, tired from their run. You were tired, too. It was barely mid-afternoon, but the clouds from the storm made it seem as dark as night outside. It was throwing off your sense of time.

After brushing, feeding, and watering the horses, as well as making sure all the animals were well in their stalls, you dashed back inside the house. You had Jude stay with the animals rather than have wet dog smell inside your home. Jude made puppy eyes at you, but you promised she could come back in when you were able to come out and give her a proper pat down with a towel.

“How is he?” You asked the doctor, putting on the kettle for some tea.

“Well,” The doctor said, wiping his hands on a cloth. “He lost a large amount of blood, but I don’t think any of his major organs were damaged. The bleeding has stopped, mostly, and I’ve stitched up the wound. My concern is that he didn’t wake up either when I was fishing around inside him or when I was stitching him up. Either he took a head wound that I can’t seem to find, or he’s more dehydrated than I thought and there’s not enough blood flow to get him to come to alertness. You should attempt to get as much water down him as you can.”

“Wait, you’re leaving?” You asked, alarmed.

“I’ve done what I can, miss,” The doctor said, shrugging on his coat. “It’s in God’s hands now.”

“That’s it?” You asked. Oh gods, you couldn’t handle a man that size. “What should I do with him?”

“Just keep him hydrated. I’ll leave you a tincture of wormwood and willow bark for if he wakes. You should also make a poultice from honey to put on the wound to prevent infection, if you have any. Good day, miss.”

The doctor put on his hat and walked out the door, setting a bottle on the table as he went, leaving you to deal with the orc.

The storm passed overnight, during which time you spent a restless few hours sleeping on the floor of your room next to the patient. Every hour or so, you got up to try and get some water down his gullet, massaging his neck to get him to swallow. You did manage to get some fluids down each time, as he swallowed reflexively, but it wasn’t as much as you liked. He was worryingly unresponsive, as the doctor said, you wondered if he was always this pale shade of green or if it was a symptom of the blood loss.

The next morning, you took down the rain shield, relieved to find your garden only slightly damaged in a way that could be fixed, took the animals out for a graze, being sure to keep them out of the field that was particularly muddy, and went to find some honey. You took Jude with you for some much needed exercise, and she happily bound over rocks and stumps.

You knew there was a wild hive just beyond the treeline and hoped you’d be able to get enough without being stung to death. An hour and five stings later, you did end up with a small honeycomb clutched in your hand. Thankfully, you weren’t allergic to them, but several stings in one place was causing a significant amount of swelling. You might need to use some of the honey poultice for yourself, if there was enough. Although, you did have some apple cider vinegar left…

You didn’t know much about medicine beyond basic first aid, but some herbalism was pretty universal. You made up the poultice with the honey and some witch hazel and a few drops of the tincture the doctor had left.

The orc was still laying straightened out on the bed, still unconscious. Last night, during the storm, you’d had only the fire in the kitchen and a single candle flickering, so it had been rather dark. Now in the full light of day, you could get your first good look at the man who had stumbled onto your ranch.

His face was relaxed and handsome, though there were scars on his lip and across his nose. His tusks were large and circled with gold bands, though the tusks themselves had several nicks in them. Additional scars criss-crossed his well-defined chest and abdomen. His stomach, where the stitched wound, was flat and muscular. His arms, too, were pretty well-formed and had scars up and down them. His hair was intricately braided and still a little wet, though there were a few wayward strands falling around his shoulders. He seemed older than his shapely build suggested, perhaps late thirties, though you hadn’t met many orcs and weren’t entirely sure.

You slathered the poultice on the wound and covered it with a bandage. You couldn’t move him to wrap it securely, so all you could do was press it down gently to keep the air off of it. You tried again to get him to drink before wrapping up your hand and going out to take care of your livestock.

The next few days were the same, and you were beginning to wonder if he would ever wake. He was in danger of starving to death, if his wound didn’t get him. But just when you were losing hope, he opened his eyes as you were trying to feed him some broth.

“Are you alive?” You asked him, setting down the tureen.

He coughed and grunted. “Doesn’t feel like it.” He stared at you with startlingly bright blue eyes. “Who are you?”

“You stumbled into my field,” You told him. “I’ve had the doctor round to look at you. Seems like he was right.”

“Doctors don’t know anything,” He said gruffly. “I need to get to my stronghold and see the medicine woman.”

“What is she, if not a doctor by another name?” You asked shrewdly. He grunted again. “In any case, you’re in no condition to be going anywhere. You’ve been here nearly a week. Another few days won’t matter.”

“A week?!” He said. “I’ve been unconscious that long? Has anyone come for me? Is my battalion outside?” He made to get up, clutching his wound. “They need to know I’m alright.”

You tried to stop him, though you had as much luck as you would have had trying to push down a mountain. “There was no one but you! You came out alone. Please, you must stay in bed or you’ll reopen your wounds!”

“I have to see for myself!” He said, standing up, not realizing he was naked. You averted your eyes as he looked down. “Where are my clothes?”

“The doctor took them off to treat you,” You said, blushing furiously. “They’re over there.”

You pointed to a bureau, where his soiled garments and armor lay. He began putting them back on gingerly.

“I need to find them! I need to find my battalion,” He said. “A commander doesn’t leave his men behind.”

“You’ll die if you go out there by yourself in this condition,” You told him sternly.

“Then I’ll die,” He said matter-of-factly. “Thank you for your kindness. I’ll return with repayment, though I don’t know when that will be.”

“Not if you’re dead,” You said in an undertone, but if he heard, he gave no sign. Instead, he strode off across the field to the woods as, showing no trace of the injury under his armor in his gait. He hadn’t even told you his name.

You watched him disappear into the trees grimly, petting Jude’s head as she whined, before wondering if you had anything in your stores that would get bloodstains out of linens.

Another day passed. You ended up burning the linens and, after mourning their loss, sheared the sheep. While you were carding the wool for spinning on your porch with Jude, she barked loudly and stood up, staring out over the field. You looked and saw the orc come back out of the woods. He wasn’t stumbling like last time, but you could see he wasn’t well, even from this distance.

You set down the wool and walked out. You’d already had a cup of water set down next to you, so you snatched that up.

“Here,” You said as he approached, holding out the cup.

His breathing was labored as he said, “Thanks.” He drained it in two large gulps and handed the cup back, his hand going to his belly.

“Did you find them?”

“A few,” He said. “They’d been buried where they lay. It’s too warm and we live too far for them to have been brought home, especially after the rain. Thankfully, it looks like most of my battalion survived and went back to the stronghold.”

“That’s good,” You said.

He nodded. “Yes. I am glad.” He listed sideways and then straightened.

You squinted at him. “Have you rested at all?”

He shook his head. “I hate to impose further, but if you have a place I might lie down.”

“Come on,” You said, leading him into the house. “I’m going to have to replace the mattress anyway. You might as well use it until I make the new one.”

“My apologies for the inconvenience,” He said as you pulled him into the bedroom and prodded him to lie down. “I’ll move on as soon as I’m able.”

“Don’t worry about that right now,” You said. “You were a fool for leaving in your state yesterday. A person your age should know better.”

“Aye,” He said in a tired voice, flopping onto the bed facedown. You pushed him to make him roll over.

“You never told me your name, you know,” You told him.

“Karrghed,” He mumbled.

“Well, Karrghed, let me look at your wound, will you?” You said.

He grunted and assisted you in removing his armor, though he blessedly left his clothes on. There was fresh blood, but the stitches were holding. You sighed in aggravation.

“If you want to make it back to your stronghold alive, you need to take better care of yourself. You stay in that bed until I tell you to get up, understand?”

“If you say so,” He said, already half asleep. You sighed again and left him alone, going back out to finish carding.

You made dinner for the two of you, and after eating your portion, you took the rest on a tray into the room for him. He was still sleeping, so you shook him awake.

“Hey. I brought you dinner,” You said.

He managed a ghost of a smile. “I must be dying if a lovely woman is bringing me a meal in bed.”

You snorted. “Well, if you’re feeling well enough to flirt, I’m sure you’re nowhere close to dying. Sit up.” He did so and you put the tray on his lap. “Can you feed yourself?”

“I can manage, yes, thank you,” He said sardonically, taking the spoon in his hand and scooping up some of the stew you made.

“So… what happened?” You asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. “What brought you dying to my doorstep.”

He shoveled a spoonful of stew in his mouth and swallowed before answering. “A local village came to us about a large bandit attack that had killed several merchants and stolen much of their money and wares. They asked us to find the bandits and take care of them. They didn’t know how many there were, just that several businesses were hit at once. I took my battalion, fifty men strong, out to track them, five men to a team, twenty teams each. Team H came back and reported they’d found a camp that had some of the items that had been stolen, so we went to investigate. We walked into an ambush. And they weren’t bandits. They were a rival stronghold.”

“Oh gods,” You said. “There has to be some serious bad blood for them to do something like that.”

“Oh, yeah,” He said. “They claim they own the land our stronghold is built on and have been trying to push us out of our territory for almost a century. They’ve been getting more brazen lately, but I didn’t think they’d resort to murder. Strongholds are supposed to have a code of ethics. Whatever issues we have with each other, we never get innocent outsiders involved. This incident is designed to provoke a war.”

“War?” You said, frowning with concern.

“Yes,” He replied, eating as though unfazed. “As soon as I’m well enough, I need to make the trek back to the stronghold. They’ll need me for the coming battle. If this was the precursor to a full assault, I will be expected on the front lines.”

“So I’m letting you recuperate here just to die back there?” You asked sourly.

He shrugged. “That is the nature of war.”

“That doesn’t mean I have to like it,” You said, staring out the window.

He was silent, and you could feel his eyes on you. “Are you alone here?”

“Yes,” You replied.

“No family?”

“I was an only child, and my mother died recently. She had been sick for a long time.”

“Your father?”

“He died when I was a little girl,” You said flatly. “In a war. That’s about the time my mother became ill. I always believed it was heartbreak. She was never the same after his death.”

“I see,” He replied in a neutral tone.

You stood suddenly. “I need to tend to the animals. I’ll return later.”

You left the room without looking at him, and he said nothing to stop you.

Another two days passed with a rather formal atmosphere. You came in only to bring his meals, give him the tincture, and check his wounds. He didn’t attempt to flirt with you again, merely thanked you for the food and care.

You slept on the floor in the weaving room with Jude, since there were no other beds in the house. It had once been your bedroom, but you had started sleeping in the same room as your mother after she had gotten sick. You had been working on the canvas for the new mattress. You wished you had linen for the canvas, but you could never grow enough flax for a full mattress.

“Is this where you sleep?” You heard him ask from the doorway.

“Well, a large orc has taken residence in my bed, so yes,” You said groggily, rubbing your eyes. “What are you doing out of it?”

“I had to take piss,” He replied, his arms folded as he looked down at you with a frown. “Why didn’t you tell me I’d put you out so much?”

“Because it wasn’t relevant,” You said. “Do you need your tincture?”

“No, I feel fine,” He said. “I took a look around. You run this place alone?”

“As well as I can,” You replied. “It was much larger before. I had to sell a lot of what we had to pay for my mother’s treatments.”

“That’s still a lot of work for a woman on her own,” He said, his face softening. “You’ve been doing all this and taking care of me at the same time?”

“I’m used to it,” You said as you stood, brushing off your clothes. “I did it for my mother for years.”

“Dedicated. I like that in a woman,” He said with a smile.

You frowned at him. “Don’t waste your time with flirting. You’re leaving soon, remember?”

“You could come with me,” He said, his face serious.

You considered him. “This is my home,” You replied finally. “Besides, I could never commit myself to a warring man. I won’t die like my mother did.”

“Dying as a warrior is the highest honor for an orc,” He said automatically.

“I don’t know much about honor, but it seems to me that dying a happy old man isn’t a bad way to go, either,” You retorted.

“You wouldn’t understand,” He said, turning away.

“You’re right,” You said to his back as he returned to your room. “I don’t understand.”

There was no reply.

The next morning, you and Jude went out to care for the animals, only to find that the morning chores had been done. The water troughs were full and there was hay in the feed bins. The chickens had been fed and the eggs collected. The cows and goats had been milked and the milk was in the jugs, seal and waiting to be distributed. This felt odd. You’d never woken up and had nothing to do. Bemused, you went to make breakfast.

Karrghed came out of the bedroom in just his clothes. They were freshly laundered, the bloodstain still present but cleaned as well as possible and the hole stitched. His hair was rebraided and he seemed to have washed himself.

“Thank you for doing my chores, but you shouldn’t do so much while you’re still healing,” You said, beginning to chop some vegetables for breakfast.

“It was the least I can do,” He said. “Besides, orcs heal fast.” He leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed and watched you bustle about the kitchen. “I think I’ll be well enough to get out of your hair tomorrow.”

“Hmm,” You hummed. “If you’re sure.”

“I was serious yesterday,” He said. “I’ve never considered taking a wife before. As you say, being a soldier means you’re always putting your life in danger, so it never seemed sensible to get married. But… you’re captivating. Loyal, hard working, kind. Beautiful. You wouldn’t have to struggle to survive. You’d be taken care of.”

“I don’t need to be taken care of,” You told him evenly. “Besides, I was serious, too. I won’t marry a soldier. And I won’t leave my home.”

There was silence for several minutes as he watched you cook. You had a feeling the conversation wasn’t over yet. You plated the food and set it on the table, and he took a seat opposite you.

As you were eating, he said: “Would you be willing to wait for me?”

“Wait?” You echoed.

“I have to go back and see this thing done with the rival stronghold,” He said, setting his fork down. “But… When it’s over… I could return here. I’ve been thinking about what you said, about dying happy. Being a soldier… it fulfills a sense of duty that every orc has, it’s rewarding, sometimes it’s even fun. It’s expected of me, but I’m not sure it’s ever made me happy. Most men my age have settled down, handed the battle to the next generation, usually when they’re wounded to the point that they don’t see the appeal anymore. Perhaps it took a gut wound for me to reach that point. Maybe it was meeting you. But… I’d like to try another life. A happy one.”

“What if you decide you’re not happy?” You asked him bluntly. “What if you give up your entire life and realize you made a mistake? Where does that leave me? Right back where I was. You’ve gotten what you wanted, and then you leave.”

He shook his head. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“You don’t know what you’d do, you’ve never been in this situation.”

He reached across the table and took your hand. “I know myself. No matter what, I wouldn’t abandon you. I’m a man of my word.”

“Karrghed,” You said, sliding your hand out from under his. “We don’t even know each other, and we certainly don’t love each other. We have two different lives. You can’t give up everything you know in an effort to repay a debt you think you owe because I helped you, and you won’t convince me that this offer of marriage isn’t some sort of misguided attempt to reimburse me.”

He sat in a stony silence for a minute, staring at his plate, his jaw working.

“You think I don’t love you?” He asked darkly. You stared at him for a moment before he suddenly stood, said, “Thank you for the meal,” and retreated into the bedroom. You sat stunned at the table, staring after him, feeling confused and out of sorts.

Karrghed didn’t reappear for lunch or dinner, nor did he respond when you ask if he needed anything. You spent the day sewing and stuffing the new mattress and covering, thinking hard on what Karrghed had said. The hurt in his words.

You think I don’t love you?

“Karrghed?” You called through the door that evening, just after nightfall. “I’ve finished the mattress. Will you help me move it to the bed? It’s unwieldy and I’m having a hard time moving it on my own.”

At first, you didn’t think he would respond, but just when you were about to give up, you heard his footsteps approach and the door opened. He didn’t look at you, just brushed past you and hauled up the mattress, taking it to the bedroom. You followed him inside with new linens, waiting as he swapped out the mattresses before making the bed. He took the old one out to the barn and returned before you had finished.

“You should sleep on the bed,” He said. “It’s yours anyway. I’ll sleep in the other room.”

“Nonsense,” You said, smoothing out the blanket. “You’re still healing. You should have the bed.”

“No,” He said, his voice like steel. “It’s shameful of a man to make a woman sleep on the floor.”

You took a big breath and said, “There’s room for both of us.”

His face hardened. “Don’t play with me.” He propelled himself off of the frame and stalked off to the other room.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you watched him walk off. You didn’t know what had overtaken you, but you knew you had to set it right. If he left tomorrow angry with you, you’d regret it forever.

“I’ll wait for you, Karrghed!” You called through the door.

He stopped there in the doorway of the weaving room, his back to you, breathing hard. Slowly, he turned on his heel to look at you.

“You swear?” He said in a hushed tone. “You swear you’ll wait?”

“Yes,” You said. “Karrghed, I swear.”

The first true, genuine smile you’d ever seen split his face. It made him look ten years younger. Three long strides was all it took for him to reach you, and you pressed his lips you yours. You’d never imagined you’d react the way you did, throwing your arms around his neck and drinking in his kiss as if it were a rare wine. He wrapped his arms around you and lifted you, laying you down on the fresh bed.

The heat flooded your body as he placed himself between your legs, kissing your lips, cheek, neck, and shoulders, pulling down your sleeves to expose more of your skin. You tugged up his shirt and pulled it over his head, wrapping your legs around his waist. Your fingers drifted across the stitches in his stomach.

“Wait, wait,” You said. “You haven’t healed enough for this.”

He groaned, but he knew you were right. “Very well. Then I’ll leave you with a promise, then.” He sank down between your legs and touched your swollen lips with his large fingers. You gasped and your head fell back onto the covers. He kissed your inner thighs as his fingers teased you, and you writhed underneath him. Nothing had ever made you feel like this before, and you wanted more.

He leaned forward and his tongue pressed itself to your slit, and your body tensed involuntarily with pleasure. You grabbed his hair and tugged hard, pulling him closer, and he chuckled. His tongue plunged inside of you and moaned, his fingers gliding over your clit, rubbing it in circles. He definitely seemed like he knew what he was doing. He sucked and nibbled and nipped, and you were glad you had no neighbors, as you didn’t realize you could scream so loud.

“I love a woman who’s not scared to make noise,” He said as he came up for air.

“You said you could stop?” You asked breathlessly, laying on the bed like a de-boned fish.

He laughed as he pulled himself up and laid on top of you. “Much more and you’ll be asleep for a week, like I was. You need to recover.”

You mewled unhappily, but submitted to his kiss.

The two of you slept naked, wrapped up in each other, and in the morning, he dressed and readied himself to leave.

“I swore to wait,” You said sternly. “But now you have to swear to come back. Swear to me.”

“I swear, beloved,” He said, kissing you gently. “I don’t know how long it will take to put this to bed, but when it is done, I’ll return. I swear.”

Six months passed, six months of letters, gifts, and treasures sent as “bride-gifts” as it was called in clans, presents to prove to the bride that the groom was more than capable of providing for her. From just these things, it was clear to you that Karrghed was very well off, apparently having made a name for himself as a commander early in his career.

The day finally came when he would return. You watched from your porch from dawn, waiting for him. Jude knew before you did, bounding off of the porch and launching herself toward the woods. He walked with haste up the gravel trail, a horse and cart behind him, followed by a line of cattle, two horses, and a procession of orcs, at least ten in total, all with packs.

You jumped off the porch and ran to him. He left off giving Jude a good pat in time to catch you as you jumped up, kissing you soundly.

When you broke apart, you asked, “What’s all this?”

“This is my family,” He said with a grin, extending a hand. “They’re here for the wedding, and my parents wanted to come in person to thank you for saving my life. My two youngest brothers will be staying on as ranch hands.” He pointed at two young orcs, perhaps not fully grown. “It’ll be good learning for them before they join the corps.”

“But!” You said. “I’m happy to meet everyone, but there isn’t enough room in the house for all of them!”

“No worries, my love,” He said, still smiling. “As their wedding gift to us, they will be helping to build a new barn and add on to the house. There’s no telling how many children we may have. It’s good to be prepared.”

You laughed and blushed at the same time. He chuckled at you.

“I kept my promise, didn’t I?” He asked in your ear.

“You did,” You replied, hugging him around the neck. “And so did I.”

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My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

[im-hqlover]

DT - Fallen Kingdom - Mistakes

(Aww, i love this gif so much! Btw the gif doesn't belong to me)

A/n - Okay, I know this is totally random, but after re-watching the movie Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom I was really looking forward to writing this, and to explain some things this is part of the same series of Dinosaur Trainer fanfics, but in the future. Why did I write this instead of writing chapter 2? I don't know, I just wanted to write something that happened in the Fallen Kingdom movie, and so as not to lose inspiration I wrote. 

Some things will only make sense to me, and it will only make sense to you after I write more about the story. (I swear I’ll try to write Chapter 2 soon, and do them in the right order, and not jump into the past and then into the future, but I told myself that whenever I have an idea to write, I should write, if not later I will never be able to write this again, so here it is.)  

Btw, I also wanted something angst and fluff, because I don't know, I like to write / read with this combination of angst and fluff, am I weird? Maybe ¯ \ _ (ツ) _ / ¯ 

But I hope you like it! Oh, and the dinosaurs I censored the name of the species, because I still want it to be a surprise that I intend to reveal only in chapter 3, then xxxxxxxxxxx is the fusion of the dinosaur that y/n trains together with another one that I will not reveal yet 🤭😁, you will understand what I mean, especially with future chapters, so I’ll leave it to your imagination which dinosaur it is. Enjoy! See you in the final notes!

Warnings: Spoilers, almost death by dinosaur, mentions of miscarriage, crying (a lot), angst, "cheated", dino death ;-;, fight, possible english errors, maybe other things that I'm forgetting... let me know if you find something I need to warn that I forgot.

(oh, and Claire isn't very nice here, so if you like her, sorry. not sorry)

Pairing: Owen Grady x Pregnant!Reader

Y/n = Your name

Words count: 4783

Previous chapters: One

Next chapters: Maybe not that soon xD

Synopsis: A few months after the Jurassic World incident, Owen and y / n get married, and decide that they would live on the roads for a long time, until they met a small town in northern California, and decided to start building their own house in a beautiful place. Everything was going well, more than well, everything was perfect, well, at least until y/n finds out she's pregnant, at first she was afraid to tell her husband about the news, but when she takes courage and she decided that she would find a cute way to tell him about it, they get a call about saving the surviving dinosaurs from Isla Nublar, and were visited by Claire, who insisted that they go to save the dinosaurs, y/n really wanted to save Rain, one of the surviving dinosaurs she trained, and she knew she couldn't tell Owen that she was pregnant because she knew he would never let her go. What could go wrong?

Taglist:  If you want to be part of my taglist, please let me know!

Y/N's INFO:

Gender: Cis-Female

Sexuality: Straight 

Height: Short 

Weight: Not Defined 

Skin Color: Not Defined 

Hair Color: Not Defined 

Eyes Color: Not Defined

Other details? Y/n is myopic

(I hope I have put all the information, let me know if I forgot something)

[...]

I was in a corner of the dark room watching Rain and the Xxxxxxxxxxx, they seemed to be communicating, making grunts, and Rain seemed to make the same sounds as when she cried, and it was breaking my heart, I was so scared, and probably Rain would die anytime and I would be helpless, and so I would die for that mutant being. 

The Xxxxxxxxxxx looks at me, and approaches slowly, my breath started to accelerate and the tears kept flowing, I bit my lip holding my hiccups with the dinosaur's proximity, she looks at me and I swallow, she touches the hand that was on my belly and snorts, she closed eyes for a second before grunting, the same grunt that Rain did when I approached her there in the truck. 

I really wanted to know what they talked about, how the hell was the dinosaur that seconds ago was trying to kill me, it was there next to me, touching my stomach, I just hoped it wasn't something she was doing before killing me, but luckily she did nothing against me, and so when the lights came back on, she lifted her head and grunted, turning and walking away. 

I walk towards Rain, and I see that her breath was failing a lot, I sit next to her, placing my hand on her neck, and she growled quietly, more and more tears start to fall and I hear a very loud scream coming from somewhere, but I looked again at the albino dinosaur when she groans in pain. 

- I'm sorry, I wish I could help, but I don't know... - My voice comes just above the whisper, Rain opens her blue eyes and grunts one last time, until her body stops moving. - Rain!

I scream her name softly and bend down, placing my face on the scaly skin, letting the tears fall. I get up on wobbly legs, I couldn't stay there with her dead, so I walked to the nearest doors and opened it, entering a room where it looked like an exhibition place, but it was all a mess, I hear voices and walk towards it, just to see Owen and Claire kissing. 

My already broken heart seemed to have been trampled to dust, I let a sob leave my lips with the scene, and because of that Owen looks at me with wide eyes, I run towards one of the corridor, just to get out of there as soon as possible, I hear my husband's voice in the distance calling my name, but I kept running, not looking back, until I reached the main door, leaving the Lockwoods' mansion, where raindrops wet my entire body. 

My body shivers when I hear the sound of a grunt coming from a high place, and when I turn around, I see that on top of the roof there was a dinosaur, I thought that maybe it was Xxxxxxxxxxx, but its shape was different, so maybe it was other, but I couldn't identify which one it would be. 

I see it coming down the roof, entering through a window, and in a short time I hear the sound of gunshots, followed by dinosaur grunts and human screams, and then through the same window that that dinosaur came in, I see two people leave, but I couldn't identify who it was. 

I start to follow them across the floor, as I follow them, I hear more grunts and screams, in addition to the sound of glass breaking. The two people went to a glass ceiling, and I tried to identify who it was, but I couldn't see well, but apparently the dinosaur was following them, and maybe it was approaching them, because after a roar, they walk away, and one of the people ends up slipping and screaming, but the other one else catches it. 

I hear footsteps next to me and see that it was Xxxxxxxxxxx, she looks at me and makes a small sound, before she starts to climb the walls, and then a faint sound of banging metal appears. 

The two people who were falling manage to climb, the bigger person walks away, and the unidentified dinosaur screams, and soon after I hear glass breaking, in addition to more grunts. I see that Xxxxxxxxxxx reached the ceiling, and went into attack position, and another smaller dinosaur screams, who could almost swear it was the sound of a velociraptor, and they both attack the dinosaur, and they all fall off the glass ceiling. 

Not long after, the people up there say something, but I was too far away to understand, and I notice that the silhouette of the two people is gone. 

I look around, hoping there wasn't any dinosaur there, and I go back to the mansion's entrance, standing on the stairs. I didn’t know where to go, what to do, or what to feel, so many things had happened that day, almost death on the isla Nublar, discovering that they weren't actually looking after the dinosaurs, but would sell them, mutant dinosaur, dinosaur attacks, Rain's death, watching Owen's scene… 

My tears are mixed with rainwater when I start to remember Rain and Owen, the only thing I could do now was cry, feel guilty, feel worthless, and think I'm not good enough. 

I wrap my arms around my stomach, and I ended up getting even more worried, the baby, all this madness would certainly not be good for the baby, and I was afraid that I might have an miscarriage because of that, and I didn’t want to lose this baby, I already suffered a lot in just one day, and with that, I don’t know what I could do with me. 

Lost in thought, I get scared when I hear the heavy noise of several dinosaurs running, and I hadn't even realized that the rain had stopped, I hear footsteps approaching the front door, Turning to see who it was, I realize it was Owen, along with a girl, Franklin, Zia and urgh, Claire. 

I walk down the stairs before they leave, but of course Owen would see me and then he screams out calling my name. 

- Y/n! Wait! - I stop in the middle of the steps when I see a familiar dinosaur at the bottom of the stairs, Blue. Owen stopped beside me, and when he saw the velociraptor he spoke. - Hey Girl. 

- Owen. - I hear Claire's voice, and I swear that hearing her say my husband's name made me want to throw up and start crying again, not that the tears stopped at some point in fact, damn hormones that wouldn't let me go without crying for a second. 

- Shh! It's okay, she won't hurt us. - Owen goes down the rest of the steps, approaching Blue, with his hand extended to touch her. - Hey. 

Without my realizing it, I went down the stairs, approaching Owen and the velociraptor.

- Blue, come with me. - He pets Blue, and she purrs, and then takes Owen's hand away, approaching me slowly, she sniffs me for a moment and gently touches my stomach, which makes me smile, and then I pet her too, making her purr, and Owen puts his hand on her again, it seems like he didn’t realized it as anything else, but I knew she knew I was pregnant, as well as Rain and Xxxxxxxxxxx. 

- We'll take you to a safe place, okay? - Blue chitter and then follows the look of Owen who was seeing the big container beside and looks again at Owen before running from there to the forest, looking back for a second, making another noise as if to say goodbye, more tears flow from my eyes, and I still had my arms around my stomach. My husband looks at me, he was going to say something, but he is interrupted by a little girl who hugs him, I look at him for a moment, and then I can't let a sob out of my mouth, then cover it with my hand and leave. 

- Y/n! Where are you going!? 

- Anywhere away from you! - I can muster the strength to speak before continuing on my aimless path, I hear the sound of his steps on the gravel and feel him take my wrist, forcing me to look at him. - Leave me! 

I try to remove his hand from my wrist, but it only made him hold both of my arms, preventing me from leaving. 

- Y/n, that was a misunderstanding…

- Oh sure! A kiss was a misunderstanding! I know very well what I saw! And I know very well that you should be loving this! Why don't you just break up with me and stay with your dear Claire Dearing? - I say with all the anger and sadness that had engulfed my body, trying desperately to remove his hands from me. 

- Y/n, I didn't kiss her! She kissed me! 

- Ah, of course, the typical excuse. - I roll my eyes, avoiding looking at him. - I know I'll never be perfect like her, so why just… don't let me… 

All the anger that I had ends up falling, and I just feel disappointment in myself and a deep sadness. 

- Because I love you, and I could never leave you. - He puts a hand on my cheek, wiping my tears away, but I push, not wanting him to touch me. 

- I doubt it. - I look at the stairs for a moment, and I can quickly see the four standing on the stairs, probably listening to our conversation, and I can swear I could see Claire with a little smile. I look at my right side trying hard not to look at him.

- Hey, look at me. - He forced me to look at him, but I was more stubborn, and I wasn't going to give him that power, so I kept looking away. 

- I will always be the last option... - I whisper, as more tears clouded my vision.   

- Hey, listen to me, you aren't the last option, believe me, I love you more than anything in this world, and you know it. - For the second time he puts one of his big hands on my cheek, wiping away my tears, I didn't know what to say, I wanted to retaliate, yell at him, curse him, hit him, but I couldn't do anything. - Nothing Claire does will make me leave you, because you are the only person I love. 

- And how do I know if you're not lying? - I managed to say between sobs. 

- You know I would never be with you if I didn't really love you, right? And I swear to god I will do anything to prove my words that I love you, and that I would go to hell for you. 

For the first time I look at his eyes, his green eyes that I loved so much, for a moment I hesitated but I kiss him, it was a passionate kiss, it was necessary, it was despair, and I can hear the sound of voices behind us, but I didn't pay much attention, because the only thing I wanted to pay attention to was there, in that kiss. But when I feel a sharp pain in my stomach, I have to part with Owen's lips and shrink in pain. 

- Y/n? What happened?

- I-I. - The pang of pain seemed to take all my breath away, making me almost unable to speak. - I d-don't know.

It was then that I felt a liquid between my legs, I couldn't see it, but I was pretty sure it was blood. 

- No, no, no. 

- Y/n, what's going on? 

- O-Owen… - He wraps his arms around me, bringing me closer, and the four who were on the stairs before approach us. 

- What is happening? - Asked Franklin, with his usual nervousness, but I can't judge him, since I was kind of like that too, especially now. I even tried to speak, but I couldn't, I could only think that I probably had an miscarriage, and that I hadn't even told Owen that he was going to be a father. 

- I don't know, y/n was writhing in pain. - He answers while stroking my back, which made me calm down a little. 

- What kind of pain? - Zia asked approaching us both.

- Mis-miscarriage. - It was the only thing I managed to say, but my voice was muffled and I don't know if anyone understood. 

- What? - Owen and Zia speak at the same time. 

- I-I... I think I had... a mis-miscarriage. - I spoke louder as I buried my head in Owen's chest, and held his shirt tighter.

- Miscarriage? What... - Owen doesn't finish talking and just remains silent, and stopped stroking my back. 

- We have to take her to the hospital now. - Zia said to Owen, and he removed his arms from me, before starting to carry me bride-style to one of the cars (or truck?) that was nearby, he put me in the passenger seat and then went around to get into the driver's seat.

I heard the sound of footsteps and I was pretty sure the four of them had gone in behind the car/truck, but I was more busy trying to control my breathing and try to stop crying for a few minutes, but the thought of losing my baby and all of this being my fault kept getting in of my head, I avoided looking at Owen, and I only paid attention to the road in front of us, I realized several times that Owen wanted to say something, but he never spoke, the only thing he said was.

- We're almost there, just a few more minutes. - He had put his hand on my knee, maybe trying to comfort me in some way, but in fact it just made me feel more guilty about not telling him. 

I don't know how Owen managed to find the way to the hospital, but there we were, he took me to the reception, and spoke to the nurse at the counter. 

- Please, this is an emergency! - He raised his voice when the nurse insisted she had to fill out a form before I was attended. 

- What kind of emergency? - The nurse said while typing something on the computer, and then before Owen could answer, I speak. 

- I think I had a miscarriage. - I instinctively put my hands on my belly, and the nurse agrees and starts to call a phone, calling one of the doctors, and then she calls other nurses came and puts me on a stretcher. 

- Hey! Let me go with her! - I hear Owen's voice behind me, but I couldn't see him. 

- Sorry sir, but you'll have to stay in the waiting room. 

- But I'm her husband! 

- Sir, you have to be patient and wait. 

- Please let him come. - I say weakly, but I don't know for exactly who. - Please. 

The nurses looked hesitant, but they let him come along. They took me to an empty room, and we had to wait until the doctor arrived, and meanwhile I was lying there, with Owen by my side holding my hand, I could feel his gaze on me, but I was ignoring him. 

- Y/n.

- … 

- Look at me. - I believe that when he realized that I wouldn't move my head to face him, he gently put his hand on my chin, thus having to look at him. - Why didn't you tell me you were pregnant? 

His voice was low, and I could feel the disappointment as he spoke, I tried to answer, but instead more tears fall. 

- Are you mad at me? - I ask him, but I couldn't look directly in your eyes. 

- No! Of course not! I'm not mad, I'm worried! You already knew that before we went to the island, and yet you agreed to risk you and our baby's life! - When his voice started to increase, I shrunk. 

- Because I knew you wouldn't let me go to the island if I told you! I knew you would be mad! - I remove his hand and look at the other corner of the room. 

- I'm not mad! I'm worried! What did you expect to happen if something worse had happened? What if you had died? 

- You could stay with Claire... - I answer quietly. 

- Y/n, I'm serious!

- And me too! I know you never forgot her! - I increase the tone of my voice, but I stop immediately as another stab of pain arises.

- We already talked about it y/n, now stop deviating from the subject. 

- I-I... - When I was about to start talking, the room door opens and the doctor enters with a clipboard. 

- Y/n Grady? - I nod in agreement and the doctor approaches us both. - Okay, I'm Dr. Briggs, I'm going to ask you some questions before I do the ultrasound, okay?

- Ok… - I glance at Owen, who looked at the doctor and then at me.

- How long have you been pregnant? 

- 6 weeks.

- Uhum, and since when have you known about pregnancy? 

- 3 weeks. - I feel more tears falling from my eyes, and a sob ends up escaping, and I put my hand over my mouth, trying to control myself. 

- Do you take any medication? - I just shake my head negatively, not sure if I could speak. 

- Have you had a lot of stress in the last few days? - I look quickly at Owen, and this time he answered. 

- We were dinosaur trainers, we had to rescue them today, and it was... very stressful. 

- Hum, I understand. - He kept writing something on the clipboard, he asked a few more questions, and when he finished writing he said he would have to go to the room where he had the necessary equipment for an ultrasound, and then he left the room and not long after some nurses came and took the stretcher that I was to another room, and as soon as we got there the doctor said he would be back soon, Owen and I were silent, I still ignored him but I could feel him staring at me.

- 3 weeks… - Owen whispered, probably talking to himself more, but I can't help feeling guilty about it. 

- Owen, I-I�� - I tried to recover my voice and add the courage I had to face my husband. - I'm sorry, I was going to tell you! I swear! But at first I was afraid that you didn't want this child, but after I decided I was going to tell you, I wanted, I don't know, to make a cute surprise… but then they called us about the island and the dinosaurs, and then Claire begged us to go… and when I saw you watching the baby velociraptors... I really wanted to save Blue, and Rain, and I knew that if I told you, you wouldn't let me go along. I'm sorry Owen, and now… a-and now our baby is probably d-dead because of me.

As I spoke more tears and sobs appeared, and Owen listened in silence to everything I had to say and wiped my tears away with his fingers. 

- Why did you think I wouldn't want to have a baby? This is one of the most incredible things I could hear. 

- I don't know... I-I, I'm sorry. - It was the only thing I managed to whisper, and when Owen was going to say something, the doctor came into the room. 

- Okay, let's start. - The doctor said when he sat in the chair next to the machine, he touched some things, he turned off the lights and asked me to raise my shirt and lower my pants a little, so that he could apply the warm gel on my belly, and then put the device on, I looked at the screen in front of me, which changed as he slid the device, and I gasped when I saw a small black bean-shaped spot with a white dot on it. 

- Is that white dot her, doctor? - I looked at Owen, and realized that his eyes were watering. 

- Yeah, it's the baby. - The doctor said while analyzing the screen and typing some things. 

- Owen, there's no way of knowing if it was her or him. - My voice was low and sad, while still watching my husband, who looked away from the screen to look at me and smiled at me. 

- I feel it's her. - When Owen said that I laugh a little bit still in tears, and I remembered the rare times we talked about children, saying that he wanted to have 4 girls, and I said that the chances of that happening were low, since it’s not possible to just want to, it’s a game of luck, and the chances of having 4 children, and they were all girls was very difficult, unless I was my aunt and he was my uncle, since they had 5 children, all girls. 

- Well, I can't say that yet, since to discover the genre it will be necessary to wait until the 20th week or more. - When the doctor said that, a click crossed my mind, but I was quiet for a few seconds before speaking.  

- Wait? Do you mean the baby is still alive? - My tears had stopped, and a glimmer of hope appeared, and I looked at Owen again, and I didn't exactly know what he was feeling, but his face was kind of funny to see.  

- I can't say this with 100% certainty yet, I will need some more tests and we need to follow up to see how the embryo and your body reacts, if the body will expel it, if there will be growth of the embryo, or if there will be no growth of it, but apparently what you suffered was an abortion threat, so it's better to be careful that a real miscarriage doesn't happen. 

After so many tears of sadness that I spilled that day, I finally managed to smile and tears of happiness fellen, and I saw that Owen also had a big smile on his face, with a single tear running down your cheek, he took my hand that he had been holding all this time and kissed it, before kissing my forehead. 

- I'll leave you a moment alone, I'll be back in a few minutes. - He took his clipboard and left the room which was still dark, with the image of our baby still appearing on the screen. 

- We're going to be parents. - Owen whispers and his forehead was resting on top of my head, and I could feel some of his tears fall. 

- But he said he can't be 100% sure ... - The thought takes over my mind, thinking that the worst could happen still haunted me. 

- Shh, don't think about it. - He put one of his hands on my cheek and then makes eye contact with me. - She will survive, she is a Grady, and the Grady don't die easily, look at us, we have survived attacks by dinosaurs, twice. 

I laugh at what he said, and a few more tears escaped my eyes, I couldn't understand how the hell I still managed to have so many tears. 

- How can you be so sure it's her? What if it's a boy? - I asked him when I wiped my tears.

- Shh, don't question my fatherly instincts. - It makes me laugh even more. 

- Hey, I'm the one who is pregnant, I'm the one who should have maternal instincts about what gender is. - I playfully tap his shoulder, and he laughs too. 

- Since you say, then tell me, what do you think it will be? - Owen shrugged before taking my hand again.

- Hmm ... I don't know, there is a 50% chance of being a girl and a 50% chance of being a boy, besides that in the future we don't know if he or she will feel the same way they was born and…

- Ok, ok, ok, got it, you don't know. - He laughed when I hit him on the shoulder and he raises his hands in defense. 

- My… uh… maternal instincts are still not strong enough to be sure. - I shrug, which makes Owen laugh again.  

- Okay, so let's do it like that, I bet 50 bucks that me and my fatherly instincts are right and it will be a girl. 

- Hum, do you want to bet now? - I raise my eyebrows at his proposal and cross my arms.

- Well, I need money to buy some beers for when we go to celebrate that I'm right. - He shrugs smiling and I laugh rolling my eyes.  

- Ok, ok, I accept the bet. - I talk giving my hand to him so we can close the bet. 

- You know you always lose them, don't you? - He chuckles, and still doesn't shake my hand. 

- I know, but I accept the bet. - I smile and he shakes my hand. 

- Then you can go saving the 100 dollars. 

- Hey! The deal was 50! - I tap him on the shoulder again making him laugh again, but then he takes my hands. 

- Are you sure? - Owen raises his eyebrows and I snort. 

- Yes, I'm sure, I'm pregnant, I'm not deaf or crazy. - He laughs at my sentence and kisses my hands.

- I'm kidding... it was actually 150. 

- Hey! - I can't believe how before I was crying desperately and now I was laughing, just him to be able to cheer me up at a time like this.

- Okay, okay, it'll be 50 bucks, and you better get ready to lose. - I roll my eyes and then look at the screen that had the image of our baby, and I can feel Owen's arm wrap around my shoulders and he lean his head against mine. - I swear with my life that I will take care of you and our baby, and that I love you both more than anything in the world, and nothing will change that. 

- Not even Claire? - I ended up returning to the subject, but I couldn't help it, I was still hurt because of that. 

- I swear y/n, what happened there meant nothing to me, because you are the only one for me, and nothing she does will destroy my love for you, understand?  

- Uhum. - I nod, with a single tear that insisted on falling, and then Owen holds my chin, looking into my eyes for a few seconds before we kiss deeply, at least until the doctor comes back and interrupts us. 

- Oh, well, sorry to disturb your moment, but if you don't mind, we'll have to do some more exams, so we'll take you to the room you were in earlier. - The doctor said and right behind him came nurses, who took me to the room, followed by the doctor and my husband.   

The doctor said that in addition to examining the embryo he needed to examine my other wounds, and see if I was all right, and because of that he put serum on me, collected blood samples, besides nurses came and made bandages on my injuries. I felt like crap to tell you the truth, and the only thing I wanted most was to take a shower, but the doctor wouldn't let me, at least for now, because he said I was still very weak, so I had better rest, and even if he hadn't said that, I think Owen would have stopped me saying the same thing. 

- You need to sleep. - Owen said to me, he was sitting next to me in the chair next to the stretcher, and then he kissed my right hand that was intertwined with his, and he puts his free hand over my hand that was resting on my belly. 

- You too. - I spoke in a hoarse voice, maybe it was the sleep that was hitting me little by little, or maybe it was because I cried and sobbed so much. 

- I will when you are. 

- Hum... you're stubborn. - I could feel my eyes getting heavy, but I wanted to keep them open so I could see his face, which smiled at me.

- Look who's talking. - I laugh lightly, I think we were both the most stubborn people on Earth.

- Would it be possible to turn off the lights, this is burning my eyes. - Owen chuckled before nodding and getting up to turn off the lights, soon returning to the same position as he was before. - Thanks.

- You're welcome. Good night y/n. - He kissed my forehead and then gave a sloppy kiss on my lips. 

- Good night Owen. - After closing my eyes, it wasn't long before I was in the world of dreams…  or rather, nightmares, because of course that after the nightmare I went through in real life, my mind couldn't miss the opportunity to haunt me.

A / n - Hey! Hello again! I think I wrote more than I expected, well, maybe I got a little excited hehe xD

And damn, I want to write the continuation of this chapter, but I also want to hold on and write the other things I need to write.

I don't know why, but as I wrote Doctor Briggs I saw his appearance as Benedict Cumberbatch xD

Anyway, I hope this was good and that you enjoyed it, don't forget to let me know if you have found any english error, or if something is very confusing, I always reread it several times, but I never know if something may have gone unnoticed. 

Until the next chapter! 

- Ina - 

Masterlist

[k-writesthings]

Sparring (Levi x Reader)

Warnings: SFW-ish (Implied sex scene and mentions of the Devil’s Tango), cussing

Word Count: 2600 (What a satisfying number...)  

      “Jean, keep your arms up! Be ready to fight back. Eren, go for it!” I shouted over the grunts and cursing filling the training grounds. It was the tail end of our group sparring session. The sun glowed orange, hanging low in the sky. Small whispers of wind brushed across my shoulders, and a certain smell of grass and honeysuckle floated in the air. It was a gorgeous evening, and the perfect start to our monthly weekend off. All we had to do was finish this session, and then Levi and I would be free to have our alone time.

   I longed for that rare time I had Levi all to myself. Usually, he was all work, all the time. He’d even work straight through his days off if I wasn’t there to remind him to relax. But I could see his demeanor change when he knew he could save his work for another time. He was more care-free, more spontaneously romantic, and even playful sometimes. Just imagining his adorable little smile, the kind he’d only show me, made my cheeks flush and my heart start to beat faster. I’d get that and more in just a couple hours. 

   I just had to finish this session.

   “Ow! Jean! No head shots, I don’t need a concussion right now!” Eren yelled, dodging a close swing at his head from Jean, who scoffed at his complaint.

   “Oh come on, Eren! You heal from worse in a matter of hours. How about you stop being a baby and come at me, shortie!” Jean taunted back, throwing his arms wide to further antagonize the hot-headed Titan-Shifter he was fighting. We hardly ever let these two fight. They were always overly aggressive and deviated from the exercise, often throwing dirt into each other’s eyes or making an unfair pass at the other’s crotch. Usually when it got that bad, Levi stepped in. Sometimes I even got involved, especially when Eren was far too angry. Jean didn’t heal like a Titan-Shifter, so those were the times we had to get him out of there. 

   Fortunately, neither had thrown any dirty blows, yet. But that didn’t stop Levi.

   “Oi! Enough! Don’t make me come in there and kick your asses again.” He barked, prowling out of the barn where he was checking on the horses and coming to stand next to me. I smiled softly as I took in his perfect side profile. Levi looked especially handsome in the warm golden light, his inky black hair hanging in his eyes. But no matter how much I wanted to kiss him, he was very firm on his rules on public affection, especially while he was on “duty”. So I settled for reaching out and interlacing my pinky with his. He didn’t smile, but he did glance at me with a softened gaze. And that was enough for me.

   Eren and Jean were still bickering as they finished their sparring, thankfully without any foul play. As they left the field, relief washed over my body. Finally, I could be alone with my lover. Levi fully grasped my hand, ready to yank me away. But before he could, a voice stopped us.

   “Hey Captain! Corporal!” We both turned towards the voice. Connie was running towards us. He came to a skidding halt before us, smiled goofily and said, “You two should spar!” 

   A grin split across my face. As much as I wanted to get Levi alone, sparring could be fun. We haven’t done something like that since before the 104th joined the Scouts, and I wanted to see if I had even a sliver of a chance against him.

   “No.” Levi told him firmly, trying to tug me away again. 

   “C’mon! We’ve never seen either of you spar before.” Connie insisted.

   “You’ve seen us both take out Titans before. Sparring is much less exciting, trust me.” Levi was beginning to get annoyed, I could see it in his eyes.

   “Levi,” I said as he turned to face me with that steely gaze of his. “It could be fun. It’s nothing serious.”

   “Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you.” 

   “Hurt me? I’d like to see you try.” I challenged, punching him in the shoulder and shedding my long forest green military overcoat. Levi did the same and followed me to the sparring grounds. 

   The dispersing Scouts had gathered around again, pressing against the fence in preparation for the highly anticipated fight. I wasn’t entirely sure why this was such a big deal when we had fought Titans by the dozens, like Levi said, but I was willing to play along. We so rarely had dumb fun, it seemed like a great way to blow off some steam. And, it was a good excuse for Levi to touch me in public. 

   Levi stood in front of me, cravat gone, and got into his stance. “Ready?”

   I copied him, smiling slightly. “Bring it on, Captain.”

   Levi simply rolled his eyes and advanced on me, throwing a punch at my right shoulder, which I easily blocked. While his arm was extended from the punch, I used my angle to bring my left leg to land a kick to his side. He was caught off guard for a split second as the blow knocked him back, but quickly recovered. I caught his eyes as he squared up for another attack. They were sharp, dangerous even. His grey irises caught the light of the setting sun, causing them to flash threateningly. He paced slightly as he studied me. I felt like prey being stalked by a wild cat, every movement of mine charted, analyzed, and worked into how best to take me out. I must say, even I was scared of this predator. Luckily, I often found myself in his good graces, but I finally understood how Levi Ackerman looked to his enemies. And it was terrifying.

   Levi rounded on me again, getting low to the ground, seemingly to sweep my feet out from under me. I backed up quickly, and aimed another kick for his shoulders, which were at the height of my hips. I had planned on knocking him over and pinning him that way, but of course nothing is that easy with Levi.

    I realized he was faking me out just a second too late.

   He caught my leg as I kicked, using the awkwardly balanced form of a ruined kick to throw my body to the ground chest first. I hit the dirt hard. Dust filled my mouth and eyes, but when I tried to cough, nothing happened. Panic rose in my stomach as I realized no oxygen was entering my body. The wind had been knocked from my lungs when that ass threw me. And now I couldn’t breathe. Tears began to stream down my face and my desperate hands flew to my throat. The sound of dry gasps filled my ears, only worsening my alarm. I knew I wasn’t going to suffocate, but that knowledge did nothing to help my paralyzed lungs start working again. 

   A strong hand grabbed my shoulder and flipped me onto my back as I continued trying to inflate my stupid fucking lungs. Levi stared down at me with concern bright in his eyes. 

   “(Y/N), don’t be aggressive with it. Try to draw breath slowly.” He told me, the calm tone of his voice a vast difference from the look on his face. I listened, trying to mimic the feeling of taking a deep breath. Suddenly, fresh oxygen flooded into my body, and I took gulping lungfuls as Levi massaged my ribs, just where my lungs would be. “Are you alright?”

   “I’m fine, you asshole. You didn’t need to throw me that hard.” I responded, chuckling slightly to show him I wasn’t mad. “My mistake for trying to spar you.” 

   All at once, I realized the rest of the scouts were still watching us. I sat up with Levi’s help as he waved them away, telling them to go to dinner and enjoy their weekend. Jean and Connie stuck around for a bit longer, just to make sure I was okay. I told them I was and thanked them for their concern with a hug. I could tell neither had been hugged in a while when they stiffened beneath my touch before melting into the hug. Connie had tears in his eyes when I pulled away, and Jean looked rather sad as well. They didn’t say much after that and bid me and Levi a good night.

   “Why’d you do that?” Levi asked as soon as the younger men were out of sight.

   “They looked like they needed a hug.” I shrugged, clasping my hand in his and beginning our walk towards the Mess Hall.

-

    We ended up getting back to our shared quarters about an hour later. The Mess Hall was relatively empty, likely due to most soldiers returning home for the weekend. Levi and I tried to eat quickly, but ended up talking to both Hange and Erwin. Hange wanted to know where Eren was going to be for the weekend, and that earned her a sharp glare and some choice words from Levi, basically telling her not to bug the poor kid on his weekend off. She simply smiled and left in a hurry. Next, Erwin wanted to talk to Levi about something regarding reports on some of the 104th recruits. He decided to fully explain his thought process before apologizing and telling Levi that he didn’t “need to think about that until Monday”. Which only set Levi on edge when we were supposed to be enjoying our time off. I practically had to drag him back to our room so he wouldn’t go ask Erwin for further details on the reports. 

  And then he sat at his desk and looked over reports anyway.

  “Levi,” I called from our bedroom, where I was currently getting ready to sleep. “Come to bed. The reports can wait.”

   “In a second…” He murmured back, obviously not listening to anything I was saying. I huffed and rolled my eyes. Some start to our weekend off…

   Then, I got an idea. One that was sure to get him to pay attention to me. 

   Trying to hide my intentions, I walked back into the office area where Levi was sitting at his desk. He was scanning over a document that I didn’t particularly care to identify as I glided behind him. I ran my hands from the tops of his shoulders down to his chest, where I traced shapes. My mouth ended up ghosting along his jaw, leaving small kisses or the occasional nip as I followed his sharp bone structure. Under my touch, I felt him tense slightly, trying to stay focused on the work he shouldn’t be doing.

   “Levi…” I breathed into his ear once I finished my attack on his jaw. “Worry about this on Monday, I think I need to get an apology for how badly you beat me earlier.” I smirked and untangled myself from him, hoping he believed what I wanted him to. “I’ll be in bed.” I told him, sauntering around the corner once again. 

   I had only just sat on the bed when Levi walked into the room. His cheeks were flushed and he looked focused, just not on his reports. I knew my words and actions had done the trick. He threw me a predatory glance (not unlike I had seen on the sparring field earlier) and turned around to begin removing his work clothes rather slowly, allowing me a bit of a show.

   Stepping into some sweatpants, he flexed the rippling muscles on his back, no doubt to really get me in “the mood”. But I knew my objective and had to see it through without distractions, just like the good soldier I was trained to be.

   I launched my assault just before he turned around.

   “What the-” He began as I wrapped my arms around his waist, but was quickly cut off when I threw our combined weight backwards onto the bed. I quickly flipped us so I was straddling him. It goes without saying that he was pissed.

   “Hi, baby.” I purred, grappling against him as he tried to throw me off of his hips.

   “(Y/N), what the fuck?” Levi growled, his blush completely gone. I gripped his wrists where his fingertips were digging into my hips. He had stopped fighting back, and was now glowering up at me with his beautiful eyes.

   “I just wanted payback for earlier, you know, when you threw me so hard I couldn’t breathe.” I tore his hands from my hips and attempted to push them up and over his head. He didn’t let me. “Figured I would pin you and make it all better, but it seems that I’ve bruised your fragile ego.”

   He let out an annoyed sigh. “I apologized for that, and you didn’t bruise anything, shithead.” 

   “Ooh, toilet humor already? Why, Levi, you flatter me!” 

   “Get off of me, you behemoth.” 

   I giggled, stretching out on top of him and touching our noses together. “Hmm… No, I don’t think I will. If you’re just going to lay there, why shouldn’t I make myself comfy too?”

   He leaned his chin up and nipped at my lower lip. “You get up now, and I will still sleep with you tonight. Otherwise, no sex for a week.” Empty threats now, huh?

   “That’s okay, I wasn’t in the mood anyway. I was just looking to get you all horned up so I could tease you like this.” 

   Levi’s eye twitched and he finally snapped. With a growl, he threw me off of him and was back above me in a flash. 

   “Fine, you want to pin me? Go for it.” He uttered, hot breath against my neck and chest as he peppered kisses along my skin. He was trying to get me in the mood.

   But I had expected this and would not be persuaded to give in. 

   I pulled my wrists from his reach and snaked them around his torso, pulling his chest down towards me. Two could play at this game. I also started sucking and biting at his throat, quickly finding the one spot below his Adam’s apple that makes him very vocal. The soft groans began to pour out of him, and soon enough he pulled back.

   “That’s cheating, you can’t just-,” I cut him off with my lips, sitting up to connect our them and roll him onto his back from where he was straddling me. Levi grunted into the kiss, wrapping his legs around mine and holding my arms to my sides. He held me fast, and at first I thought he was being cute. But he held me roughly, like a captor. I broke the kiss and sighed, realizing my predicament. 

   I was completely incapacitated and he won again.

   “I hate that you can do this to me.” I grumbled, resting my head against his bare chest. He chuckled, which made me smile. 

   “Maybe we should spar more often.” 

   “Maybe I should learn how to tie a good knot.”

   “You are NOT tying me up.”

   “We’ll see…”

    My limbs were released and I was yanked up to his eye level. Levi gave me his best “you better fucking not” scowl and I simply pressed a kiss to his nose. 

   “Now,” My leg nestled it’s way into between his. “What was this about sleeping with me?” 

-

( Hi, so I haven’t posted anything in a week. I am so sorry. And on top of that this was completely unrequested. Uhmmmm... wow, I’m awful. I do have a request that has been sitting in my inbox that I’m going to get out before Halloween, and then a couple others I want out before Thanksgiving. I can and will do it, trust me! Anyway, I hope everyone has a great Halloween! Thank you for the wonderful support, I love you all!!)

[risottoneroo]

Between His Fingers, Chapter Two

a/n: so it looks like i’ll be updating weekly! this one is longer, and i hope u guys like it!

tags: @kakyoins-bang​ @i-mean-i--guess​ @spaceeballs​ @casketjuice​

warnings: minors in a strip club, reader is disguised as a cocktail waitress, some very mild sexual content, mentions of Dio grooming(?) reader, stand fights, canon typical violence

chapter one

one year later

“Find the Joestars, huh?” You muttered under your breath. “Seems easy.”

You looked around the Saudi Arabian strip club you were currently disguised as a cocktail waitress for. The disguise was a leather tube dress, accentuating your curves and showing a little window between your tits. It didn’t disguise the scars high on your back, covering your shoulders in a crude impression of wings. Your Stand, in materializing, had seared its wings onto your back forever. Your scars didn’t bother you. 

You were still more than pretty, and decidedly more confident. In just one year, you’d gotten very good at seduction and deception. Dio was a good teacher. You’d practiced in clubs just like this, finding men and making them buy you pretty things, before leaving without so much as a phone number. You were well known in Cairo for this trick.  Dio knew how to get his way, and now, so did you. He’d been reluctant to let you leave his mansion, but it was necessary to get rid of the Joestars. 

He didn’t like you smoking, and only let you do it in the bars you frequented to make money off stupid men. Your loyalty to Dio was such that you were even trying to stop that habit, but in this dark, hazy club, it was hard to not want a fucking cigarette. You took a deep breath and scanned the crowd.

Dio had said they’d be the tallest and worst dressed people there. You held back a snort. Like Dio had room to pass judgement on who was worst dressed. Regardless, the group you were focused on was definitely the tallest. Worst dressed? Debatable. Highly so. It wasn’t well lit in here, and they were a few yards away, but the biggest one was wearing some kind of school uniform. It looked tight, but he also looked very good in it. He looked bored, a cigarette dangling from his lips and surrounding them in smoke. Fuck. 

The next one was a redhead, with long, messy hair. His outfit was far from messy, being a much tidier school uniform. He looked uptight, but he was still pretty cute. He looked as if he was trying to communicate to the other man there that he didn’t want to be there. It was too loud for you to hear anything, the bass pounding in your chest. 

The last man was definitely the worst dressed. Even compared to Dio. A black shirt with one strap, slicked up hair, and white pants with boots? Wow. There was a lot of bad taste in that package. He looked drunk to top it off, and was laughing at the redhead. 

You started to make your way over. As you came closer, their conversation became audible over the bass. 

“Come on, Kakyoin, lighten up! Have a little fun!”

“We shouldn’t be here. It’s too public. Especially with the blood bond, Dio definitely tracked us here.”

You stifled a laugh, coming up to sit on their table. You put on a bubbly, airheaded front and said, “Who’s Dio, handsome?”

The redhead glowered. “Nobody.”

The biggest one snorted and flicked his cigarette ash behind the seat. You smiled charmingly. “Well, can I get you any drinks, boys?”

The one with slicked up hair nodded, already staring at your legs. The redhead seemed to be trying not to look at your tits, but failing miserably. He was blushing madly. The tall, dark haired one was impassive. He glanced you up and down. “A beer for me. I don’t care what kind. The drooling one gets water. Eh! Polnareff!”

The worst dressed of the bunch managed to tear himself away from your legs and look at the tall one. “Oui, JoJo?”

“Jojo” sighed and pulled his hat over his eyes. “Yare yare daze.”

You perked up. “Are you Japanese?”

He nodded. The redhead nodded with him, and said, “We both are. Japanese students.”

Time to gush. You gasped. “That’s so cool! What’s your names?”

The redhead glanced at his friends and smiled at you. He seemed to be warming up to you, which was good. “I’m Noriaki Kakyoin, that’s Jotaro Kujo, and the drunk one over there is Jean Pierre Polnareff.”

You had identified them from Dio’s descriptions by now, but he was cute. Kujo was the one with the most dangerous Stand, though they were all very powerful, and Kakyoin and Polnareff were both deserters from Dio. That couldn’t stand.

 You opened your mouth to say something else, and Jotaro got tired of it. “Eh, woman. Get us our drinks already.”

You smiled and stood up, walking over to him and straddling his lap. He averted his eyes, grumbling. Polnareff whooped. “Get it, Jojo!”

Kakyoin chuckled at him. Your smile turned to a smirk. “Now, is that any way to speak…”

You ground down on his lap and whispered in his ear, “To a fellow Stand user?”

Jotaro stiffened against you, becoming a wall of flexed muscle. His hands closed on your neck, and you smirked. “First mistake, Kujo… My Stand isn’t limited by me.”

A wing flicked out from your back. It threw Kakyoin and Polnareff against the wall. Kakyoin hit with a grunt and crumpled, and Polnareff went limp on impact. Your Stand’s hands materialized around Jotaro’s throat, burning through his skin. Its other pair of arms materialized around his wrists, searing skin and burning into his flesh. He cried out, not expecting the heat of your Stand. His grip slackened, and you pushed off him and jumped a few yards away. The music had stopped and people were fleeing the club at the first sign of trouble. You smirked. “You might be fast, but nothing can stop the holy light of my Stand, Angel of Judgement. It suggests the Judgement card in the tarot deck, and it will not rule in your favor, Kujo. My name is Y/N. You’d better remember that when you’re begging for mercy.”

His hand was on his neck, feeling the burns. “How is your Stand tangible, woman?”

You said, “It’s not. My Stand has harnessed ultraviolet light and radiation. It radiates the light of Heaven, and that light is still intangible, even if it sears your flesh, Kujo.”

It materialized behind you, and Jotaro squinted. It didn’t make any sense. It was almost as humanoid as Star Platinum, but much more graceful and angelic in appearance. It… No. She had four arms, three heads, and uncountable wings, pinwheeling around it like a halo. Her body was covered in countless eyes, opening, closing, blinking, glowing. It shone with an unimaginable radiance, lighting up the dingy club and setting the tables close to it aflame. Staring at it was giving him a headache. He shook his head and looked away. The moment it saw him turn away, it attacked. Your Stand grabbed his jaw and slammed him into the wall. He slumped to the floor, hand shaped burns littered on his body and his head bleeding onto the floor. You licked your lips. “Damn, Kujo. I’d hoped for more. Where’s that famous Stand of yours?”

He looked up and coughed. “As the old man says, ‘The moment an enemy starts to gloat about victory, they have already lost.’ Where is my Stand, you ask? Behind you, bitch.”

You gasped and whipped your Stand around, but Star Platinum was already there. Its fist crashed into your Stand’s jaw, and your vision went black.

You woke up in a hotel bed, with warm sheets over you. You sighed and stretched before remembering what had happened last night. Shit. Where were you? You got up and looked around.  It was a hotel room with two large beds, one of which was made neatly and one of which you had just gotten out of. You heard something faintly. Muffled conversation was happening outside. You crept to the door to listen. The redheaded one was talking. Kakyoin? Yeah. “You removed it?”

Jotaro spoke. “Of course I did.”

Kakyoin breathed a sigh. “Good. She’s no longer a threat?”

Jotaro must have shrugged. Kakyoin spoke again. “Her name again?”

Jotaro huffed an irritated breath. “Y/N. I told you. She told you. Yare yare daze...”

Kakyoin must have nodded.

You noticed you felt different, and immediately touched your forehead. No flesh bud, only a bandage. You sighed, then noticed you were in a long shirt, your bra, and underwear. You shrieked. Someone had seen you naked. Your scream brought in the two inhabitants of the room, Jotaro and Kakyoin. Kakyoin looked frazzled. “What’s wrong?”

You stood up. Oh. Fuck, they were tall. Standing tall, you reached Kakyoin’s shoulder, and Jotaro was at least half a foot taller than him. 

It didn’t matter. You mustered up your courage. “Where are my clothes?”

Kakyoin glared at Jotaro, who looked even more stoic. “I told you she wouldn’t be happy about us undressing her.”

Jotaro glanced at you, pulling his hat down. “Yare yare. We thought you’d be more comfortable like this.”

You glared at him. “Where are my clothes?”

Kakyoin pointed to the armoire. You pulled out your clothes and your bag, which you supposed someone else had grabbed. You went into the bathroom, feeling considerably irritated. You pulled on a pair of shorts, and a tank top from your bag. You stared in the mirror. You looked decent, except for the bruise on your jaw from Jotaro. 

Fuck, you wanted a cigarette. You took a deep breath. Stay calm. 

You went back out, carrying your bag and the shirt they’d dressed you in. “Whoever owns this shirt can have it back.”

Jotaro reached and took it. You shook your head and chuckled a bit. Kakyoin looked confused. “What’s funny?”

You smiled. “You two are hopeless with women, huh?”

Kakyoin flushed. “Uh.…well.”

He scratched the back of his neck and smiled sheepishly. “Yeah.”

You walked to him and craned your neck up to see him. “It’s okay.”

You put your hands on his shoulder to pull him down, and kissed his cheek, then did the same to Jotaro. Kakyoin flushed bright red. Jotaro grumbled. “Yare yare daze.”

He pulled his hat down to hide his blush. You laughed at him. He glared at you through his flushed cheeks. “Watch it, woman.”

Kakyoin hid a smile. Jotaro turned away and walked out the door. Before he left, he turned back, refusing to look directly at you. “The old man wants to talk to you.”

He slammed the door behind him. Kakyoin smiled at you and mussed your hair. “I think he likes you.”

You glared at him. “Don’t be dumb, Kakyoin.”

Kakyoin laughed. “Call me Noriaki. Nobody else does.”

You frowned at him. “That doesn’t make sense.”

Kakyoin blushed. “Well, I…”

You cocked your head. “Whatever you say, Noriaki.”

You walked after Jotaro. Kakyoin stared after you. He’d been joking about Jojo, but he was starting to realize that he himself really liked you.

[starryknight09]

The dangers of birthday parties

Febuwhump Day 18: “I can’t see”

Read on AO3.

________________________________________________________

Peter sat down in the empty lawn chair next to Tony, carefully relaxing his sore body into it and hoping Tony wouldn’t notice how gingerly he was moving.

“I’m surprised you made the drive up here.” Tony said, raising an eyebrow at him.

“I’d never miss Morgan’s birthday.” He was surprised Tony would ever think that.

“Of course not.  I meant I’m surprised you managed to drive yourself.”

“Oh.” It had kind of sucked, but May had been working and Happy had left super early, so it'd either been drive himself or not come.  And the latter had not been an option.  “It was fine.”

“Uh-huh.  You’re moving like a decrepit old grandpa.” Tony called him out.

“Had a bad patrol last night.” He shrugged and immediately regretted it as pain shot through his body.

Tony’s face let him know he hadn’t missed that.

“You worry too much.” He complained, taking a sip from the bottled water in his hand.

“Hm I don’t think so.  I think I worry just the right amount.”

Peter shook his head.

Tony leaned in even closer, scrutinizing him.  Peter fought the urge to crane backwards.

“Hmm,” Tony said once he’d finished, leaning back.   “How’s the face?”

“What?” He touched his cheek as if that could answer how Tony had known.  “How did you—”

“You’re wearing makeup.”

“Oh.” Damn.  Of course that would be a tell.  “Yeah.”

“So what are we dealing with under all that?”

“My face.” He deadpanned.

Tony stared at him, waiting for him to break, and to his annoyance, he did.  

“Just a couple black eyes and a broken nose,” he said but when he saw Tony’s expression he quickly added, “But it’s already healing.  It should be fine by tomorrow.”

“Uh huh and what New York super villain managed to land so many hits on Spiderman?”

“Some guy made of sand.” He answered, looking over at the lake as he thought back to their encounter yesterday.  He was still irritated with how he hadn’t come out on top.  “I underestimated him.  I won’t that mistake next time.”

“I’m always just a call away if you need help kid.” Tony reminded him.

Peter glanced back over at Tony and smiled.  “I know.”

But he didn’t want to need Tony’s help.  After Wanda had killed Thanos, Tony had decided he wanted to take a step back when it came to the Avengers, a retirement of sorts.  He called the battle with Thanos his last big hurrah and acted like it was in jest, but Peter knew he was more serious than people thought, and he didn’t want to be the one that took him out of retirement.

“Don’t worry.  I can handle it.” He said, taking another drink of water and sinking further into his chair, closing his eyes.

“You sure you’re ok?”

“I’m fine.”

“As a future MIT student, I guess I’m going to have to trust you’d be smart enough to speak up if you weren’t.”

Peter smiled.  Tony had been so proud when he’d gotten his acceptance letter.  He still used every opportunity to bring it up in conversation.

“I can’t see!” Morgan yelled.

Peter cracked an eye open and saw her about ten feet away, blindfolded with what looked like the cut off end of a broom in her hand.  He watched as Pepper spun her in circles and then let her go while Rhodey held a string to bounce the pinata hovering a couple feet over her head.  Cute.  

He closed his eyes again and listened as Morgan grunted, swinging the stick full force at the pinata.

“Nice work Morguna.” Tony cheered her on and Peter took the moment to feel thankful for everything in his life.  He’d gotten really lucky.  MJ and Ned had gotten snapped too so he’d still had his best friends when he’d come back, and Ned was coming with him to MIT, and MJ wouldn’t be too far away at Harvard.  May was happily dating…Happy and they all lived in a nice apartment in Queens.  He had Tony and Pepper and Morgan, and ever since he’d come back from the snap, Tony had been treating him like he was his kid.  It’d been somewhat of an adjustment, but he had to admit it was more than nice.

Out of nowhere his spidey sense twinged, but instead of moving, he frowned and took a second too long trying to figure out how it could possibly be going off when he was at Tony’s cabin surrounded by Earth’s mightiest heroes.

Something smacked into his nose and he let out a sharp cry of pain, eyes flying open as he tried to identify where the threat was coming from.  But all he saw was Pepper staring at him with her hand over her mouth and Rhodey with his jaw dropped.

“I’m sorry!” Morgan yelled from next to her mom.  “I didn’t mean to.  It slipped!”

“Shit.  Pete, you okay?” Tony asked.

He looked down and noticed the wooden stick thing hanging half in his lap and half on the ground.  Everything started to make sense as he felt something warm start dripping down his lip.

He brought his hand up to his nose and felt the blood gushing out of it.  A second later the pain hit him as his previously broken nose started to throb angrily, protesting the new abuse.  

“Ow.” He mumbled and pinched it to try to slow the flow of blood even though that made it hurt even worse.

“Here kid, lean forward.” Tony directed, suddenly at his side and helping him tip forward.

“Petey I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to.” Morgan was somehow already at his other side and it sounded like she was about to cry.  Peter didn’t want that.  It hurt like a son of a bitch, but it wasn’t Morgan’s fault.  If anything, it was his own for not moving when his spider sense had told him to.

“It’s ok.  I’m ok.  Don’t worry Morgan.  It was an accident.” He tried to reassure her even as the words came out all nasally.

“Can someone get me a towel?” Tony asked and a few moments later he pressed the requested object against Peter’s nose to help staunch the bleeding.

The towel obscured his vision, but he didn’t need it to sense that people were crowding around him.

“I’m fine.” He tried to reassure everyone, not wanting to put a damper on the party.  “Really guys.  It’s all good.  You can uh, stand down.  Go back to the party.”

“Are you sure?” Morgan asked nervously from his side.

“I’m sure Mo.  Go give that pinata hell for me.”

“Ok, but I’m going to give you lots of my candy because you got an owie and that always helps me feel better.”

He couldn’t help but smile.  “Sounds like a good deal for me.  Thanks mongoose.”

Morgan patted his arm.

“Here.” He heard Tony say and the stick in his lap disappeared.  “Take this but make sure you hold on really tight this time, ok?”

“Ok Daddy.” Morgan said and he heard her walk away along with most of the others, getting back to the party.

“You doing ok kid?”

“Mmhmm.” He lied.  His nose hurt like crazy and he could feel his eyes watering from it.  He was pretty sure any progress his body had made in knitting the previous break together had just been completely undone.

“Why don’t I believe you?”

“I’m ok.  Just…give me a minute.”

Surprisingly, Tony did.  He let Peter suffer in a peace for awhile without pushing or doing anything besides holding the towel to his face and resting a comforting hand on his back.

When the intense throbbing finally started to subside, he straightened back up and pushed the blood soaked towel away.

“How does it look?” He asked, trying not to wince because he didn’t want to move his face too much and set the bleeding off again.

“Do you want me to be honest?”

He nodded.

“It’s crooked.”

“No.” He complained.  He’d had enough broken noses to dread what had to come next.  Last night at least it hadn’t been displaced.  Damn.

“We’re going to need to fix it.”

“I know.” He lightly pressed his fingers under his nostrils and they came back clean.  “At least it stopped bleeding.”

“Looks like it.” Tony said as he stood, tugging on his arm.  “Come on, let’s get you in the house so we can get you back in ship-shape.”

Peter groaned but stood slowly, the rest of his body still protesting any movement.  “You know, this really has not been my day.”

“Apparently not.” Tony agreed.  “Then again, it’s never a good day when Spiderman taken out by a five year old.”

“Ha ha.”

“So, is there anything we need to talk about?” Tony asked as he helped him up the porch steps and into the kitchen.

Peter frowned, not understanding what Tony was getting at.  “No.  Why?”

“Your powers aren’t malfunctioning?”

“No.  Of course not.” His frown deepened.  What had given Tony that idea?

“You’re sure?  That’s not why the sand guy got the better of you?”

“No.  My powers are fine.” He sighed.  He didn’t want to admit that when he’d faced Sandman he’d been more than a little tired and sloppy and that’d been the main culprit.  As close as he and Tony had become, he was still Ironman, his childhood hero, and admitting any fault or mistake to him was never going to come easy.

“Ok so if your powers aren’t malfunctioning then why didn’t your Peter tingle go off just now?” Tony asked, guiding him over to sit down on the couch.

“Oh god not you too.” He whined.  “Please please don’t call it that.  It’s my spidey sense.”

“Whatever you say kid but answer the question.  Why didn’t it go off?”

“It did.” Peter admitted as Tony took a seat on the coffee table across from him.

“If it did, then how’d you get clocked in the face?” Tony asked skeptically.

“I was thinking it was weird that it was going off here, and then before I could move…bam.”

Tony shook his head in consternation.  “Next time don’t think about it, just act.”

“Right.  Obviously.”

Peter tried not to tense as Tony brought his thumbs up to his nose.  They’d done this dance more than once but it never got any easier.  At least he didn’t have to do it to himself this time.  That was always way worse.

“This might hurt a little.” Tony warned.

“I know.” Peter sighed.

“On three.” Tony said.  “One.  Two.”

Tony pressed his thumbs together, realigning everything back into place with a grinding crunch.

He grunted, his eyes watering again with the new pain.

"You missed three." He complained.

“Sorry.” Tony said and Peter knew he meant it.  Seeing him hurt always seemed to hurt Tony equally as much, which was another reason Peter tried to avoid it at all costs.    

“It’s ok.” He wiped the errant tears away.  “Does it look better?”

“It looks great kid.” Tony gave him a pat on his shoulder.  “Want to get back to the party?”

Honestly, it was the last thing Peter felt like doing but he couldn’t let Morgan down.  “Sure.”

“Or you could lay down in here for a little while and I’ll come get you when it’s time to cut the cake?” Tony offered like a mind reader.

Peter sighed in relief.  “Are you sure?” He asked, searching Tony’s eyes.  He didn’t want to disappoint Morgan.

“It’s perfectly fine.” Tony said, already guiding him to lay down on the couch.  “Do you want me to stay with you?”

“No.” He protested instantly.  The last thing he wanted was to take Morgan’s dad away from her on her birthday.  “Go be with Morgan.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Ok.  I’ll be right outside if you need me.  Just let FRIDAY know.”

“I’ll be fine.  I’m just going to close my eyes for a few minutes.” He mumbled.  “Tell Morgan I’m sorry for missing her party.”

“She’ll be fine kid.  You’ll have plenty of time to see her later.” Tony ruffled his hair.  "You can stay the night.  She'll love that."

That sounded like a good idea.  He definitely hadn’t been looking forward to getting back in the car later.

Tony draped a blanket over him.  “Get some rest Pete.”

“Thanks da- uh dude.  Thanks dude.” His cheeks heated in embarrassment at the near slip and he kept his eyes stubbornly shut so he wouldn’t have to see the look on Tony’s face to know if he’d caught it.

Tony let out an amused snort.  “You’re welcome dude.”

[tisfan]

Title: Genus and Species  Collaborator Name: @27dragons & @tisfan Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26030251 Square Filled:   Tony Stark Flash Bingo (Aug) - Thanos (both)   Starkbucks Bingo - I3: “I got nothing” (27dragons), O4: Time Travel (to the Future) (tisfan) Ship/Main Pairing: Bucky/Tony Rating: G Major Tags & Triggers: None Other Tags: Time Travel, Established Relationship, Dinosaurs, Robots Summary: Tangling with Thanos has landed Bucky and Tony somewhere -- or somewhen -- they don’t know. No, Tony, you can’t bring the dinosaur home and keep it as a pet. Word Count: 1703

For @tonystarkbingo and @starkbucksbingo

When Bucky opened his eyes, all he could see was green in all directions. At first he thought that was just the remainder of the Time Stone’s power. Thanos had done… something. No one quite knew what because the battle had been so confusing; the Power Stone blasting purple rays everywhere, the Space Stone moving people out of position, lord only knew what was happening with the Reality Stone. And then there had been a great, green wave of energy--

“Ug,” said someone nearby. It took Bucky a moment to clear his thoughts enough to identify it: Tony. “I feel like a Pride parade just swallowed me whole and then puked me out.” A pause. “Why are we in a jungle?”

“I got nothing,” Bucky said, rolling over to look at Tony. The Iron Man suit was pretty banged up, souvenirs of the battle. “I think-- I’m not sure. Strange was yelling something about a time vortex. It’s hard to understand him under normal circumstances.” Thanos had zapped Bucky with the Mind Stone at least three times, somehow sensing the Winter Soldier would be easier to control. 

Bucky did not appreciate it.

Tony made some kind of noise that was hard to interpret through the suit’s speakers, and then retracted the helmet to look around. “Okay, well, those are deciduous trees, so we haven’t been thrown back more than three hundred million years or so.”

“There are jungles all over the world,” Bucky said, grumbling and getting to his feet. He might only look about thirty-five or so, but there were days he felt all one hundred of his years. Knees. Knees were a thing. Also, poor design. “Any signal?”

Tony made a face and then reformed the helmet. “...Some,” he said. “Nothing I can hook into right away, but there’s something out there.”

“Right, Mulder,” Bucky snarked. “All right, we do this the old fashioned way.” He dug out a set of binoculars and hung them around his neck. “You stay down here, you’re too colorful. Any sniper in the area might want to take a stab at you.” He didn’t necessarily disinclude himself on that list, but the sort of stabbing he had in mind was generally not for polite company. He looked around for a good, tall tree and scrambled up, swinging himself from branch to branch. When he got high enough, he paused, waiting for the wind, so it wouldn’t just be one tree shaking like crazy.

Finally, he breached the canopy and could get a look around.

Jungle.

More freaking bush than he’d seen since Cambodia.

Trees, and trees, and more trees. In the distance, he made out a mountain (also covered in trees) and a break in the trees that was either a road or a river. 

Something was moving.

Bucky turned the binocs in that direction. Something big was moving. Trees swayed and crunched. Something really damn big. Bucky could feel the vibrations of its footsteps in the tree he was clinging to. 

“Clear,” he yelled, and then just let go. He could handle drops up to fifty feet without too much trouble, and the ground here was soft and springy.

He’d just reached Tony’s side when the something fucking roared. Like a tiger crossed with an elephant and the size of a blue whale.

“That’s a dinosaur,” Bucky said with forced calm. “We should get the heck to shelter, like, yesterday.”

“What kind of dinosaur?” Tony wondered. “Might be an herbivore. That would be cool, actually.”

“May I remind you that the current contenders for biggest, meanest land animals are moose and hippos, and they’re both herbivores,” Bucky said. “Can we do something productive, like finding a cave, or an overhang, before it sees us, and decides we’re lunch?”

“Oh, fine.” Tony tossed a couple of microcameras up onto the trees where they clung like particularly bright insects, then turned in a slow circle. “Infrared suggests some hollow rock in that direction,” he said, pointing. “If there’s not a natural entrance, we can make one.”

Bucky nodded, then took point. It bothered him a little that there wasn’t someone taking up the rear between Tony and whatever was out there, and reminded himself that Tony was an experienced fighter, and he had a suit of armor, which was pretty damn tough. 

The whatever it was sped up, moving at them-- Bucky tipped his head to one side while he ran the math. Nearly thirty miles per hour. Bucky picked up the pace a little bit. On flat ground, Bucky could run almost sixty miles per hour, but this was not flat. Nor was it a good plan for him to expend that much energy before they had any idea what they were up against, or if there was much in the way of food in the nearby vicinity.

“Got your cave, ten o’clock,” Bucky said. There was a bit of a clearing and then they could squeeze in, one at a time. “How far back does it--”

Bucky stopped as the -- freaking hell -- dinosaur came crashing out of the jungle, about six meters high and full of teeth.

“That,” he said, firmly, “is a dinosaur. I don’t care what you just said about the deciduous thingies.”

“There were deciduous trees long before there were dinosaurs,” Tony said distractedly. He was looking up at the dinosaur, his head cocked. “It’s not a dinosaur, though.”

“Okay, you go out and tell it that it don’t exist,” Bucky snapped. “If it’s going to eat us, does species really matter?”

“The species doesn’t matter,” Tony said. “What matters is that it’s a robot. I don’t think we’ve gone back in time at all. I think we went forward.”

Bucky stared at him. “I fail to see how this is an improvement in any way.” Probably worse, honestly. Dinosaurs were at least skin and bone and nerve endings. And most living things were afraid of fire.

“Dinosaurs are your department, sweetheart,” Tony said. “Robots are mine. Get in the cave and stay out of its sight.” Without waiting for a response, he launched into the air, a wide, spiraling path that would take him around the dinosaur-robot-thing a few times before he reached the level of its head.

Bucky slid into the shadows where he could still watch, sighing. “If you bring back a giant dino-shaped robot from the future as a pet and say ‘can we keep it’ I promise you, Steve is gonna kill you.”

“Not if my pet dino-robot eats him first,” Tony said cheerfully, even as he swerved to avoid the thing’s lunging bite. He dipped and spun and wound up clinging to the dino-robot’s back.

The dino-robot was extremely unamused by the sudden disappearance of its prey. It whirled and snapped, clipping several branches as big around as Bucky’s arm with all the ease of a hedge-trimmer.

Tony was muttering under his breath, technical terms that made no sense even when Bucky knew what they meant, because they weren’t connected to each other, just little fragments of sentences and thoughts, punctuated with occasional grunts as the dinosaur made various attempts to dislodge him.

“You got an EMP grenade?” he called down after what seemed like hours and was probably no more than a minute or two.

Bucky stuffed his left hand into his satchel, the sensor array in his fingertips cataloging his equipment neatly. “Two. You want me to throw it, or lend it to ya?” EMP grenades were pretty good against Doombots, their occasional throw downs with raging maniacs like Doc Ock, and more than a few times against the US military who had a perpetual boner for shooting at the Hulk.

“Toss it up here,” Tony said. “This thing runs on a-- oof! --slightly different frequency than the ones we’re used to, I need to do a mod.”

“I don’t know about you, smart-guy,” Bucky said. He dashed across the clearing, rolling when he got to the far side, “but I am not used to giant robo-dinosaurs.” He threw the grenade with such precision that Tony only had to hold out his hand to be able to catch it.

“Perfect, good throw,” Tony said, because he was consistently amazed at Bucky’s aim. (And Clint’s, if Bucky had to be honest.) He let go of the dinosaur’s back and shot up higher into the sky, just out of its reach, hovering in the air as he retracted one gauntlet and started fiddling with the grenade.

After snapping uselessly at Tony a few times, the dino seemed to realize there was something else under its feet. A large snout bent down to snort at Bucky, who promptly punched it in the nose with his left arm. “Bad dino-bot, no biting,” Bucky scolded. The snout didn’t even seem damaged. Crap, that was probably bad.

The dino-bot did not smell like a robot. It smelled like rotting meat, probably the result of whatever it had caught in its teeth.

“Almost done!” Tony called. “Hang in there!”

“Whatever you’re doing, do it faster!”

The dino-bot made another lunge for Bucky that he was barely able to dodge by diving behind a large tree. And then he had to roll out of the way again when the dino’s attack knocked the tree over.

The dino roared again. Why did a robot have to roar? That seemed entirely unnecessary.

But as it did, Tony swooped down and chucked the EMP into its mouth, then dropped the rest of the way to the ground to get between it and Bucky. “--two, one.”

“You make a pretty good shield,” Bucky muttered, putting his shoulder to Tony’s spine. They’d discovered a few times, the hard way, that the arm wasn’t always too great at dealing with EMPs either, but the suit made for a good Faraday cage.

The dino-robot closed its mouth, made an entirely biological hiccup sound, and then--

WHUMP!

The mouth dropped open.

Very slowly, the dino-bots legs folded--

And it fell over, crushing more trees and wrecking the landscape.

“Well, that’s that, then,” Tony said. “Unless, of course, there are more of them out there. We should probably work on finding a way home so we can kick Thanos’ butt.” 

[malkumtend]

I Like Your Laugh. (A CrowSquirrel AU) - Chapter 12

Squirrelpaw hadn’t noticed anything off-putting when she woke up.

It had been the gentle steps of paws that had caused her ears to twitch originally. Groggily dragging her eyes from her paws, she noticed a large, grey shape slowly padding out of the mouth of the cave. A pale light filtered around the entrance, casting a splintered glow across the cave. Through her half-awake squint, Squirrelpaw could just about identify the shape as Stormfur.

He’s probably going to go hunting. Squirrelpaw thought, uncurling from her comfy position, or as comfortable a stone floor could be anyway. Better get up, it wouldn’t be fair to let him do it himself. No matter how early it is.

In fact, it would probably be better to get up soon. They’d need their energy if they wanted to get back to the forest to warn their clans. The looming threat of the prophecy Midnight had told the cats still lurked in Squirrelpaw’s mind. Every clan was in danger, it seemed, and Squirrelpaw knew she had to do everything she could to make sure the group got back before any damage could befall the ones they loved.

She couldn’t smell Midnight close by, so the badger must have already headed out as well. Just by the entrance she could see the hulking figures of Brambleclaw and Tawnypelt still fast asleep. Squirrelpaw smiled a little. The siblings had said some cutting things to the other yesterday, so it was nice to see a sign that they had patched things up. It was also nice to think that Brambleclaw had realised how he had been acting towards the others. Squirrelpaw still didn’t trust him completely but the fact that he had apologised to her was a good start.

She just hoped he stuck to his promise to be better. She really did want them to get along, but if Brambleclaw was going to go back to snarling and insulting her, she wasn’t going to just accept it. She could understand if he was stressed, they all were, especially now, but that didn’t mean she was going to let him treat her like that without a taste of his own medicine.

She stretched her paws out. If Stormfur was up, soon all the others would be too. Then they’d all be able to begin their journey back. She turned her neck around to smooth her ruffled pelt, and found herself freezing when she saw the sleeping face of Crowpaw right next to her.

Squirrelpaw felt a sudden joy when she saw him.

Then that joy transformed into a cresting horror.

Oh no. The Thunderclan apprentice’s pupils shrank as she realised that something else had drastically changed. She didn’t know whether to race away from the sleeping tom or to just watch him breathe gently until he woke up. Her heart began to thunder so hard that she felt her head ache.

The previous night whirled in her mind.

She’d been so tired that she couldn’t even remember coming back into the cave. The last thing she could even picture was her head against Crowpaw’s side as they’d looked out into the night. He must have helped me back inside. Squirrelpaw mused, feeling the trace of a smile cross onto her muzzle.

Her heart fluttered.

Her mind pricked her like a thorn to come back to her senses.

Oh… sweet… Starclan, it was true! Squirrelpaw’s head dipped down in defeat, her eyes wide as realisation gleamed like the burning sun.

I really do… ‘like’ him like that, don’t I?

That very thought meant that Squirrelpaw was going against something sacred.

But she was smart enough to admit it was true.

Squirrelpaw didn’t claim to be experienced when it came to feelings like love. Her only priorities had been on advancing as a warrior, she’d never had the time in Thunderclan to think about those kind of things. The only love she was well known to was the one shared between her mother and father. She’d heard all the stories about how Sandstorm had scoffed at the very thought of becoming friends with a kittypet; seeing her parents now, Squirrelpaw still had a hard time believing those stories.

Well, she’d probably be able to believe them a little easier now.

Not that her parents would be any happier.

Squirrelpaw felt an uneasy quiver travel down to her tail. Could she actually admit this so easily? This was against the Warrior code! She just had to look at what happened to Greystripe and his kits to see what a half-clan relationship could do. Not only did it dishonour your clan, it just brought heartache to everyone involved. It was only one clan or nothing. That much was simple.

But even as those thoughts went through her mind, the stuttering of her heart never sated as long as she was looking at the grey apprentice beside her.

Throughout the journey, it had been Crowpaw that had made Squirrelpaw believe in herself so much more. Her actions weren’t foolish to him, they were brave, and he made certain to let her know that. And when he did think she’d gone too far…

She could still feel herself in his paws, the touch of his fur against hers.

The admittance that she wanted more moments like that were proof enough.

Squirrelpaw let out a groan that sounded more like a squeak, hiding her eyes behind her fluffy tail. What do I do now? She had to try and move past it, surely. Her feelings for him weren’t the thing she needed to keep on her mind. Here she was, whining like a mouse-heart, when her home could be have been reduced to rubble just days ago!

What was the point of wallowing about something pointless like this? It wasn’t like Crowpaw felt the same way. Sure, they were friends but Crowpaw had never given any indication that he liked her beyond that.

He cried over you, didn’t he?

Her tail limply hung over her nose as her eyes stared ahead. That was true. Crowpaw was the most stoic, stone cold apprentice she had ever met, and he had actually spilled tears all because he was scared about her safety.

She felt awful for making him do that, yet she also felt a spark of hope.

He had been cold to everyone from the beginning. Yet he had defended her again and again, stuck by her for most days, and didn’t feel uncomfortable to share tongues and, in some cases, comfort with her.

Last night, he’d said he wanted to continue meeting with her.

Squirrelpaw ran her tongue over her suddenly dry lips. What if… he does feel like that? She couldn’t believe she was even considering this, but she was. If Crowpaw liked her too… did that mean he would still stand by her, even when they returned to the clans,

They were both stubborn enough to try, she thought.

Squirrelpaw knew she needed to strike herself to shut these incredibly dangerous thoughts up, but it didn’t stop a small grin from coming to her lips at the ideas.

Maybe it would be better if she told him straight away. At least then she’d get a clear answer before they returned to the clans, that would be safer for her at least. Then the worst thing that could happen was him rejecting her. And while… that thought didn’t make her too happy, at least she could focus back on the journey.

And if he did like her that way…

Regrettably, Squirrelpaw felt every strand of her fur tingle with glee.

As if struck by lightning, Squirrelpaw felt an energy pulse through her again, snatching away any tiredness she had felt. Yes, she would get it over with as soon as she could! She was going to be a Warrior after all, and Warrior’s didn’t run away from any battle. Not even themselves. As soon as Crowpaw was awake, she was going to get him away from the group, and just face him head on, whether he liked it or not!

Squirrelpaw smirked, that was definitely the best way to tackle this! Just get one problem out of the way so she could focus on the grander one! Of course it was the best of her, not many, options!

Outside of her vision, a yawn made her flinch. “Oh, morning Squirrelbrain.”

Squirrelpaw’s resolve scurried away like a mouse into a dark hole.

The Thunderclan apprentice twitched like she’d been caught in a bush of twisted thorns. Keep calm. She ushered herself through grit teeth.

“Why are you shaking? Is your fur still soaked?” Crowpaw joked, chuckling in a way that made Squirrelpaw tremble a little.

“N-No!” Squirrelpaw exclaimed, turning to face the cat with as straight a face as she could manage. All the Windclan cat had to do was blink sleepily at her, before she could feel her teeth chatter again, though thankfully not audibly. She hid away her jittering with a furrowed brow. “I’m just getting sick of waiting for you lazy lumps to wake up, that’s all!”

Crowpaw rolled his eyes, standing up to stretch his long limbs with a stifled grunt. “From what I saw, you’re the one who looked like she needed the most sleep.” He jibed, a blue pupil glinting at her through a playful slit.

It turned out Squirrelpaw was able to realise with amazing clarity how hard she was blushing, when she actually liked someone.

“Well, I got it!” Squirrelpaw meowed. She shook herself off quickly. She needed to act natural and fast! “How about you? Think you won’t fall asleep in the mud again?” She said, puffing her tail out in faux confidence.

“Too funny.” Crowpaw mewed coolly, sticking himself out straight. Squirrelpaw’s neck shrank a little into her shoulders as she looked up at him. Had he always been this much taller than her? Had he gone through a weird growth spurt overnight? “But yeah, I slept fine thanks.”

“Oh, good.” Squirrelpaw said, meaning her words a little too much.

“It is.” A gentle voice cut in. Both apprentice’s turned, smiling as Feathertail strode up to them with a glistening mood.

To Squirrelpaw’s credit, the only thing that gave her away was the slight widening of her eyes.

Feathertail.

She was the one of the major things Squirrelpaw hadn’t considered. The apprentice was certain that the Warrior held Crowpaw in high regard, and was almost certain she shared the same feelings for the apprentice that Squirrelpaw did. And why wouldn’t she; the two had become friends with each other before Squirrelpaw had found her way into their small group. In fact, the only reason she had even given Crowpaw the time of day at all was because Feathertail had encouraged her to give him a chance.

Oh, how right the Warrior had been.

“Have you two seen Stormfur?” The Riverclan cat asked.

“I think I heard him outside.” Crowpaw responded, grooming his short fur. “I think he’s talking to Midnight.”

Feathertail gave the apprentice a small smile, Squirrelpaw wondered if she’d seen something else inside of it. An uncomfortable irritation made her ears twitch. Silently she gnashed her jaws together.

“Well then,” Squirrelpaw cried, bursting up to her paws. “What are we waiting for? Let’s get going!” From the way her friends looked to each other, brows raised, she wasn’t acting as normal as she wanted to be.

She didn’t realise how loud she’d been until she heard the tired grumbling of her clanmate. “You know, there’s an easier way to wake cats up.” Brambleclaw drawled, uncurling his body to stretch.

Next to him, Tawnypelt rose, giving her brother a light swat with her tail. “Well, at least we’re awake.” Brambleclaw sniffed with a small laugh, groaning as he unfolded his tense limbs.

“Ugh, how does Midnight manage to sleep on that every night?”

Tawnypelt let out a mrrow of laughter. “What? Is it too tough for you?”

Brambleclaw scoffed. “Could be.” The two siblings shared a smirk, with Brambleclaw letting his sister give him a friendly lick on his cheek.

A gentle purr of delight hummed from Feathertail. “Thank Starclan those two are alright?” She mewed, “I was so worried about them after yesterday.”

Crowpaw nodded gently, his blue eyes misty with thought. Squirrelpaw craned her head, what had him and Brambleclaw actually talked about last night? Did the apprentice have more to do with Brambleclaw’s sudden apology than he’d let on? That would make more sense considering how insufferable Brambleclaw had been until then.

“I know that Brambleclaw’s been… difficult recently,” Feathertail continued, holding onto her politeness. “But you could see how hurt he was by what Tawnypelt had said.”

Squirrelpaw scoffed, “It’d be better if he’d seen how he made the rest of us feel before. Maybe then, Tawnypelt wouldn’t have had to tell him like that.” Just because Squirrelpaw was going to give him a chance, it didn’t mean she was going to be easy on him.

“I know,” Feathertail said slowly, “But they’re still siblings, even if they’re from different clans, they shouldn’t be like that.”

Crowpaw shrugged, “I wouldn’t lose sleep over it.” He said, with unnatural confidence. “I think they’ll be fine.”

Both mollie’s turned to him confused. Of all things, they hadn’t expected Crowpaw to sound so calm about the tom who beaten him just a day ago. “You think so?” Feathertail asked, her tail swaying thoughtfully. Squirrelpaw was just as surprised.

Crowpaw’s whiskers twitched up, “Yes. After that, I think he’s got in in his head how much of a mouse-brain he was.”

“Doesn’t mean he’ll stop.” Squirrelpaw muttered.

Crowpaw laughed out loud. Squirrelpaw felt her cheeks burn.  “I can agree with you there. If he starts again, that’ll just mean he’s more flea-brained than I thought.”

Feathertail sighed, “I guess we’ll see for ourselves. I don’t want to be unfair to him though.” She said mildly. She really was the most gentle hearted cats Squirrelpaw had ever met. Any cat who didn’t like her had to have rabbit dung instead of a heart.

The apprentice stopped short though when Crowpaw graciously pressed his nose against her pelt. “You, unfair? It’s more likely that my fur will turn white!.” His tone held the same genial tone that Crowpaw had always used with the Warrior. But it was Feathertail’s reaction that caught Squirrelpaw off guard.

The Riverclan molly’s fur flared around in flattered astonishment, before a warmth glowed across her face. She pressed her tail against his fur in thanks. Squirrelpaw recognised the glow in her eyes. It had first appeared when Crowpaw had saved Feathertail from the dog.

Squirrelpaw felt her throat tighten and her stomach quiver.

She sprang up to her paws, clawing away at her stupid thoughts and tightening her muzzle with a grin. “Okay okay! Enough chattering! Let’s get hunting!” She shouted. She seemed to be acting more naturally as Feathertail giggled while Crowpaw’s tail curled in amusement.

“There’s her focus, right there.”

Squirrelpaw stuck her tongue out at him, her bushy tail flaring as she pranced over to the cave entrance. She inwardly sighed in relief that they hadn’t noticed anything off about her, but there was still that stupid coil in her stomach, that mixture of frustration, regret and pathetic jealousy.

Fox-dung! I need to find a way to get over this!

Neither of her friends were idiots, if she kept on acting like that over every little thing, they would catch her out sooner or later. But wasn’t that what she wanted? To get it out as soon as possible. Eventually, she would need to.

Eventually.

But if Feathertail liked him as well? Squirrelpaw grimaced. Would Feathertail be hurt by her confession? She could just hope that Crowpaw would keep it a secret. But even then, Squirrelpaw would feel like she was betraying the cat she had grown to respect so much. Feathertail didn’t deserve to be hurt. She deserved to be happy. And if that happiness came from Crowpaw then…

Squirrelpaw clenched her teeth. She was overthinking this. So what if Feathertail had looked respectfully towards Crowpaw? Any cat would appreciate him if he was as kind to them as he was to her. Squirrelpaw was probably mistaken. There was no clarity that Feathertail held anything for the apprentice, she might even have someone at Riverclan that her heart belonged to.

Squirrelpaw had to keep her hopes up. If she lost sleep over this it could affect her during the journey.

Her clan was her duty, that was what she needed to lead her.

Despite her attraction to another clan cat.

Squirrelpaw groaned. The sooner they got on their way the better! Her stomach suddenly growled and her face heated up. Though she had been right before, they did need to get hunting.

She blinked away the glowing face of the sun as she found the entrance. “All right, where’s the prey around here? I’m starving!”

“Budge up and let the rest of us out.” Crowpaw said snidely from behind her. “Then we might be able to tell you!” He gave her rump a friendly nudge and she sprang forward, failing at ignoring the tingling where his head had touched her. Crowpaw pounced ahead of her, smirking playfully at her and Feathertail, as the Warrior bounced beside the two then up to her brother who sat by the pebbles talking to Midnight.

In the brightness of the sun, it was hard to tell if the gleaming in Feathertail’s eyes was down to the strong light, or something else entirely.

Squirrelpaw felt her appetite diminish a little. This was going to be harder than she thought.

…

The sun had risen higher into the sky, painting the horizon with a glittering blue. The travelling cats followed Midnight as they began their way back to the forest, all prepared to spring the moment they saw prey.

Squirrelpaw’s stomach continued to growl like a kittypet as she walked beside Stormfur albeit a little sulkily. She had suggested that the group hunt first before they made their journey back, but Brambleclaw had recommended that they hunt along the way. Annoyingly the rest of the group had agreed with the tom, even Crowpaw of all cats. That had stung more than it should have.

It was even more annoying that Squirrelpaw had to admit to herself that her clanmate was right. They didn’t have time to waste, even if they were hungry. Squirrelpaw didn’t have a problem with the fact that she was wrong, but it still seemed to her that Brambleclaw was trying to keep some kind of leadership over the rest of them. Even now, he kept at the head of the group, occasionally looking back at them like they were his responsibility.

However, the urgency in his eyes did look more like concern now, rather than control.

Squirrelpaw sighed. At least he was being helpful if he was going to be bossy.

It was slightly easier moving, now that they knew where they were going. The Prophecy had been told, and Squirrelpaw was part of it now. But the danger that awaited them was impossible to ignore and would remain with them every step of the way.

It would do no good to panic. It wouldn’t help any of them and wouldn’t stop what was coming. They just needed to carry on and pray to Starclan it wasn’t too late.

Like her companions, Squirrelpaw kept her focus on finding prey. They’d need to keep their strength for as long as they could, after all. The air was warm, but a gentle breeze still wavered the long moor grass. Hopefully, it would lead something towards them after a while.

Squirrelpaw’s tail curled as she remembered Crowpaw’s advice from yesterday. She pressed her nose to the swaying grass, trying to catch a scent in the air. She heard a confused mrrow come from Stormfur.

“What are you doing?” He asked softly.

She didn’t answer as she tried to find a smell. Nothing came. Sighing, she rose up again and gave Stormfur a shrug. “It’s a Windclan technique Crowpaw taught me. Looks like it didn’t work this time.” Maybe the wind wasn’t strong enough.

Stormfur’s eyes shifted away, his tail lashing in small irritation. “I see.” Squirrelpaw rose a brow at the annoyance in his eyes. What was his problem?

She was about to speak when she felt her whiskers sway a different way. Along came a mouth-watering scent. Before she could even react, Crowpaw had sprinted off into the direction of a nearby hill. Squirrelpaw could just about see the white tail of the rabbit.

“Wait! Where are you going?” Brambleclaw yelled. Whether Crowpaw heard him or not didn’t matter as his long grey tail disappeared under the green slope of the hill. The Thunderclan Warrior growled in exasperation. “Does he ever listen?”

Squirrelpaw frowned. He’s just trying to catch us some food.

“He won’t be long.” Feathertail mewed with a soothing chuckle. “You could hardly expect him to ignore a rabbit when it pops right under our noses.” Squirrelpaw may have smiled at the Warrior’s defence, but a jealous heat still rushed to her cheeks.

Brambleclaw didn’t snap, but his tail still whipped hotly around.

Squirrelpaw bit her lip, holding back an urge to hiss at her clanmate. He had promised he was going to try harder!

Maybe sensing the growing tension, Stormfur readied himself to follow Crowpaw. “I’ll fetch him back!” The light in the tom’s amber eyes faded as the group saw Crowpaw reappear over the hill. A rabbit almost as big as the apprentice hung from his mouth. Squirrelpaw wasn’t surprised that her friends were even more shocked than her.

Even for Crowpaw, that was fast.

Dragging the rabbit back, Crowpaw dropped it before the cats, his blue eyes coolly looking to Brambleclaw. “That didn’t take long, did it?” Crowpaw meowed, “I suppose we’re allowed to stop and eat it?” He cocked his head to the side, daring someone to object him.

Brambleclaw opened his mouth, frowning, then shut it again as he looked back at the rabbit. The smell was clearly making all of their stomachs groan. The brown Warrior sighed gently, “Of course.” Squirrelpaw’s eyes widened as she saw clear regret in her clanmate’s eyes. Brambleclaw took a breath, his large form relaxing. “Sorry Crowpaw, I’d forgotten how fast Windclan cats can be. This…” His voice became soft. “This moorland must feel like home to you.”

An small uneasiness crept into Crowpaw’s gaze, he quickly looked away with a sharp nod. “It’s fine. Now let’s eat.” Brambleclaw didn’t respond, but there was a grateful warmth around him. Something glowed inside Squirrelpaw at her clanmate’s small action.

It was a small apology, but it was an apology nonetheless.

Maybe, just maybe, the cat was changing for the better.

Maybe she’d get back her friend again.

As the cats began to eat, Brambleclaw turned and found Squirrelpaw looking at him. He swallowed hard, his back fur quivering a little as the apprentice looked blankly at him. They shared a look for a few seconds. He took in a cold breath and smiled softly at the cat, a heavy look in his eyes.

Squirrelpaw didn’t smile, but she nodded softly at him. She wasn’t entirely sure yet. But that little moment, it was certainly better than before.

She gulped down her share of the rabbit, sighing as her hunger settled. It wouldn’t be enough on its own, but it was a good start to the day. She inwardly grinned. Crowpaw was proving himself to the group, little by little. Her fur quivered with delight. Looking around, every cat looked happier thanks to the cat’s catch.

Except Stormfur.

The Riverclan tom held a strange apprehensiveness in his stare, his tail clearly twitching with agitation. Squirrelpaw slid her gaze to where he was looking and she too held her eyes on the sight. Feathertail ate beside Crowpaw, close enough to be touching pelts, but it wasn’t that that made Squirrelpaw unsettled. It was the radiance that glittered in Feathertail’s eyes.

Ah. So Stormfur saw it too. He had the same suspicions as her.

It would make sense. Stormfur had full experience of what a half-clan relationship meant. It was only natural that he was worried, if he saw that look that his sister gave to a different clan cat.

The voice in Squirrelpaw’s head that told her she was overreacting suddenly sounded much more desperate. Kind of like begging.

It was still possible that Feathertail’s admiration was for Crowpaw’s hunting abilities. Any cat would appreciate that.

Looking at him, Squirrelpaw admired things about Crowpaw as well.

The shine of his fur in the cool sun, as well as the confidence that stuck out in his form, pulsing in his eyes. They looked much more striking.

Squirrelpaw began to swallow more out of necessity than pleasure. It was harder to focus on her hunger now she realised how handsome Crowpaw was.

…

It was Sunhigh by the time the group had reached the forest. In a turn of luck, bad luck if Crowpaw’s expression was to say anything, Purdy had kept his promise and had stayed at the forest edge until they returned.

Squirrelpaw hadn’t been the biggest fan of the past kittypet, especially considering his questionable sense of directions, but she still respected that he had been of help to them in the Two-leg place. Plus, the fact he had been willing to spring at Midnight, when she could have easily killed him with one blow, it was respectful to say the least.

Luckily that hadn’t turned into any trouble. And now it was time to hunt for real, before they returned to their travels.

Brambleclaw had suggested they meet up at their old camp, before he and Tawnypelt had stalked away on their own. Squirrelpaw had turned to Crowpaw and Feathertail, assuming they would hunt together, and found Feathertail awkwardly glancing away from the hard gaze of Stormfur. Squirrrelpaw’s tail dropped, so he still didn’t trust the thought of them.

Not that the idea was any more pleasant to Squirrelpaw.

Feathertail flushed with obvious embarrassment. “W-Why don’t we all hunt together?” She mewed, her stare pleading towards her brother. “We’d all do better as a group.”

“Sounds good to me.” Crowpaw added, he looked over to Stormfur welcomingly.

Stormfur looked away, his neck fur prickling. “No.” Stormfur griped, turning with an annoyed swing of his tail. A clear pang of hurt welled in Feathertail’s eyes, her ears dropping back. “I’m fine on my own.” Stormfur either didn’t notice or didn’t care as he padded away into the bushes. Squirrelpaw could see his teeth on display in a grimace.

Squirrelpaw heard his rustling lessen before turning back to her friends. Feathertail’s tail was limp on the ground as she looked down at her paws, wounded. Squirrelpaw felt pity rush through her, it was awful to see Feathertail upset.

At least Crowpaw was there to comfort her.

He shook his head in annoyed confusion before he rubbed against Feathertail’s pelt cordially. “Don’t worry about him. Whatever has gotten burrs stuck in his fur, he’ll get over it. Don’t let it get to you.”

Feathertail still looked upset, but she pressed her tail against the apprentice in appreciation. There was also the flicker in her eyes again.

Squirrelpaw found herself looking away from the two as well.

“Squirrelpaw!” Crowpaw called, “Are you coming?” He was inviting her, he still wanted her there. But Squirrelpaw couldn’t find the energy like before. Not like this.

Fumbling, she kept her gaze away until she was looking at the bushed where Stormfur had disappeared. A quick spark erupted in her brain. “Actually, I might go catch up with Stormfur and hunt with him.”

Crowpaw rose a brow while Feathertail looked up with interest. “Oh.” Crowpaw made a puzzled mrrow. “Are you sure? He said he’d be fine alone.”

Squirrelpaw rolled her tail dismissively, “Of course, he’d say that. But it’s like Feathertail said, we’ll all do better in a group. I’ll go help him; you two will be fine together.” The last word was more straining to say.

“I would really appreciate that Squirrelpaw.” Feathertail mewed with a soft smile. “He would get on better if he had some cat to help him.”

Crowpaw’s tail curled, “Yeah, but are you sure he’d want Squirrelpaw there?”

The Thunderclan apprentice scowled, her fluffy chest puffing out in offence. “Why wouldn’t he? The forest is my kind of territory, you know?”

“I know that. It’s just…” Crowpaw gave Feathertail a stiff glance, his brow creased. Feathertail laughed with a wave of her tail.

“I’m sure he’d love her company.” Feathertail’s whiskers rose, a strange smirk rising on her face. Squirrelpaw cocked her head as Crowpaw nodded with an exasperated sniff.

“What’s going on?”

Crowpaw flicked his tail. “Never mind.”

Feathertail took a tentative step towards her. “Are you sure you don’t want to hunt with us? We can come with you if you like.”

Squirrelpaw shook her head, a little too forcefully. She took a leap away towards the bushes. “I’ll be fine! All the prey won’t be in one place, after all.” She crafted a playful smirk, “I’ll see you guys later. Make sure Crowpaw doesn’t trip over his paws, okay Feathertail!”

“I heard that!” Crowpaw yowled over Feathertail’s laughter as the ginger apprentice pranced away.

“You were supposed to, mouse-brain!” She sang back. Squirrelpaw jumped through the undergrowth, shaking off any leaves that got caught in her fur. Now she was out of sight, she let her artificial smile break.

Pathetic. She didn’t even have the heart to be around her own friends. Not when the question still dug into her like the teeth of a pack of dogs.

Starclan above! She was supposed to be a Warrior! The hero of the forest’s daughter!

And she couldn’t even look a cat in the eye without wanting to melt.

She was gifting the two time together, why? She wanted to believe that she was a good friend supporting the idea that Feathertail did like Crowpaw and giving the two some time to bond.

She knew that wasn’t the truth.

Because every time she did see a sign of that possibility, she felt a burning misery.

She just wanted to get away from that.

A flashing pain pounded on her head. Grumbling, she looked up, letting out a low moan when she saw the cause. “Stupid tree.” She needed to be on her guard. Even if she was looking for Stormfur, she still needed to hunt for herself.

It would do her some good.

Her senses shot around until a familiar musk hit her. And it wasn’t of any kind of prey. At least he didn’t go far.

Squirrelpaw followed the scent of Riverclan until she found Stormfur beside a small stream rushing along a crack in the forest. His ears were fixed downwards, and his head was turned towards the water. Along his back his fur was still spiked with distaste. Squirrelpaw stepped towards him. “Any fish?”

Stormfur sprang a little, turning to the apprentice with fur prickled in alarm. Squirrelpaw held back a laugh. Stormfur stiffened himself, whiskers swirling shamefully. “Oh, it’s you Squirrelpaw. Um, no, The water’s too shallow for fish.”

Squirrelpaw sighed. “Bad luck. Still, found anything yet.”

“Just a mouse. It’s buried over there.” His tail swung towards land where a grand elm tree stood tall. “So, not that I mind.” His voice quavered, “But what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be hunting with my sister and Crowpaw.”

Squirrelpaw shrugged, “Those two will do fine themselves. I thought I’d come and give you some help.”

Stormfur’s face brightened but he still kept still. “Oh, I, uh, I appreciate that. But I said I’d be fine alone.” He said. Squirrelpaw thought he was trying to look bigger than he was. This cat really could be weird.

“Well, I say, we’ll hunt better as a group. And even if you say no, I’m still going to follow you.” She said, lashing her tail to say that was the end of it.

“But-”

“But nothing.” Squirrelpaw meowed, she strolled up to him and gave him a nudge. She could smell squirrel and mice around. “Come on, we’ll go this way.”

Squirrelpaw paced ahead, but she still turned back to wait for Stormfur. The Warrior stood there, nonplussed, a moment longer before sighing with a smiling resignation. Squirrelpaw smiled back. She didn’t know why Stormfur needed to make such a big deal of it.

Then again, she probably couldn’t talk much.

They hunted together, ears pricked and ready. Squirrelpaw had been right, they had worked much better together. Stormfur had been able to find a pair of mice that the two had quickly silenced and buried under the pile. The tom had almost missed a squirrel as it scrambled up a tree, but Squirrelpaw had been able to jump up and catch it before it escaped. Stormfur had nodded with respect as she dispatched the prey. Squirrelpaw had thanked him with a playful bow.

It was good Stormfur was there though, he could carry much more than Squirrelpaw could. They still had time to catch some more, and the aroma of vole lingered in the air, making their mouths water. It hadn’t been long before Stormfur had found the creature and was carrying it back in his teeth.

Squirrelpaw felt impressed at the obvious experience of the Warrior, many Thunderclan cats had told her that Riverclan was a nest of lazy cats who’d rather sleep in the sun than hunt. That couldn’t be less true when she saw Stormfur. He never looked away or unfixed as he stalked the scent he had found, and he was certainly just as strong as any Warrior she knew. Sure the was a strange hesitation around him that Squirrelpaw couldn’t identify, but it wasn’t so distracting that it threw the cat off of his work.

It just hit Squirrelpaw then how impactful this journey really had been. Excluding the obvious, she knew that wouldn’t believe any stories about the other clans again, she didn’t see these cats as rivals but as friends that would forever change how she saw the Clans themselves. And she couldn’t have been more happy about it.

“There.” Stormfur exclaimed as he dropped the vole onto the pile. “That should be enough.”

Squirrelpaw let out a proud chirp as she began to uncover the prey. “See! I told you we’d work better as a team! Let’s get these back to the others, I’m so hungry I could eat a toad!”

Squirrelpaw heard Stormfur chuckle as she began to collect the prey, but it was short and weak. Flicking an ear, Squirrelpaw looked up, becoming concerned when she saw Stormfur looking down with a hazy expression.

Squirrelpaw laid the prey down again. “Hey, what’s the matter?”

Stormfur exhaled, a guilty aura looming over him. “I should have gone with you guys.”

“Huh?”

He let out a frustrated moan. “I’m supposed to be here to watch over Feathertail. I shouldn’t have just left her like that.” He raked his paw across the ground, scowling at thin air. “What if something’s happened to her?”

Squirrelpaw approached the cat, her eyes tender on him. It really was cute how close he was to Feathertail. “Nothing will have happened to her.” She mewed, rubbing her tail against his pelt. “Feathertail can fend for herself, besides she has Crowpaw with her.”

Squirrelpaw could immediately tell those had been the wrong words, as Stormfur glowered, bending over as his amber eyes blazed. “So, she does.”

The venom in his tone wasn’t strong, but it was obvious enough that Squirrelpaw found herself frowning. “What’s your problem with Crowpaw?” She demanded, her neck fur spiking. “I thought you and him were starting to get along!”

Stormfur actually looked cowed at her reaction as he visibly edged away. His tail trailed dust as it wavered from side to side. Closing his eyes, Stormfur let out a soft hiss of irritation. “Ugh! You’ve seen what they’re like, right?”

The strength in Squirrelpaw’s stance reeled. She just about managed to feign ignorance. “What?” She said, her voice shamefully high-pitched.

Stormfur turned, bent over as he steamed. “I know you’re not mouse-brained, Squirrelpaw. You’ve seen how they act around each other.” He padded over to where the stream chattered, staring down at his reflection.

Squirrelpaw wanted to speak up, but Stormfur was only echoing her own thoughts back to her. Actually, the fact another cat shared her assumptions made them look alarmingly accurate. Stormfur knew Feathertail better than anyone.

She must have looked off as Stormfur only glanced at her once before making a bitter chuff. “See, you have noticed!” He returned his eyes to the water, shoulders rising “What could she honestly see in that apprentice?!”

Despite herself, Squirrelpaw’s eyes darted up to the Warrior with a glare. Don’t talk about him like you actually know him! Luckily, she had regained enough control to not say her thoughts out loud, but what she did say was still cold. “Hmm, what could a cat see in an apprentice?”

Stormfur flinched, looking back at her with guilt in his eyes. “Sorry Squirrelpaw. I didn’t mean it like that.” He murmured, his flossy tail trailing on the ground.

The ginger molly softened. She knew that Stormfur wasn’t trying to be hurtful, he wasn’t that kind of cat. “It’s alright.” Squirrelpaw mewed, her own voice growing gentle. “I’m sorry too. I know you’re just worried about Feathertail.”

Stormfur smiled graciously, but he returned his downcast head to his reflection. Squirrelpaw’s ears went back in pity. She went over to the stream, sitting beside the grey tom. He looked down with a misty expression. “I just can’t see how it couldn’t bother them. They’re in different clans!”

Squirrelpaw’s smile tightened. “They might just be friends, Stormfur.”

Stormfur turned to her unhappily. “I want that to be true, Squirrelpaw. But Feathertail… I’ve never seen her act like how she does around him.” Squirrelpaw pressed her teeth together as Stormfur went on. “What happens if they do like each other that way? They can’t just expect the clans will accept it! They could end up exiled, or worse!”

I know.

Squirrelpaw exhaled, gazing off into the distance. “Have you tried asking Feathertail how she feels about him?”

Stormfur scoffed, “Have you?”

The apprentice looked up at him icily. “It never bothered me before.” She lied. “Crowpaw told me you were okay with him and Feathertail being friends.”

Stormfur looked aside, exhaling deeply. “I am. I’m not against Crowpaw as a cat.” Squirrelpaw felt a small relief at that, even though she could sense there was a ‘but’. “I do trust him. I just… I just don’t want Feathertail to get herself hurt.”

“Crowpaw would rather hurt himself before hurting Feathertail!” Squirrelpaw exclaimed, her tail flaring up again.

“I know!” Stormfur insisted. “But it still doesn’t change that they will get themselves hurt if I’m right.” The grey tom struck a paw at his reflection, hissing as his saw his murky face ripple across the water. Squirrelpaw still frowned, but she couldn’t argue. Stormfur wasn’t wrong. And in the end, he was just desperately worried about his dear sister. She couldn’t hold that against him.

Besides, it wasn’t like he knew his words were affecting her as well.

What was she going to do when this was all over? Regardless of whether Feathertail did like Crowpaw or not, it didn’t change how there were barriers that blocked Squirrelpaw from him as well.

Firestar was protective enough of her when she had hung around Bramblestar.

She dreaded to think what he would do if he found out who she was really attracted to.

Squirrelpaw found her own reflection in the stream. Wavering around without direction on the surface of a hollow space. She blinked when she saw the dolour fogging her eyes, closing and opening until she felt she could see her face a little more clearly.

For a brief moment, Squirrelpaw felt like she could see what she’d been before the journey had started.

But that was kittish. It was never going to be like that again.

“I don’t know, Stormfur.” Squirrelpaw said with a swift tiredness. She hated how small she sounded. “I just want to get back home.”

She wanted all these questions in her heart to be answered, whether she liked the answers or not.

Thankfully, Stormfur seemed to accept that answer, he curled his tail around Squirrelpaw’s back. “I know. I do too.” He stated placidly. The two sat in silence, looking down towards the water. Squirrelpaw felt Stormfur twitch a little. “There’s a much bigger river than this at home…obviously,” He added in with a small laugh, “It’s full of fish at every mark. Me and Feathertail learnt how to swim in it together.” Stormfur smiled at his recollections, the peaceful imagery washing over Squirrelpaw with a sympathetic rush. Stormfur’s muzzle thinned, his voice growing faint. “I wonder if it’s still there.”

Squirrelpaw returned his touch, rubbing against him soothingly. “It’s going to be fine.” She grinned up at him with a flicker in her green eyes. “Because even if it isn’t, there’s a much bigger river out there somewhere! And you and Feathertail are going to lead your clan to it!”

Stormfur laughed, “Isn’t that the dream.” He meowed. He looked down at the apprentice, something glimmering in his stare for a moment before he turned away with a sigh. “I just hope Feathertail will be happy when it happens.”

Would Feathertail be happy if she had to leave the cat she cared about?

Squirrelpaw knew how she’d feel.

“Don’t worry about that.” The Thunderclan cat declared, getting up to return to the buried prey. “You ought to ask her. Now come on, I’m starting to digest myself, I’m so hungry!”

The Riverclan tom looked on for a moment before rising up as well, clear wonder in his expression. “Do you actually think she’d tell me?”

Squirrelpaw picked up whatever she could carry. “You’re her brother, aren’t you?” She said, her voice muffled by her full mouth. She wandered away to the direction of the camping sight, slowing down so Stormfur could catch up, but not looking back at him.

She didn’t want to think about those questions anymore.

It was far too exhausting. And it was painful to know they weren’t going away anytime soon.

…

The journey had changed with the rising of the sun.

Midnight had informed them that there was a quicker way to reach home than the Twolegplace, which had suited the group fine until they realised where she was pointing them towards.

Into the direction of the sun. It hung above the sharp tops of the mountain range.

It had been a close vote among the cats, but there was a common feeling of how dire their time was running out that led them towards the latter option. It was unknown territory, but they figured it couldn’t be anymore harder than what they had all faced already. So, the cats had said their goodbyes to Midnight and Purdy, before setting off towards the stones that splintered the clouds.

It hadn’t been too hard at the start, the rock was smooth and not too slippery, and to his credit, Brambleclaw seemed to lead them to paths that weren’t too steep to climb at all.

But as they’d grown higher up, the paths had thinned, and the air had grown colder. Soon they were balancing themselves on thin ridges jutted out from the body of the mountain. Every cat had had to rely on another to balance them at some point. At the very least, the trust the cats now shared was more obvious than ever.

It didn’t mean that any of them were any calmer though.

Squirrelpaw felt her heart in her ears as she carefully held herself on the ridge before her. The others ahead looked just as nervous, even Brambleclaw who’s heavy breathing could be heard from the back of the line. No cat judged him for it. A breeze had met the cats as they walked along, and every cold wisp that made Squirrelpaw’s whiskers twitch made the freezing fear in her belly even stronger.

“You’re doing fine.” Stormfur said, he traversed behind her at the back of the group, just in case any predator tried to sneak up on the group from behind.

Squirrelpaw meant to mutter a thank you, but it was warbled by tense worry. She was trying her hardest to keep her eyes ahead, but the corner of her eye was amazingly vivid, capturing the view that showcased a river, as thin as a whisker from their height, that awaited any cat that was unfortunate enough to drop.

Bad thoughts! Bad thoughts! Squirrelpaw grinded her teeth and pressed on. Just keep moving forward.

In front of her, Tawnypelt shifted on with equal strength. “How much further, Brambleclaw?” She called. Her brother had reached a turn at the mountain-face and not even a second later there was a sudden shout of frustration.

“No!”

Squirrelpaw flinched, leaning to the mountain, so she didn’t lose her balance. The other cats looked equally disturbed. “What is it?” Stormfur shouted.

No cat responded until every cat had made their way around the turn. For a moment, Squirrelpaw felt her worries loosen as she found the others at a wider slab of stone that let the cats all rest together. However, her mouth dropped in horror as she saw the edge ahead of them.

There was a gap between the ridge they currently inhabited and the next solid ground. It wasn’t too far, but the expanse of twisted trees and rough stone that lay at the bottom made it look so much bigger.

“Sh-Should we go back?” Stormfur suggested. Squirrelpaw’s belly twisted at the thought of braving that ridge again, but the drop ahead didn’t look any better.

Brambleclaw’s face twisted into a squint, “Look over there!”

The cats did, and sure enough they saw what he was looking at. On the other side of the drop, the stone was undeniably smoother and wider, more than enough to hold the cats without difficulty.

“There’s bushes growing over there as well!” Feathertail exclaimed. “There might be prey!”

Crowpaw took a step near the edge and sniffed. His eyes brightened. “I can smell rabbits over there!”

“Should we risk it though?” Stormfur mumbled, his eyes wide on the drop below. “It’s a good leap.”

“Its’s not like back there’s any easier.” Brambleclaw started forward, driven by his instincts. Then he paused, his ears dropping back as his tail rested on the stone floor. He looked to the other side, clearly longing to waste no time, but he sighed and retreated on his haunches, looking to the others. “But if you all feel safer going that way, we can.”

Squirrelpaw could tell each cat was trying to hide how surprised they were by her clanmate’s attitude. It wasn’t long ago that he had practically forced them to follow whatever he said was best. But each cat was clearly pleased by what he said. Squirrelpaw could have thought she was ill by the admiration she felt for the Warrior.

Maybe he can make a good leader. When he’s not being a mouse-brain.

Luckily for Brambleclaw, a vote on the matter wasn’t needed. As Crowpaw was clearly preparing himself to spring. “We can’t just stand here as if we’ll grow wings!” He meowed. Before any cat could stop him, he sprang from the ledge. Squirrelpaw’s throat clenched as she saw him in the air, overwhelmed by the thought of him falling. His name was in her throat as he landed, his paws gracefully meeting the stone.

He let out a satisfied puff of air, glancing back to the others with a grin. “Come on, it’s easy!”

Squirrelpaw felt her insides settle, but her eyes went red with anger. He shouldn’t have just jumped off like that without warning! Despite how brave he was, his action could have easily gone wrong! She couldn’t even blame Brambleclaw for how furious he looked at the apprentice’s sudden decision.

Squirrelpaw sighed. Oh, what good will it do to moan about it? They had to follow Crowpaw’s lead now, or else they’d have to just leave him there, he would never be able to jump back to the narrow rock.

Squirrelpaw shook her head. When I get over there, I’m raking his muzzle!

“I’ll go next.” Feathertail offered. Squirrelpaw wondered if it was because the Warrior could sense the other’s annoyance with Crowpaw. She felt annoyance bristle her fur again, trying to block out Stormfur’s words. Feathertail waited a moment before leaping over; Crowpaw readied himself at the other end to steady her if she stumbled. Fortunately, the Riverclan molly landed with a steady thud, and she grinned to Crowpaw with a wave of her tail.

Squirrelpaw felt her paws growing hot.

“All right. Who’s next?” Brambleclaw asked.

“I’ll go!” Squirrelpaw said immediately, walking up to the ledge with her tail flared irritably.

Brambleclaw stiffened, “You don’t have to-”

“I will!” Squirrelpaw hissed, twisting to her clanmate with green fire. She saw Brambleclaw back off, his lips tight. The ginger molly felt her anger evaporate, replaced by a sudden guilt. Brambleclaw hadn’t been the one to annoy her, she couldn’t go at him for nothing. “Sorry.” She mumbled, “But, I’ll be fine. Okay?”

Brambleclaw nodded graciously, a small peace in his eyes.

“See you over there.” Squirrelpaw mewed. She placed her forepaws on the ledge and put pressure into her back legs. She couldn’t mess this up. She steadied her gaze on the other ledge where her friends stood and clenched down the fear in her gut. Pushing herself on her back legs, she leapt into the air, not looking down as she felt the wind traveling in her face.

Her front paws met the stone first but Squirrelpaw felt terror wrack her as she realised her back paws wouldn’t meet the stone. I’m going to fall!

As her stomach hit the crooked edge with a grunt, she could have squealed in terror. She felt her heart in her mouth as her back legs began to fall down, but a strong set of jaws held her scruff, steadying her on the stone as her legs swung in the open air. She scrambled forward, pulled up by the force on her scruff until her belly was resting safely on the stone.

Squirrelpaw was breathing so heavily that she almost did not hear the yowl. “Are you okay?”

Pulling her panting face from the stone, she quivered as she saw Crowpaw standing above her. His blue eyes were wide with concern that made her breathing slow. “I-I’m fine!”

“You did great!” Brambleclaw called from the other side, his voice higher than normal. Squirrelpaw looked back and saw him exhaling with obvious relief. She waved her tail at him thankfully.

Squirrelpaw felt a tender nudge at her side and saw Feathertail ushering her to get up. “You did really well.” The Warrior mewed. Squirrelpaw knew she was just being kind. How could she have let herself stumble like that?

“I would have fallen for sure if you hadn’t caught me.” She looked up again at Crowpaw, the warmth inside her swelling uncontrollably. She could actually feel her eyes drifting as Crowpaw smiled down at her.

“Hey, you still made it, didn’t you?” He simpered, “Just because Squirrel’s in your name, it doesn’t mean you can leap like one.”

Squirrelpaw might have raked his eyes for that earlier, now she just batted his face away with her paw. “Don’t ruin this, rabbit-brain.” She said, getting up to her paws and shaking the loose bits of rock out of her fur. She noticed how close she was to Crowpaw and blushed.

Her breath stopped again as a thought entered her mind. She glanced over to Feathertail, and found the cat preparing herself at the edge in case another cat stumbled. She didn’t seem to mind at all when Crowpaw was with Squirrelpaw. At least, not as obviously affected Squirrelpaw felt when Feathertail was near him.

Did that mean Feathertail wasn’t interested in Crowpaw? Or was she just stronger when it came to hiding her feelings?

Possibly she was just a stronger cat than Squirrelpaw.

Nothing made Squirrelpaw feel any better about it. Nothing was clarified or denied.

Like the drop that could have claimed her, it was just a gaping unknown.

…

Finally, things were beginning to look better. After the cats had all made it to the other side, they’d decided it was the perfect time to hunt. On the other side of the ledge, the stone had linked with a wide valley growing on the mountain side between two rifts. There was even a small trickling stream where the cats had been able to gain a well-deserved drink.

The cats all rested on a small slope where bushes and a few trees stood out gloriously. It was so much more satisfying to relax after how tricky that ridge had been.

Squirrelpaw had come to a familiar decision.

After Crowpaw and Feathertail had volunteered to go hunting again, the ginger molly was beginning to grow tired of her lack of answers. It was clear that she wasn’t going to find out if Feathertail liked the tom or not, so she was going to take care of another issue in the meantime.

She was going to tell Crowpaw how she felt.

She’d had enough of wasting her time with her guts in knots. Once he got back, she was going to get some kind of answer from him, and then maybe she wouldn’t have to spend her time getting so darn frustrated anymore.

The two cats had returned with mouths full of prey. As the cats ate up their shares, Squirrelpaw made sure she was next to Crowpaw. She nudged him with her tail, making him look up curiously.

“What is it?”

“Once you’re done, can you meet me over there?” She pointed her tail in the direction of a pair of thick bushes. “I need to talk to you about something.”

Crowpaw raised a brow, “Can we talk about it here?”

Not a chance!

“No!” Squirrelpaw meowed in a hushed voice. “Just meet me over there, all right?”

Crowpaw swung his tail in exasperation, but he didn’t argue. “Okay, sure.”

Squirrelpaw beamed. “Thank you!”

It didn’t take long for Squirrelpaw to finish her share after that, she gulped the prey down and padded away from the cats. She gave Crowpaw a wink as she made her way to the bushes. He rolled his eyes and continued eating, but he was evidently amused.

Squirrelpaw found the back of the bush and let out a deep breath. It was suddenly hitting her what she was just about to do. She stamped her paw on the ground with a growl. Come on! Don’t be a mouse-heart! This is exactly why you’ve been so pathetic all day! Just tell him how you feel and be done with it, for the love of Silverpelt!

What was she even meant to say? Should she just blurt it out when he came around the bush? How would he even react? She still didn’t know definitively if he liked her or not.

Well then, you’re about to find out.

Good Starclan, the little voice didn’t care about any kind of consequences at all.

But it was really persuasive.

There was no point in fighting it anymore. It wasn’t just that it was affecting how she saw Crowpaw, it was tainting her perception of Feathertail. That made Squirrelpaw feel awful. She remembered how annoyed she’d gotten seeing the two of them on the peak. And then Feathertail had made her look like a fool when she nuzzled Squirrelpaw’s side, beyond worried about her.

No cat deserved this. Squirrelpaw just wanted everything between them to be normal again. But it was her own fault she felt like this, and she needed to take some action herself. She couldn’t just wait around for Feathertail or Crowpaw to say something.

“What did you need, Stormfur?”

Squirrelpaw’s full stomach almost came out of her mouth when she heard the Riverclan molly’s voice. Perking her ears up, she craned her head around the bush. Stormfur and Feathertail had wandered away from the group, sitting together by the small stream that ran down the mountain side. Feathertail’s faced away from Squirrelpaw, but the apprentice could see discomfort darknening Stormfur’s expression.

The grey cat let out a low hiss of breath. “Listen Feathertail, you and Crowpaw-”

Squirrelpaw’s eyes widened, he was actually going to ask her about it?! She kept herself hidden, but her ears were alert like she was hunting on a monster-path.

So it was easy to hear the sharpness in Feathertail’s reply. “What about Crowpaw?” Feathertail’s fur bristled as she growled. “You are all so unfair to him!”

Her voice was hard and defensive, hidden like an adder in the grass. Squirrelpaw felt her jaw drop at the Warrior’s anger.

Would she get so angry over a friend?

Y-You’d do the same! It doesn’t mean anything!

“That’s not the point!” Stormfur spoke like he was treading on the ridge again. “What’s going to happen when we get home? Crowpaw’s in a different clan.”

See, this is it. She’ll become confused and deny everything he thinks and then you can shut up and get on with everything.

“We don’t even know if there will be clans anymore.” Feathertail protested. Squirrelpaw quivered and her breathing became cold. “We’ll be leaving the forest remember!”

Squirrelpaw’s ears dropped down but she still listened carefully. W-Why isn’t she denying anything?

“Do you think the clan boundaries will just vanish because we have to leave?” Stormfur scoffed.

“Have you forgotten already what Midnight said?!” Feathertail snapped. Her tone was cold and unflinching. Unafraid. “The Clans won’t survive if we don’t work together!”

She just has to say no. Squirrelpaw’s tail began to sink to the ground. She blinked desperately. She could just be talking about friendships! That’s still a boundary in itself! It doesn’t mean she-

“And have you forgotten what happens when cats from different clans get together?” Stormfur’s voice pounded in Squirrelpaw’s ears, growing louder as if by some cruel echo. “Look at how our father is torn between two clans! You and I nearly died because we were half-clan! Tigerstar would have killed us if Thunderclan hadn’t rescued us!”

This was it. This was to the point. Feathertail had to face Stormfur’s worries now. She just had to tell him it was a mis-

“But Tigerstar’s gone now. There won’t be another cat in the forest.”

Around her, Squirrelpaw suddenly felt like she was falling. Her ear was crooked and twitching as she listened on. The sibling’s voices grew hazy, like they were at the back of a cave.

“Midnight said all the clans will have somewhere else to live.” Feathertail meowed with a passionate defiance. “Everything will be different.”

The little voice didn’t make a sound over Squirrelpaw’s small whimper.

Stormfur moaned lightly, “But you and Crowpaw…”

“I’m not going to talk about me and Crowpaw!” Feathertail sighed, her voice lowering. “I’m sorry, Stormfur, but this has nothing to do with you.”

Squirrelpaw didn’t listen to Stormfur’s reply, she sat down on her haunches, hidden in the shadows of the bush. She stared down at the ground, Feathertail’s words spiralling around her head.

This has nothing to do with you.

Feathertail’s voice sounded more like Squirrelpaw’s then.

Squirrelpaw looked up, her throat full of a horrible dryness that made her gulp down something raw. She’d gotten an answer to one of her questions. It wasn’t as satisfying as she’d hoped.

She likes him. She admitted it to her own brother. Squirrelpaw might have admired Feathertail if she wasn’t sick with a stupid indiscretion.

She sat there, breathing in chilling, uncomfortable air as she thought about what happened next?

What did happen next?

She liked the same cat as one of her good friends. That was inescapable. And it made Squirrelpaw feel guilty.

Like she was betraying Feathertail by feeling like this.

Betraying one of the cats who had treated her with the most kindness…

Did that mean that Squirrelpaw was intruding on them? While there wasn’t anything to say that Crowpaw liked Feathertail back, the thought of possibly taking the one Feathertail loved away from her was appalling.

Taking away something that made Feathertail happy? The one cat who deserved to be happy more than anyone she knew.

Sure, it wasn’t certain that it could work out, even if Squirrelpaw kept her mouth shut. Like Stormfur had said, it was naïve to assume that generations of the Warrior Code would go away just because there was a new forest.

But, like Feathertail said, if the rules did change… If they could become happy together… Then it would be more likely to become reality if Squirrelpaw didn’t speak up.

But what did Squirrelpaw want?

What she wanted most; she knew. But she also knew that she wanted the best for Feathertail as well. And now she knew that she liked Crowpaw, it was clear what she needed to do to make her happy.

She also knew how much it would hurt her.

Squirrelpaw’s ears twitched as she heard approaching paws. She straightened herself quickly, sniffing back anything that was about to pour out of her and leave her open. She looked at the bush as soon as Crowpaw edged past it.

The grey apprentice held a curious expression, his tail curled as he sat in front of the Thunderclan cat. “So, what did you want to tell me?” He asked, cleaning blood from one of his paws.

He kept his eyes on his friend as she looked down for a moment. He couldn’t see the battle taking place, and he wasn’t able to tell that her anger was a mockery of her own design. He winced as she batted his face with unsheathed claws, catching him across the ear.

“Hey!” Crowpaw snarled, his tail lashing in a fury. “What was that for?”

“You being a flea-brain, that’s what?” Squirrelpaw hissed, squaring him up. “What were you thinking, jumping acrossthe ridge like that without letting us have a say in the matter?”

“Is that what this was about?” Crowpaw bleated, patting over his sore ear. “I thought it was something important.”

“It is important!” Squirrelpaw seethed, making Crowpaw step back with a frown. “You told me I shouldn’t put myself in danger, and you do something like that!”

Crowpaw groaned, “It wasn’t like it was a far jump!”

“I would have fallen if it wasn’t for you! But what if you hadn’t made it! No one would have been there to catch you!” Squirrelpaw turned away from him, whipping his muzzle with her tail.

Crowpaw began to mutter, “I still made it, didn’t-” He droned off, his confidence fading as he realised what he was saying. Squirrelpaw realised it to, who he was mirroring, and she turned back to him with narrowed eyes.

“I was scared, you mouse-brain! We can’t afford to lose anyone.” Squirrelpaw’s tone calmed down marginally, but there was still something twisted in her eyes. “You have to lead Windclan to a new home, remember?”

Crowpaw kept him muzzle shut, but he nodded slowly. He sensed now why Squirrelpaw was really angry with his actions earlier, and he couldn’t blame her. He’d gone through the same thing after all. When she was under that water, he’d never felt so scared of losing anyone. It would be cruel of him to put her through the same thing.

Sighing, he dipped his head in apology. “I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

“I know.” Squirrelpaw muttered, her anger gone. “But that’s just because you’re a mole-head.” Hesitantly, she rubbed against his side, exhaling as she soaked in his soft fur.

Crowpaw didn’t object to her tenderness. Clearly, he had worried her. “Won’t happen again.” He mewed.

“It better not.” Squirrelpaw said sternly, swiping his nose again with her tail. Crowpaw sneezed; how could anything be so fuzzy? “It wasn’t just me you worried…Feathertail was scared too.” She examined him as he sighed again, guilt becoming clearer in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, okay?” Crowpaw offered, looking up sanguinely at the apprentice. When her eyes softened, he craned his head back up. “But maybe you know how it was for us when you jumped into the river.” He leered.

Squirrelpaw let out a mrrow of laughter, “Shut up, at least I didn’t start crying.” He knew she didn’t mean it, so he laughed along. But even as they walked back to the others, he didn’t know why she’d mentioned Feathertail out of nowhere. He didn’t know that Squirrelpaw had made herself a promise to support her friends as much as she could.

And he didn’t know how much it stung her to do that.

...

Special thanks to @lonely-ghost-606 and @nyanan-1233 for their editing and advice at the beginning of this chapter. Love you guys! Enjoy!

[burtlederp]

Grant(3), Caleb(4), Caetan(35), Tiburon(49) oops,, its a lot, huh? Your characters are just awesome hAHA sorrYY

Nooo don’t apologize thank YOU!!! I’M sorry for taking so long to respond!!!

Putting stuff under a readmore because holy hell there’s a lot of it

3. What is/was Grant’s relationship with his father like? tw: drugs, drugs, and more drugs; child abuse a la neglect

He’s laying on his back in the middle of his apartment, staring at the domed ceiling overhead. Coherent thoughts are far and few between, his mind muddled by the haze that fills it, fills the room, the whole apartment. Before he’d started smoking, he’d known he’d regret stealing so much weed, but for now, he didn’t. He floated in a peaceful bliss, utterly serene. No thoughts in, no thoughts out. Just smoke, curling and floating around him. Shapes moved amongst the haze, too faint to identify, passing, shifting forms. People, perhaps, walking by, walking around him. Legs passing by, nobody ever stopping to look down at him. People milling about, paces slowing, soon they’re coming and going. They enter the room, they talk, they leave after a brief exchange of currencies. His father is sitting behind him, on the couch. He’s high too, he’s always high, Grant can just barely see the shadows of his father’s hunched form when he tips his head back. His father never relaxed when he was high. He always became even higher strung, if that was possible. He only calmed down when he had heroin in his veins, or something stronger. 

Grant couldn’t see the face of the smoky form of his father. There wasn’t one. In his memory, there never had been. His father in the transient construction of smoke was as accurate as any depiction Grant could have conjured on his own. Never present, never really there, always drugged out of his mind, never sober. Just the same as the haze that filled the house permanently. 

4. Has Caleb ever witnessed something that fundamentally changed him? If so, does anyone else know? tw: war is hell, child abuse a la war is fucking hell, no I’ve not read the Silmarillion I just like the idea of Tom Bombadil don’t @ me

Caleb scrubbed his face on his arm and shivered, pulling the tattered cloth he called a blanket tighter around himself. It’d been raining for days now, with no end in sight, and it had transformed the prairie into a mudscape. He and one other lone figure huddled around a tree that stood tall in the midst of the brown sea, one solitary rise of solid ground, one lone spot of relative shelter. 

“B-beautiful weather, innit?” the other, the stranger, chuckled. It was the first thing they’d said since they arrived. They’d showed up last night, flopping down against the tree and falling asleep. Caleb had kept his distance, kept still, not showing any inclination of actually being alive. He didn’t reply to the stranger’s comment on the weather.

“Not in th’ mood ‘fer talkin’? Thas’ a’ight…” they sighed after a long minute, realizing Caleb wouldn’t respond. “An’ I know yer’ not asleep, ‘cause iss’ too cold t’be sleepin’ right now.” Caleb still didn’t respond. He was wary of the person. There was no such thing as a stranger with ulterior motives. 

“Don’ worry, I got enough words fer’ th’ both of us,” the stranger, a man, Caleb realized over the constant sound of rain, scoffed. Caleb looked heavenward, praying silently. 

Please, no, don’t let him talk, Caleb prayed, but unfortunately the gods were not on his side in this moment. 

“I’ve met a god before. Now, I know what yer’ thinkin’--’you? Dionisio? Seen a god? Ha! As if!’ But I tells ya’, I met ‘em. Hell if I’m to know which one he was or what he did or whatnot, but I met ‘im and he was a fabulous fella. Called ‘imself Tom, of all things. Can ye’ believe that? A god, named Tom! Ah, I hardly believed it myself when ‘e said it.” Caleb sighed, rubbing his face. The man’s name was Dionisio, and he was crazy. Excellent. I’m stuck out here in the middle of nowhere with a crazy man who’s likely going to kill and eat me. 

A distinct crunch cut off Caleb’s train of thought. It wasn’t a sickening crunch, like a breaking bone or the like, but like a bite into an apple, a fresh, crisp apple. Caleb spun around, looking around the tree to see the man, as crinkled and wrinkled and dirty and filthy as he had sounded and smelled, leaned comfortably against the tree. His dark, beady eyes twinkled as Caleb stared at him.

“Mm, I knew that’d get yer’ attention!” he laughed, a hand lowering to his side. Before Caleb could react, jump back from the man’s drawn sword--he realized the man hadn’t drawn a sword at all. It was another apple. He held out the bright red fruit to Caleb. “Go on n’ take it, lad, y’probably more starved than I am!” 

Caleb sat there, hesitating, eyes flickering between the apple and the man, weighing his options. He could take the apple, but… what did he want in return? Was the apple cursed? Poisoned? Was this a trick? He backed up a step warily, like a shy animal.

“Ayee, I’m not gonna ‘urt you! I jus’ wanna give y’ somethin’ t’eat. I swear I ain’t mean nuthin’ by it,” Dionisio insisted, holding the apple out further. Caleb stared, waiting. Dionisio tilted his head, giving a wry smile. “C’mon laddie. I ain’t mean ye no harm, c’mon.” His voice softened as he spoke, getting a little quieter, more gentle, not so rough and abrasive like the coarse mud that surrounded them. Caleb swallowed, his stomach twisting. It’d been days since he’d eaten. He didn’t remember when he’d last eaten. And here it was, food, offered with no strings attached. It was too good to be true. But his hunger overrode his instincts now and he snatched the apple from the man’s hand, leaping away right after. 

“Aye, there we go, there we go, see? An’ I didn’ even ‘urt ye!” Dionisio chortled, watching as Caleb devoured the apple. The old man kept smiling, but it faded somewhat as the small, one-armed boy ate. “Ye been hit as ‘ard as anyone else by this war, ain’t ye?” 

Caleb, chewing, looked up briefly at the man through messy, curly, wet black hair that fell in his eyes. He nodded, ever so slightly. 

“Ye… Ain’t we all…” Dionisio sighed, letting his head rest against th’ tree. “I got more apples fer’ ye if ye want ‘em after that ‘un.” Caleb frowned.

“Why?” Caleb was surprised as the sound that came from his throat was not one he recognized. It was a croak, rough and unused. Though it had been… well, Caleb didn’t even know the last time he’d spoken. He cleared his throat and tried again, questioning the man. Dionisio huffed a laugh.

“‘Why’? Whaddya’ mean, ‘why’?” the old man looked to him with a grin. “‘Cause I want to, and ye look half-dead, and ye barely a child! Ye need it more than I do.”

“But….” Caleb looked down at the core of the apple in his hand. “You could last so much longer if you kept them to yourself.”

“But you’ll last so much longer if I don’t, won’t ye?” Dionisio pointed out simply. “That’s reason enough fer’ me.” A spot of red appeared in Caleb’s peripheral vision, and he raised his head to see another apple being offered to him, Dionisio smiling. Caleb took it slowly.

“No… no other goal…?” Caleb asked cautiously, and Dionisio shook his head.

“None. I jus’ wanna see ye get outta’ this war alive, lad.”

Caleb leaned back against the tree as Dionisio kept telling his story, listening out of one ear as he thought about the apple. Food, so precious in this time of war and chaos, and he’d given it away freely. 

Perhaps there are good people in this world, still… Caleb thought as Dionisio talked and talked and talked, and it rained and rained and rained.

35. How does Caetan behave around people he likes? in a word: badly tw: implied to-happen noncon/r*pe

Caetan drummed his fingers on the bartop, chin resting in his other hand. He nudged his drink around a bit, bored. He didn’t really know what he was here for. Well, he did, he knew very well. He’d been more than busy the past couple weeks, and was yearning for some company. But he wasn’t sure what mood he was in. 

And then someone sat down a few seats from him at the bar and he did a double-take. A man, maybe 6-foot-one, with short, dark hair that was well-kept, well-styled. Lean, well-muscled, but not brawny. His face was narrow, and by god that was the most perfect nose Caetan had ever seen in his life. 

Caetan realized what mood he was in and got to his feet.

“This seat taken?” Caetan inquired. The man turned, looking up at him with deep, chocolate-y brown eyes that made Caetan pray the man said no because his knees were about to give out. The man shook his head, and Caetan tried to slip into the seat without giving away how weak he was already. “You here alone tonight?”

“I am,” the stranger responded, eyeing Caetan somewhat warily. 

“That’s a shame,” Caetan shook his head. “A beautiful creature like yourself on your own on a Friday night? I’d say that’s a crime against humanity.”

The man stared at him, and Caetan suddenly second-guessed everything he’d said or done already. What had he done wrong? Could he fix it? What--

“I’m straight.” Ah. That’s what’s wrong. Caetan’s face fell a bit.

“Well, damn. You sure?” Caetan sighed.

“Very,” the man replied stiffly.

“That’s an even bigger shame, then,” Caetan grunted, motioning the bartender over. “Let me buy you a drink then, to save some face.”

“No thanks,” the man said quickly, getting to his feet. “Have a good night.” With that, the beautiful stranger turned and walked away. Caetan watched him go, and slowly got to his feet, moving stealthily through the bar as the man headed to the door of the bar, and he followed him out into the night.

49. If Tiburon was put into ______ situation, they’d rather die than live to see it through. I had no idea what to do with this for a looong time, ngl cw: cannablism(?), consumption of human flesh, gore, Tiburon doesn’t give two shits about your ‘ethics’, he’s got his own that he’s following; oh and implied kidnapping, planned torture that never happens

It occurred to Tiburon, now too late, that perhaps he was in over his head. ‘Infiltrate the mafia,’ they said, ‘it’ll be fun,’ they said. ‘You surely won’t be forced to torture and kill someone!,’ they said, he thought bitterly as he stood in front of a man tied firmly to a chair, a black bag over his head. His head was bowed inside the bag, but he wasn’t unconscious; Tiburon could hear the man choking on sobs, shoulders shaking. Tiburon had killed people before, he’d eaten people before, he had no issue with that; it was the torture that made him hesitate. Every time he’d killed, he’d taken special care to not let them suffer, he hated suffering.

And now here he was, being compelled to do it. Well, he would be, it hadn’t happened yet. He was trapped in this shipping container, another man standing by the door, waiting, watching, playing witness to Tiburon’s actions to let the boss know he was legit. Tiburon sighed, rubbing his face. What a fucking inconvenience. Six months--six fucking months of work, all down the drain, just like that. He tortured this man, made him suffer, or they would kill Tiburon. Well, they thought they would. Unfortunately, they were currently on the docks, so Tiburon would make his getaway before they ever knew he’d changed his mind about the work. 

He turned away from the sobbing, bound man to face the guard, crossing his arms. The man, at least a head taller than Tiburon and fifty pounds heavier, every ounce made of muscle, eyed him.

“What?” The man’s voice was exactly what Tiburon had pictured--deep, raspy, heavy. Appropriate.

“Nothing,” Tiburon replied, looking away with a sigh. He rubbed his jaw, thinking. He had to cut to the chase before things started getting iffy. He turned back around and walked close to the guard.

“What’re you doing?” the guard grunted, sizing up the supposed torturer while the supposed torturer did the same to him. Tiburon did not reply, not verbally, grabbing the man by the head and pushing him against the wall. The guard barked in alarm and fought back, but Tiburon was quicker and slippery. Before the large brute could get a good grip on him and make the whole ordeal a lot more trouble, he leapt forward and sank his teeth into the man’s throat. The guard’s shout of alarm quickly twisted into a scream, then into a gargled wail that was silenced as Tiburon pulled away, trachea still in his teeth. The guard slumped to the floor, grasping at his own neck with wide eyes, and Tiburon hated it. A swift kick, and the guard’s body shuddered and went still, skull dented. Tiburon chewed thoughtfully on the trachea for a moment, surveying his work, and went to the captive man. The poor creature yelped in alarm at the touch as Tiburon cut through the zipties, but went quiet as the black hood was yanked off. The man’s eyes went wide as he saw the cartilage in Tiburon’s mouth, the dead body, and scrambled backwards with a terrified shriek.

“No, no, no no no please!” he begged, tears rolling down his cheek, one hand outstretched protectively. Tiburon frowned.

“Don’t worry, I won’t, I just figured it’d be cruel to leave you alone in the summer heat. Toodles.” With that, the merman turned and stepped out of the shipping crate, walking to the edge of the water, at some point discarding the trachea (cartilage wasn’t good eats anyhow) along the way. He dove in, relishing the cool ocean saltwater as it closed over his head, pleasant in the summer heat. 

Six whole months… he thought again as he swam away, his legs fusing into a long tail, skin becoming rough, teeth sharpening. Ah well. Now I know; the mafia isn’t worth the work.

[actuallykiwi]

Phoenix

Fan-written Mass Effect 3 Epilogue

The Reapers are destroyed. The galaxy knows peace once more. Mostly. Amid the crashed ruins of the Citadel, the “Hero of the Galaxy”, Jane Shepard, lies barely alive. It takes a keen eye from one team of paramedics to find her broken body. The galaxy was saved, but now it’s Shepard’s turn once more. 

So many bodies. So much debris. The next four or five generations would be seeing the scars of the Reaper War. Clean-up had only been going on for about 48 hours. Most of the Citadel ended up in the ocean, but that still left a lot of it on the shore. “Shore” being 1/3 of Manhattan. The rest of it was reported flying back down on London.

Evening was falling. Dawson and his team of paramedics were part of the New York Search & Rescue (NYSR) squad, scouring any and every part of the Citadel debris that landed in New York. They were looking for anything or anyone they could salvage, but so far, no signs of life had been detected. And the damage the explosion had done, the damage the Reapers did to the citizens of the Citadel... they would all have mental scars for the rest of their lives. Dawson’s team only had 45 minutes left until they had to call it a day. The hardest part of the job was finding and identifying every single body they found. And today they found... less than yesterday, but a staggering, heart-wrenching number nonetheless. 

Dawson, stone-faced as usual, helped his teammate load another poor asari onto the shuttle before climbing over the debris back to where he was. He wanted to leave so bad. But someone had to do this job. He sighed as he turned off his flashlight and sat on jagged metal slab, head in his hands. 

It was only when he sat completely still that he heard it. 

He couldn’t be imagining it. He shot up and stood quietly. There, ever-so-quietly to his left, he could hear it. 

Breathing. 

Raspy, soft, labored breathing. Someone was still alive. 

Dawson almost dropped his flashlight to turn it on, but quickly and carefully tread to the source. “I’ve got a live one over here!” His heart was racing as he reached the dark figure and his teammates began to trek over to him. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the N7 tag, bloody and crumpled, but there. The flashlight glided over their hardly-moving torso, over the various scars and broken bones, the bloody, singed black hair, and to the nearly-mangled face of none other than... 

“OH MY GOD! IT’S COMMANDER SHEPARD!!!!”

And then chaos. Every team that was close enough to hear him immediately rushed to his position. Dawson and a few other men began clearing the rubble around her body as carefully as possible. At least a dozen paramedics stood by ready for action. 

“We need as much medi-gel as we can spare over here, NOW!” 

“Oh my God, Shepard’s still alive?!” 

“Get anyone that worked on the Lazarus project in an OR!”

“Has anyone been able to reach the Normandy crew yet?!” 

Shepard’s unconscious body was delicately placed on a gurney, and a dozen or more tubes were now sticking out of her every which way. They had to move through the debris to the nearest landing zone for the chopper to receive her. From there, it was a short ride to the hospital. 

“You’ll be alright, Commander. Just hang in there!” 

*******************************************

I need more medi-gel in here! That rubble was keeping her from bleeding out!

Voices. They were faint, but she could still hear them clearly. All she could see was white. Then black once more. 

Keep that IV in. She’s gonna be in a hell of a lot of pain whenever she comes to. You mean if she comes to. She will. She’s Commander Shepard, after all, this wouldn’t be the first time she’s beat death. 

She could smell this time. It certainly smelled like a hospital. Then black again. 

Shepard, I’m almost certain you’re immortal at this point. 

That voice. Miranda? It had to be. 

I’m not sure if you can hear me, but you’ve done it again. You’ve cheated death. Though this was a bit different than last time. We don’t have the tools we did in Cerberus, during Lazarus. And I’ll be honest, you’re in... much worse condition this time. You’re an actual miracle if you wake up... But I know you. You will. 

She felt slight pressure on her head. A gentle rub. 

You lucky bastard. 

Blackness. 

This time was a whole host of voices. She could recognize each one distinctly, but still didn’t have the strength to respond.

“-and yet here we are. Here you are. Somehow still kicking. I’m honestly a little scared of you now.” Joker. 

“Now? I always have been! To come back from death once was scary enough, but now? To still be alive after all that?? Shepard, I could almost worship you.” Laughter from sweet Tali. 

“I don’t know about worship, but I definitely believe you’re immortal, or close to it.” Kaiden. 

“I’m just glad you are still alive, even though you’re not with us.” Liara. 

“Alright, her pulse is rising, give her her space.” Dr. Chakwas. And from the distance, she must have been standing right outside the door. A few more people said things, complained, pats on the shoulder, but began to fade away. 

But someone was missing. Whose voice was she missing? She wanted to hear it, to- 

And then a hand was around hers. Gently on her cheek. And that voice, right above her... 

“Come back to us, soon. We miss you. I miss you... It’s empty without you here.” Garrus. Garrus Vakarian. Her pulse slowed back down to normal and she could feel herself breathe with relief. She heard him chuckle. “That’s my girl. Keep breathing, and open those pretty eyes soon.” She felt him kiss her forehead. 

She was beginning to fade out again, but she could just make out him asking Chakwas if he could stay. She argued, stating “if he did, they would all want to”, but she begrudgingly accepted. She felt his hand around hers again, and then everything went quiet. 

**************************************

It was silent, minus the beeping of the heart monitor. Steady. That’s good. It took effort, but she moved. A twitch of the hand. A nudge of the shoulder. Face squinting. And hoo-boy, she was sore. A little grunt came from inside her, and for the first time in God knows how long, her blue eyes welcomed the pale ceiling. She could feel the cold nightgown across her torso, which was also strangely freezing. It was a slow process to move anything. At first it was just her eyes, which glimpsed the ceiling, window to her left, monitor to her right, and monitor on the wall, displaying her name, condition, date, etc. 

Then, her head, moving to fully look at everything, including her turian boyfriend sleeping soundly on the chair. She grunted again, trying to move her arms and legs, and found it more difficult to move her whole left side. She swallowed, painfully, and mustered what little strength she had to call his name. 

“G-Garrus...” 

Her voice was raspy and quiet, but audible. He snorted and slowly woke up. He looked over at her. She stared sleepily back, and smiled as big as she could manage. “Hi...” 

“JANE!” With his height, he was over to her in one bound, hugging her as gently yet as tightly as he could. She grunted and laughed, groaning from pain. “I knew you’d be back, nothing can keep you down. God, I missed you!” 

“I.. missed you too.” She whispered, forcing her right arm to hug him back. He released her and held her hand as he sat by her. It was only when his other hand wiped her cheek did she realize she cried a little. From joy or pain, she couldn’t tell, but she was happy to see him, too. 

“I know it’s probably difficult to talk, so I’ll answer your questions before you ask. Yes, the galaxy is safe. You did it. The Reapers are destroyed. But also so is most synthetic life. I say most because, it was all, but the quarians managed to bring the geth back online, which the quarians are doing great by the way, and we’re working on bringing EDI back. She’s a bit... different from the geth, a bit more complicated, but we got some experts to look at her and she’ll be back soon. Like you.” He smiled at her. “The Citadel was destroyed though, as well as all those who didn’t evacuate in time. A good percentage did, but there’s still so many casualties... Most of it landed in the ocean, then some in London, and the rest here, in New York. You’re in a hospital in New York, by the way. Miranda, Chakwas, and a few other professionals and people from the Lazarus project we could find fixed you up as best as they could. Which, by the way, uh... was... most, of you.” 

Garrus reached for her left arm and lifted it up for her. Somehow, she wasn’t surprised to be looking at metal. She flexed her new metal fingers, testing it out, and found that it only felt a little heavier than normal, but otherwise fine. “Your whole left body was... in bad shape. Well, you had no arm or leg, and a chunk of your side was chiseled, but the best smiths on this side of the universe got you replacements real quick. I didn’t even have to use my bad boy charm to convince them to give them to you.” They both chuckled. 

Shepard shuffled her left leg a bit. Sure enough, it was slightly heavier too. That would also explain why her side was freezing; it was metal. “You also have several broken bones, but I’ll let Chakwas explain all that.” 

He cupped her cheek again and sighed. “I’m glad you’re back. I’m buying you a whole bar worth of drinks once we get out of here.” She grinned. “I’ll take you up on that...” He laughed, and leaned down to kiss her. Her metal arm draped around his shoulders and their hands tightened together. 

A moment after pulling apart, Dr. Chakwas softly knocked on the wall and approached. “Glad to see you’re awake, Commander. We missed you.” Chakwas gave her a quick, soft hug. After their greeting, she gave her a rundown of all her injuries. Thankfully, most injuries were on the outside, including: a new arm, leg, and a few new ribs, multiple permanent scars on her face and torso, skull fractures, and her other leg broken. Inside, slight internal bleeding, which surprisingly was already healed. 

“You were found about 2 months ago, and I suppose you just awoke today. In terms of your new synthetic attachments, your entire left side of your body...” She cleared her throat and read from a tablet. “Your omni-tool is hardwired into your arm, so you can now even activate it without it your armor. It also comes with a hidden blade in both your arm and leg, so the omni-blade is no longer necessary, but there just in case. Your middle finger has a laser now, though I’m sure you can guess who chose that location in design.” She rolled her eyes. Garrus chuckled. “There’s also a long list of other goodies in your synthetic attachments that I’m sure you’re just dying to have me read off to you, but I’ll send it to your omni-tool because I have no desire to do so, and I need to do a quick physical before-” 

“SHEPARD!!!!”

“-that.” 

The entire Normandy crew had their commander surrounded, and were showering her in tears and welcomes and hugs and jabs and... you get the picture. It was emotional. 

The whole next month was like that. Garrus and Shepard had a movie night that ended as... passionately as it could. Joker compared notes about the usefulness of Shepard’s legs to his now. Liara, Tali, and Miranda had something like a tea party with her, only it was wine. So, a wine party. Samantha had a heart-to-heart with her. Joker brought a newly-revived EDI with him, and they agreed to go on a double date soon. Jack played with Shepard’s middle finger laser and discovered the arm came with minor biotic capabilities. She broke the monitor on the wall. 

Eventually, Shepard started taking physical therapy, but to be safe, they kept her in a wheelchair. 

She rolled out to the hospital balcony overlooking the city, and took a deep breath. It was her first time seeing the destruction herself. It was covered in bulldozers and other cleaning machines by this point, and several hundred people were packing up for the day. Even from here she could see the more massive pieces of the Citadel sticking out of the ocean. How she survived that, she would never know. 

“Gonna miss that place, for sure. Especially my favorite spot.” Garrus walked up beside her, arm draped behind her. 

“You’re never gonna let me live that down, are you?” “Nope.” They both laughed. 

She sighed. “...Honestly, I’ll miss it, too. But I’m just glad this is all over. What was it you said? You wanted to retire someplace tropical, or something?” He nodded. “Yep. With you, of course. We’ll still adopt a little krogan, if you want.” 

“We could adopt Grunt.” She suggested. There was a pause. Then they both burst out laughing. 

“I know I’ve said it a million times by now, but God, I missed you, Shepard.” 

“Oh, you’re back to calling me Shepard, now? I was convinced you didn’t know my first name for the longest time.” 

He shrugged. “I know what it is, but I figured I’d call you that a bit longer before i change it.” 

“Change it?” 

“Yeah. I was thinking something along the lines of ‘Jane Vakarian’.” He looked at her and smiled warmly. “What do you think?” 

Jane reached for his hand and returned the smile. “Y’know, I really like the sound of that.” 

The End

[kom-wanheda]

Escaping the Burn

Evan Buckley Week

March 25th - Day 3: “Please don’t close your eyes!” + hurt

Buck can feel the fire getting worse around him right before his radio crackles, Bobby’s voice coming through. “Buck, where are you? This building is going down any minute, and you need to be clear when that happens.”

Read on ao3 or under the cut.

Buck can feel the fire getting worse around him right before his radio crackles, Bobby’s voice coming through. “Buck, where are you? This building is going down any minute, and you need to be clear when that happens.”

Buck grunts, breathing heavily in his mask. He shifts the weight of the man on his back, gripping him securely with one hand so he can grab at his radio with the other. “I have one vic with me, he’s not doing so good, Cap. I’m doing a final sweep.”

“Report said the man’s alone. Head home, Buck,” Bobby’s voice cuts back.

Buck doesn’t have to be told twice. He heads towards the exit, keeping an eye on the flames climbing the walls around him. Once on scene, the 118 realized that this fire was burning hot and Buck suspected that most of the house wouldn’t be standing by the end of the night.

In less than a minute, he’s clear of the home. Walking out into the open air is an immediate relief, even through all his gear he’s wearing. The adrenaline that comes from walking into disasters always helps Buck focus, but it certainly doesn’t help him stay cool.

He stumbles a bit down the rickety stairs, the man groaning and starting to move on his shoulders. Hen and Chimney aren’t quite ready for him, but the man is certainly ready to get down, so Buck kneels and gently rolls him off his shoulders onto his back.

Buck rips off his mask, gulping in the smoke-filled night air, and starts doing a preliminary once-over, checking for serious burns and injuries that he can identify. The man’s burned pretty bad. His clothes are singed into his skin in some places, and unmercifully, the man is still awake. He must have one hell of a pain tolerance.

“Sir, you’re going to be okay. I need you to stay still. We’re taking you to the hospital,” Buck says as the man tries to sit up. Buck bars him with as gentle a hand as he can manage, but still, the man cries out in pain. His face is soot-dirty, but his eyes are startling white, and when his gaze focuses on Buck, he feels like he’s being pierced.

“My dog,” he rasps, now gripping at Buck. “Where is my dog? Did you guys get her out?”

Buck’s brow crinkles. A bad feeling settles in his stomach. “Dog? There’s a dog in the house?”

“Yes! Oh my god, she’s still in there! Petunia!” the man starts screaming, fighting against Buck even more.

Buck eyes the house critically, looking for any evidence of movement besides flame. His team is still pumping water at the house, and that combined with the smoke makes it hard to see anything specific.

“Sir, you’ve got to stay still! You’re going to hurt yourself worse!” Hen yells, sliding to the ground across from Buck. Chimney taps on Buck’s shoulder, and he moves instantly, watching the pair try to simultaneously restrain and treat the vic. Suddenly, he stops moving and stiffens, falling back violently against the ground, eyes rolling up into his head.

Buck can’t help it. He reaches for the man’s leg, leaning forward. “Hey, man, come on! Please don’t close your eyes! Where exactly is your dog?” It’s no use, though, the man is still out of it, coughing violently. Buck stands to shuffle further out of the way and closer to the house burning down behind him.

Buck knows it’s stupid. Cap already called it, the house isn’t stable any more, but—

He has to. Buck doesn’t think he can live with himself if he doesn’t at least try. If he has to suffer through reprimands from Bobby and a probably livid Eddie, well, he can live with that, at least.

Buck sprints back up the stairs, yanks his mask back over his face, and ignores his name being yelled behind him. The heat engulfs him yet again, and he starts scanning the ground, looking for any sign of the overlooked dog. He doesn’t even know what kind of dog he’s looking for, but he sweeps the rooms as quickly and thoroughly as he can.

“Buck! I told you this building is done for. Get out of there!” Bobby’s voice is authoritative and if Buck was really listening, maybe a teensy bit scared. But Buck’s never been afraid to ignore an order before, so he keeps sweeping as he fumbles the radio on.

“I can’t, Cap! Not everyone made it out. There’s a dog in here.”

“You won’t make it out if you’re in there when that building goes!” Fuck. That’s Eddie, and he sounds not happy, to say the least.

He feels Eddie’s distress tug at him, trying to pull him back out the front door, back into the safety of the LA night. It’s the same tug that happens any time Eddie so much as looks at him, that desire to always be by his side.

Usually, Buck has no reason to deny the urge, but tonight, Buck ignores it.

Another insufferably slow minute passes as he carefully navigates the rooms before he finally sees a small black blob curled up in the single area of the kitchen not currently on fire. Buck runs over, reaches down, and scoops the tiny thing into his arms. Her head flops a little, and Buck can’t tell if she’s breathing. Buck cradles the dachshund to his chest, covering its tiny body with as much of his turnout jacket as he can.

Buck hurries back towards the front door, and of course he watches as the broken door falls across the entrance, catching the entire frame on fire. He can see his team through the door, blurry dark shapes moving everywhere. Hen and Chimney are still crouched over the vic. Buck also can’t tell if he’s breathing.

Buck tightens his hold on the dog. “Cap, who’s on the hose? Get them to spray the door. I need an exit,” Buck says over the radio, counting down the seconds, paying attention to each creak and groan that the house lets out, almost as if to warn him: it’s not going to stay standing much longer.

“Got it. Stand clear,” Cap says, yelling out commands off radio. Buck swings away from the entrance, stepping back just as water shoots through the flame-licked doorframe. The rushing sound of the water mixes with the thundering flames around him, and it’s a cacophony of chaos, but Buck is laser focused. This kind of chaos only sharpens Buck’s senses, drowns out the extraneous noise, and it’s this single moment of intense concentration that he feels the dog struggle to life in his arms. Buck’s heart unclenches just a bit knowing that at least one of tonight’s victims is still alive.

Suddenly, the jets of water vanish, and Cap’s voice screams to him, so loud Buck can hear him both through the radio and outside the burning house. “Clear, Buck! Move it!”

With a burst of hope and no desire to disobey his Captain’s orders now, Buck leaps over the still-smoking front door, but he lands on the porch hard, one of his boots slamming through the flame- and water-weakened wood. Buck curses, pulling his leg free and he tilts a bit too far, and he knows he’s going to fall, can only think of rolling onto his back to avoid crushing this tiny body in his arms, but then someone is grabbing his shoulders, yanking him down the porch stairs and straight into a familiar chest.

“That was so fucking dumb, Buck, fuck,” Eddie bites out, his grip on Buck’s arms tightening in combined anger and fear, but his eyes are only shining with relief. He lifts Buck’s mask off his face and lets it clatter to the ground, Eddie’s hands returning to Buck’s body, grounding them both.

Buck pants as he leans into Eddie’s, feeling the last wave of adrenaline loosening its hold. That unmistakable tug back to safety, to Eddie, quiets within Buck as the seconds pass and his brain catches up, recognizing that he’s out of danger. “No man left behind, right? Even if it’s a dog. And a girl,” Buck says breathlessly.

Eddie pulls him further away from the burning house, which is now crumbling in on itself. Just a bit longer in that building and that could’ve been it for Buck. But tonight he made it out, so dwelling on the maybes won’t do anything for him except keep him up at night.

Buck approaches the man, now secured on a stretcher, white gauze wrapped everywhere around his body, and an IV strung up and held by Hen. Eddie follows after him, hand hooked in the crook of Buck’s elbow, clearly not ready to let go. They’re wheeling him towards the ambulance. The man’s critical, but stable, and so Buck feels no remorse for holding them up another minute.

“Wait!” Buck calls, hurrying closer. “Hey, look who I found.” Buck stands by the man’s head, uncurling his arms a little to show the trembling, but very much alive, dog.

“Petunia,” the man breathes and immediately starts crying. It could be the morphine, but he looks up at Buck with unabashed, whole-hearted relief shining in his eyes. It’s the same exact expression that Eddie gave him, and to feel that kind of appreciation twice in quick succession is a little overwhelming. “Oh fuck, thank you, oh my god… I don’t know what I would have done if she—” he cuts off, crying even harder.

Buck says nothing (what is there to say, you’re welcome?) and only lowers the dog closer. The man manages to lift his hand up, and she gives him a good sniff and a tiny lick. Besides some smoke-inhalation and a desperate need for a bath, the dog is fine. Buck lets out a huge breath, shoulders slumping, and if there are some tears in his eyes, he’ll blame the smoke.

Bobby comes up beside him and suddenly, they’re all there, surrounding this man reuniting with his dog, and Buck knows that he’s not the only one blaming the smoke for some extra waterworks going on. Bobby slaps a hand on Buck’s shoulder, grip tight, and he knows he’ll be chewed out tomorrow. But for now, Bobby is letting them have this moment, and Buck is again reminded why he loves him, admires him, and most importantly, wants nothing more than to make him proud. Buck thinks, even if Bobby won’t say it, he did tonight.

Tonight, Buck will sleep easy, but tomorrow, Buck will want a dog.

[ckcker]

Fear of Being There

The scientists put 3D glasses on a cuttlefish I read in an article, which I pair with the unread email from a friend of twelve years sitting one tab away, it appears to partly be a link to some video.  Feeling brave, I gather speed and push to the open email, purposefully ignoring all of the friend’s written message to zoom into the thumbnail of the video link they shared with me, which shows on one side of the thumbnail the shocked open mouth of a drag queen reacting to what I assume to be the most heinous transgression.  On the other side, a porcupine’s needles blasting from inside the mid-section of what appears to be a burmese python.  “How could this scenario have ever happened,” I ask myself as I don’t click, then scan the message written above the link:

“are you still in Kansas City??”

“I saw our high school English teacher walking in the park with a huge clump of moss stuck on her ass, I’ve been wanting to tell you that for a long time”

“Carrie is in NA now and I never see her.  also I adopted a dog”

“I’m sad I haven’t heard from you in a long time but I respect that you are just doing your thing, doing what you think is best for you, I love you.  enjoy this video of a drag queen screaming as she watches a porcupine impale a boa constrictor from the inside, it really made me laugh.  It’s not real”

“I would love to visit some time if you’d have me, I would love a long road trip, no pressure.”  

All I ever felt towards this person was worry; they were frequently to be found painfully descending the valley of some knotty, unlubed parabola.  Suicide often seemed on the table though it was never openly discussed, and what was discussed and unburdened between us never seemed to offer this person any relief.  But, I had not seen them in almost two years — still, I worried.  The gristle of sympathy.  Though now I could only think this person a bit stupid for not electing revenge as the only compatible solution.  They wallowed, tried to make inroads on the community around them, multi-tasker, all I did was worry, wonder if there was no chance for them.  On my better days I in fact stopped worrying because I resolved to believe that there was no chance for them.  On worse days I used to encourage them to online date, to take classes in some technical craft and escape minimum wage, incredibly coming from me who has yet to escape minimum wage, I bloated them with the most despicable general advice most likely invented by some phantom community and popularized by rotating day time talk show cryptids.  I surprised myself, the self-help industry deluge came spilling readily from my own mouth, I had no other advice to give. No effect.  I had no idea what could help someone, I did not respond to the e-mail, the scientists put 3D glasses on the cuttlefish to study if it uses stereoscopic vision to hunt, love that.

I responded to the email by going out for a long walk.  The walk proceeded as planned.  And then, in front of my eyes, the glistening juice of a misdirected frappé bronzed itself on the sunlit sidewalk.  It was June.  The person who bought then dropped it when attempting to give their companion a lil sip seemed one or two involuntary grunts away from the most amateur keening. We did not know each other and passing by I said nothing, in another hour and a half it would be sunset and that was the daily alarm for my worst and most stupid memories.  

Walking without a plan for a couple miles had led me to nothing specific: a popular cafe with drive-thru option, and the entrance to some truncated nature preserve with an ample parking lot, that I barely observed.  The humiliated and frappé-less melody of the forlorn customer began to spread over my shoulder, I averted my gaze from the nature preserve to treat it as if an attractive face I was intimidated by.  The only use for such a pathetic nod to wilderness in an urban area should be frequent alien abduction.  I knew better than to hope for that, I was not a good multi-tasker and did best with a single plan of attack.  And I already had a good plan, through subtle make-up I was looking older by the day (more like the month).  Pretty soon I would dye my hair grey.  I considered it was something the young people of the era liked to do and not for the reason of appearing aged.  In fact, more than anything this coalition of young and old visual signifiers increased the proof of their wrinkle-free faces and accentuated the domineering stylistic awareness inherent to youth in a, unnaturally long energy-sucking sigh, capitalist country.  I continued to high step forward like a finickety markhor in a fugly mood. Then, finding myself facing a hard-to-cross state highway I concluded, “oh, haha…ok, ah……that’s fine” and turned back towards the unused nature preserve parking lot, “I am almost too far away from home anyway.” I sat on a curb on the side farthest away from the road.  Looking across the street I saw that the customer and friend had started to kiss.  A simple solution to the loss of the drink.  His body turned awkwardly, I allowed myself to espy the torque of the male’s twisted cargo short pocket and felt very little.  I was turned away from the forest preserve entrance, at sunset I would have the executioner’s urge to once again survey and prepare my Doha nights.  

The arrival of sunset did not derail my day, but it always succeeded in sequestering my concentration so as to remember that, perhaps, time — I felt fully sick of telling myself about it.  I would prefer an obsession more traditionally fun, there was something about the way the eyebrows (with near-unibrow between) met the sharp lines at the top of the hyrax-like nose of Q.C.’s gradually-hot-to-me face.  I did not spend too much time thinking on him, I had little control over my eyes when in his presence. Worse, attempting to appeal to him would mean calling off the whole ambitious deterioration project, which was fully under my control/the best path forward.  I did not spend much time thinking of him when not in his presence and the collective shimmy of maple tree leaves in the breeze appealed to my left side as it carried on through the row of trees behind me.  A sparrow bopped around the swath of thick grass to my right and was not interesting at all.  I knew I felt this about the sparrow because I turned away from it quickly.  Finally I rotated towards the nature preserve entrance.  Was this an opportunity for me to snag a poesis?  I wanted to be home in my bed alone.  I also wanted to pretend to be thriving, inspired and free.  I wanted to try to see the world for the first time again.  

I got up and started towards the forest path with the confidence and direction of the professional managerial class.  To appeal to Q.C. would involve a gravitational u-turn, I would have to cut my hair better, with more style and intention, I would have to once again attempt to wear clothes that mostly fit my body, with careful monitoring of the area where jeans could be hit firm with zested glute.  I would have to invest much mental analysis into determining how to embody his desire.  I would have to keep emphatic track of my body language and reactionary expressions when near him so as to appear at least some low level of confident and laid back.  The antithesis of an angry errant stump, sucking vengeance through an ancient straw lined with obsidian spikes that clacked ominously against dentures I did not need.  I could not appear as “depressed for two.” Again, and worst of all, I would have to deselect the only source of direction for the future, my only true idea for satisfaction: the pursuit of my literally new age.  My only chance to repair my original timeline, by controlling my own time.  The old tension between wanting badly to be noticed and desired by others, and wanting that definition of freedom which is the refusal of all external attention, both approval and disapproval, in order to bring about the most contained stability — of course that tension ran me ragged once again.  That wan zit, it really seemed scripted at this point, I worked very hard to send it to the background.  My body clearly sensed this when it activated the release of an ear wax ball the shape and weight of a gently used cheek piercing stud.  The feeling associated with its premiere and gruesome launch was similar to just catching the last concrete appearance and subsequent fadeout of a semi-interesting-but-ultimately-unremarkable ghost of a 52 year old coffee mug.

I entered the forest, which began with a layer of joyless mulch.  The opening of the trail had dimensions so wide even the most sexually depraved plant had little chance to gak its repressed gropeage on a passing body.  I looked up as I walked, realizing the only animal likely to be spotted here, at this time of day, would be a bird.  Perhaps I might see a hawk or turkey vulture.  My survey resulted only in the very soft swaying of stacked green branches in front of striated and unremarkable clouds.  After watching this gentle tableaux for about thirty seconds, I wanted to more than violently shake an in-his-prime Ansel Adams, ask him what in the unconscionably labyrinthine fauxhawk I’d just seen. Would he have looked twice at this sky — my glance still directed upwards, I heard its scabrous chirp before I saw it, and then I saw it and immediately hated its presence: a sparrow had landed on an oak branch forty feet above my head and wanted to stay there.  I refused to let it observe me, turning to it I suddenly screamed in the timbre of an aggressive synth orchestra hit.  Continuing my walk after compartmentalizing its non-reaction, I wondered how I might make these natural surroundings matter to me.  They made no inherent argument that profoundly engorged the fun bags, perhaps because I was generally hooked into things by chaos, aggression and arguments, not by continuity or bucolia.  I could identify the simpler trees at least.  Of course pines and maples were easy, birch too.  I could usually confirm oak and cherry through guesswork. Otherwise I wandered through a forest in a skein of unskilled silence, in some beta-level abyss that was never fact-checked.  I didn’t know if having the names of mosses and wildflowers and mushrooms made it easier to appreciate the woods I forced myself into.  That I recognized and questioned such absences in myself was part proof that I felt a large component missing in the ongoing construction of respect for humble surroundings, and part recall of an inherent tendency to not care much about my own construction.  Against the spirit of the times, I spurned the concept of “personal development,” both in the thought directives I gave myself, and in the level of base inertia and hatred of fitness that exposed me as down-low sirenia.  “Personal development” — I did not trust the idea.  But moderate walking was acceptable to me and I continued to walk.  All trees beside me were suddenly activated by a quite beefy breeze from inside the forest.  Mood was present.  And along the audio effects of the wind in heavy leaf-covered branches, I thought I heard a rustling in a different tempo one-hundred feet further along the path.  A clench shuttered my body.  Once, I was reckless.  I entered badly lit hotel rooms brimming with silhouettes of animatronic movements.  I took pills handed to me, only asking after I swallowed them what they were (bottom tier migraine medication).  These days nearly any situation outside my apartment brought the inflamed trance of cautious thoughts.  Where I seemed to hear the sound I saw nothing but the continuation of breeze, and felt fully the irregular welts of my prey mentality.  

But I did not turn to exit.  The introduction of humidity into early summer pumped a new game in me anyway, the godforsaken thirst for some swell of “possibility.”  Against my addiction to titanium cowardice, flicked this vague and acidic proposition for adventure — that most rancid word of careerist travel influencers and successful stunt doubles.  Heavy hot air seemed to ferment a perennial wildness of feeling that, in other weather conditions, remained neatly veiled in self-suck.  I hated that I could still be easily infiltrated by this hormonal illusion of “anything can happen,” despite all my malevolent associations with the phrase.  It was important to make a list of all the things that are possible. “Anything can happen” was a sloppy mantra full of menace and probably popularized at some point in the late 20th century to sell mini frozen bagels with pizza toppings.  The list of all the things that are possible is the list of most crucial truth, it is a list that serves as sublime prep for someone who has been through the full consummation of “anything can happen,” when the thing that happened was a mind-shedding, unmentionable thing.  I knew the culture at large was heavily against such a distrust of possibility, as the concept suggested monumental change and always for the better — the potential of fortune.  I also knew it was against the cosmetic grafting of extra skin to make what I suddenly decided to refer to as ‘my boys’ look especially wrinkled and saggy.  I stood still and surveyed the way partial sunlight glazed on and off the nearest bush of presumably poisonous berries.  I briefly turned around and took in the forest entrance in the distance, and beyond it the suggestion of abridged midwestern meadow, now also washing in and out of sunlight with an unpunished laze, that I felt very unused to.  Nowhere else in my life, to which I paid attention, obeyed that kind of rhythm.  This statement was immediately wrong and a direct contradiction of my slow motion lifestyle.  I allowed the statement to stand because its wistful gush was enjoyable, roughly spiritual, and juicy.  

It brought thoughts of a nightmare I once had that eventually, through sustained lack of action, curdled into just a dream, a dream that had a trolled atmosphere of never-ending.  A dream that felt three years long.  A nightmare-incubated dream that appeared seven months after that moment of apex possibility and only the second dream after.  

There was a group of us.  We were in a house, we didn’t know we were in a slasher movie, we had thought it was a self-liberation biopic.  We were pursued by a presence we did not expect.  But every time there was a shot of the killer, the killer had been deleted in post.  Only a tense and expectant camera followed us around, and we screamed at empty spaces at the top of the staircase and in corners of rooms.  Dissonant music accompanied us, which, now knowing we were in a horror movie, we expected and rolled our eyes at. But we never saw the killer and nobody ever died.  

I also remembered the first dream I had after the event, it was very short and involved me waking up at 7am to give a dog one cup of dry food.  The density of hanging leaves in the forest began to inch a feeling of haunch and ceiling overhead, the light landing on the settled foliage only in splatters of rhapsodic dag.  The inevitable feeling of being alone in the woods, despite the steady wash of faraway highway motors, is intimacy with something.  You believe you are not being seen, when small and mundane animals see you, it means absolutely nothing.  With a bear or mountain lion in the mix, at last you will truly feel “seen.”  I was in a freely neglected and shrunken nature preserve on the edge of a midwestern city, I did not think it was possible to be seen by a bear and so I did not feel like I could be noticed.  Thus I felt intimacy.  

The content of that intimacy had zero intellectual value.  It was only the comfort of being fully hidden, safe and alone.  I was impressed by how much thick cover the trees supplied since the preserve itself was state park theater.  The trees hid me from the sky, repressed my existence from something that could watch me.  I basked.  I thought of the substantial bulge of an older male in tight-fitting jean shorts.  In this context of feeling unseen, it seemed the thru line of my consciousness in bringing up such an image was the keyphrase, “something hidden.”  The intimacy began to retreat as a counter.  Again, my head disenrolled me from a healing terrestrial feeling; it looked at nature with vast inexperience, it pursued a perspective of mountainscape print out.  I tried to recover the hypnotic sap of that momentary solitude and continued walking. Of course the interruption of erotica in mind is one of the more iconic nature moves.  And yet for some reason it seemed to unravel the hallmark atmospherics of a more investigative mystery.  Such a divide was proven by watching my pivots of attention between two tickles.  For instance, on one side, direct observation of a boner. The other side, fog covering an empty island highway at night.  I thought I knew well the narrative arc of a priapism, and I thought I did not yet know much about the carnage in my seeping memories.  It seemed obvious — of the things that controlled me, I prioritized with meaning the one I did not know much about.  And instinctively, being alone under thick canopy felt like good setup for that kind of self-irrigation.  I thought of the bulge again then saw another sparrow and after it reasonably bopped about for a skoach I suggested to it, “get away from me fuckface.” Again it did not move.  

I walked several paces off the path and leaned against a definite oak trunk, wondering if my old person stage makeup was still intact, glancing towards the voyeuristic rays of sun slipping through the trees, well diffused and beginning their noticeable descent.  I listened.  After approx. twenty seconds of listening I heard the long-churning spew of a motorcycle gunning down the road about a quarter mile away, somehow powerful enough to overwhelm the peaks of forest ambience with its quite rascally discharge, hunh, the streaks of horrific classic rock revival spraying after it.  I thought, “stop subverting me,” then felt the newly introduced stance of someone in my peripheral vision.  They did not advance or retreat but did fidget.  Probably, I could not be sure without glancing directly, pretending to look up something on their phone.  They seemed about fifteen feet away from me, I considered if I would have to kill them in self-defense.  

“How’s it going?” a man’s voice directed at me from the trail, giving me permission to look at him directly.  A balding but well-maintained buzz of greying black hair, glasses, a thin white-yellow-green-black button down tartan print department store shirt tucked into leather belt and loose fitting blue jeans, the eye eventually and uncontrollably being led down to the neon pink, orange and yellow running shoes with white laces low-key dusted in a sampling of diaphanous schmutz.  My “hi” was squeezed out with full defenses.  The man did not say anything back but immediately enacted some plan of his, made obvious in his eyes that pressed on my face with an unmistakable singularity. He pursued unbroken eye contact to evaluate the potentiality of the interaction. I responded by looking away, remembering it was a powerful move in the game. I also refused to believe he thought me attractive enough for whatever in-development future passed through his turgescent nethers.  As a mature adult, I was no longer available to rawk out with my cawk out but clearly the cast of desperation on the man made it possible for me to appear sexually acceptable, as evidenced by his not leaving.  Nor did I imagine that he produced much foregrounded desire in an m4m community; lastly he probably stayed because he was closeted.  I tried to maintain an appearance of clueless indifference, comparable in chillness to deciding to write ‘U R’ in a text message the same moment you observe a plastic bag fly in the wind towards a sleeping stray cat. Since the man did not leave or say anything, I also waited another 7-10 seconds in silence and downward glance.  Yet this tactic, usually so effective in social settings, had failed, and so I looked at him again.  And again the charged stare of non-verbal magic.  The humid air was beginning to slightly cool as the wind filled the space between my collar and neck, suggesting it might rain soon.  But behind the man’s head the sun, flanked by fleshy lard-swept clouds in various indigo exposures, was still visible.  I hoped if the increase in gusts continued that they might produce a temporary bald spot on the crown of my head as I said, “why are you looking at me?”

He did not immediately respond, but severed all links with my eyes.  I watched his glance minutely dart from one close location on my face to the next, “do you have makeup on?”

Each generation, freer than the last. The man did not know the answer for sure, but that he had noticed something was confirmed.  Very exciting, I beamed internally.  I controlled the beam.  There was still so much work to be done.  

Towards the man I projected breathtaking displeasure.  I assumed the keyed up tone of someone wanting to be regularly shared on the internet: “I’m just trying to enjoy the forest on my day off sis so don’t—” and shut off inexplicably, though recognizing as the system recoiled that the implication of this man’s advances had lightly cracked some automated timecode in my lower lefthand corner of frame.  My body — I had only felt it all of a sudden.  Shoulders were arched forward to protect my underbelly, chest was swollen and stuffed with the debris of a delayed reaction of terror, single inconsistent tingle in left leg suggested the tiniest strobing marquee aimed at the brain, suggesting “run.”  I had thought, this is not a dangerous situation at all.  A little unusual but not something I haven’t experienced before.  Something I could refuse and easily walk away from.  

The body had behaved differently.  Sunset mounted.  The body had believed it was going to die.  I hadn’t even noticed.  Internal monologue always suggested much to investigate when looking for a solution, it presented long interconnected hallways and sliding doors, considerations of escape and tactical movement.  It berated the body for not reading the situation correctly or at all, it hated the body’s spontaneous and inept mechanisms.  It relished any reference to the phrase “bassackwards” but in this case the body was right.  If I was to be killed by this person was still up in the air, I leaned towards no, but the body had not been reacting to my imminent death, only suggesting how relaxedly I pretended to advance through commercial district sidewalks, gas station candy aisles, cruisy chip bag-strewn forest preserves as if I’d never been reorganized by some sort of adaptation of death in which you survive. There was much work to be done, much work, to make the hair of my eyebrows more profuse and unkempt.  My nose hair, which was way too thin and manageable, samesies.  It was with the failure of a deep breath that the gauze of that summer sunset coaxed me back into the scene, despite the marquee now reading “Run II: Darkest Before Dawn.”  The man had not known how to respond to my ejection from the clapback.  I took stock, the forest appeared momentarily still and squirrelless.  His energy seemed as if grappling with the possible realities of what I was.  If crazy, at least in the way that interferes with verbal communication, I was no longer an option in his “mmm………damn”-ridden design.  If crazy but able to continue clear conversation, or if so shy as to appear only intermittently awkward in conversation with strangers, I was still a highly available mark.  

“Do you like it here?” he asked.  It seemed that micro makeup and abandoned sentences were not considered dealbreakers for someone in his position.  My body continued to want to leave and I stayed, he took a few steps forward, staring again with that binary intensity where the recipient must commit to its endgame or flash exit.  

A strap broke in me: I suggested, “I hate it here.”  The comment reached him. He looked as if to be re-processing me under a blank face but maintained his slow approach.  I was answering his questions coherently and so I was incredibly sexy, perhaps.  “I’m not doing well,” I followed up, using a long-acting smile-to-smirk succession in an attempt to muffle it.  

This was ignored, “I’ve got a pretty big one,” silence, breeze, sunset, wow — squirrel, “what are you looking for out here, alone?”  

Silence, squirrel, “you know where you are, right?”

Breeze, trees, sunset, reggaeton in the distance, instinct erupted — I stepped forward. “It’s not yet time for my annual anal,” my voice cracked.  “In fact, it won’t happen this year, or ever again.”  

A pause was produced, though it was clear he didn’t quite grasp my meaning.  I stood still, now staring at him in order to properly knead the info.  Finally a look of understanding on his face — “oh, I’m sorry” and he exited back up the trail, all spells dismantled.  

I remained in the woods.  I looked at the squirrel.  I even yearned to see a sparrow, uninterested in knowing why.  I allowed the intellectual regulations to rest, I listened to the joyous pump of prancing squirrel feet on twig-bedazzled forest floor.  I looked at the sunset, while blocking the word “beautiful,” and liked it.  I walked to the path, turning away from the exit with the rush of a recently liberated preteen spray-painting an anarchy symbol on the door of a rusty abandoned sedan next to discontinued freight train tracks that are overgrown with weeds and yellow wildflowers.  I wanted to walk deeper into the woods, I wanted to be in the woods when it got dark.  I wanted to be alone and without a mind.  Knowing it was untrue, I nevertheless proposed to myself, “I think I could cum just from being alone for 3 weeks.”  After a feisty fifty or sixty steps around the curving path, I met chain link fence separating the forest from a row of backyards and their respective single family homes.  I thought of the cliche of an evil character in a kid’s movie laughing maniacally for some time then very suddenly stopping to present a severe and unamused face.  It surfaced as a whimper.