#one small edit I made (both in this chapter and ch 1)

[ifacotarwasgood]

CHAPTER 4 - page 1/?

original word count: 2843

revised word count: 1521

click for ch 4's full comparison document.

original:

I didn’t know how the wooden hilt of my hunting knife had gotten into my hand. The first few moments were a blur of the snarling of a gigantic beast with golden fur, the shrieking of my sisters, the blistering cold cascading into the room, and my father’s terror-stricken face. Not a martax, I realized—though the relief was short-lived. The beast had to be as large as a horse, and while his body was somewhat feline, his head was distinctly wolfish. I didn’t know what to make of the curled, elk-like horns that protruded from his head. But lion or hound or elk, there was no doubting the damage his black, daggerlike claws and yellow fangs could inflict. Had I been alone in the woods, I might have let myself be swallowed by fear, might have fallen to my knees and wept for a clean, quick death. But I didn’t have room for terror, wouldn’t give it an inch of space, despite my heart’s wild pounding in my ears. Somehow, I wound up in front of my sisters, even as the creature reared onto its hind legs and bellowed through a maw full of fangs: “MURDERERS!” But it was another word that echoed through me: Faerie. Those ridiculous wards on our threshold were as good as cobwebs against him. I should have asked the

revised:

Wood rasped my palm. When had I grabbed my hunting knife? Cold blistered through the room, and my eyes watered as I fought to make sense of the chaos. My sisters’ shrieks. A terrified moan. My father? Despite my heart’s wild pounding, I had to try to protect them, even if my hunting knife looked laughable compared to the shape filling the doorway. It had a wolf’s face, a snarling mouth revealing yellow fangs. A crown of horns jutted from its forehead. And while the beast was tall enough that I’d barely come up to its shoulder, it moved with a quick feline grace. Faerie. Had I been alone in the woods, maybe I would’ve fallen to my knees and hoped for a quick death. But I didn’t have room for fear, not here. My bow and quiver, which held the ash arrow I’d cleaned from the wolf’s body, were across the room—past the beast. But its thick neck looked like a good home for my knife. Hackles raised, the beast roared. It took me a moment to realize it wasn’t an inhuman sound but a word. “Murderers!” “Please,” my father said weakly. “Whatever we’ve done, we did so unknowingly—” I snatched a dinner knife off the table and brandished both it and my hunting blade before me. No iron in sight

[everythingseasoning]

love, forever?

Vampire! Suguru x reader

impulsively started writing vampire! Suguru x reader, with a blooming rivalry between Satoru & reader for Suguru’s attention. oh, and there’s new vampire lore, and angst: Suguru can’t bear to hurt reader when his human blood cravings flare up, so he breaks up with reader. we start off the story with heartbroken reader, and the emotionally oblivious, playful, talented and sexy vampire! Satoru going after reader (for reasons you’ll learn about in chapter 1). this story kinda has parallels to Geto’s canon angst as well. eventual smut.

Ch. 01 Teaser

NOTE: if you saw the teaser already, please feel free to read the following again, as I’ve edited it a lot and added in more juicy dialogue & scenes ;)

The drink is nothing short of young and dumb, the blend of tooth-rottingly sweet flavors hitting your taste buds as you stare holes into Suguru’s back. You can see the sculpture of his muscles and beautiful bones through his tight tee, your ex’s sculpted body turned away from you. He’s speaking to a girl you had heard about— the life of all parties, pretty, smart, and fun. You take another swig from the plastic blue cup, hoping the heaviness in your heart would be soon forgotten. Yogurt, sherbert, coca cola, and cheap alcohol would be your poison of the night, you think, swallowing down the concoction as tears prick your eyes.

“Another one of those people who drinks their troubles away?”

The voice amidst the bass and booming music causes you to turn, your eyes meeting striking blue ones. Snowy hair rests soft and thick on his head, your heart skipping a beat to see such a beautiful stranger.

If you were being honest, you weren’t in the mood to talk to somebody else— not when your heart was still tied right onto Suguru’s. You love Suguru, you really do. The recent past haunts your every waking moment. And even in your dreams, he’s there, smiling, chuckling as you braid his hair, reading a nonfiction book while your fingers thread his silky locks; He’s watching you with a fond smile as you run ahead of him in the campus garden, jumping amongst the flowers; Holding you as the two of you kiss— his soft, supple lips meeting yours in that familiar dance and tangle. In your dreams he’s still yours. You both made up. In your dreams, things are warm and right again.

When you wake up in an empty bed, with an aching heart, it just feels cruel. The light slipped away again. You thought you had it. You had your dream come true only to realize it was just that— a fucking dream. There’s no respite from the memory of all his adoration, thoughtful gestures, all the times you’d stare mesmerized as he sat focused, his eyebrows pinched as he worked… The way he felt when you were wrapped in his embrace— being fucking cared for— you missed him bad, with every fiber of your being.

He’s still all you can think about. You’re at this damned college party because, even a month after he’d broken up with you, all you wanted was to be close to him, to see him. It’s pathetic. Knowing he’d be here, knowing you’d be tearing your heart open again, the wound freshly cut back open— and still, you came here. How many times had you stalked his social media despite having been removed from his following?

“Cat got your tongue?” The beautiful stranger breaks you out of your thoughts, forcing a reply.

“No—” you start to say, raising your voice. It’s just barely audible over the clamor of the party.

“Really?” He butts in, raising an eyebrow. “‘Cause it seems like there’s some hard evidence against your statement.” His small smile is as unconventional as it is disarming.

“And you are?”

“Satoru Gojo, if you haven’t heard about me already. I go to a different university. A better one.”

You roll your eyes, scoffing. “And why would I know of you?”

The stranger, Satoru, just tilts his head ever so slightly, his smile unwavering as he replies, “Your head is under a rock, is what I heard you say.”

Confusion flits across your face before your mouth falls open slightly, a feigned look of offense stretched on your features. You feel like ignoring this pesky stranger. You glance away for a second, in search of Suguru’s back— the spot he’d been standing in holds a different person, somebody you don’t know, somebody you’re not at all interested in. You frown, scanning the crowd.

The stranger, Satoru, waves a hand in front of your face. You look up at him, annoyed.

“Why are you talking to me?”

“What? Need a reason to talk to a pretty girl?”

“That’s an overused line,” You shout back, the music so loud you can barely hear yourself. Your attention shifts away from the snowy haired man, back to the sea of party goers. You desperately search the throng of buzzing chaos. No sign of Suguru. Just dancing, mingling, kissing, drinking, the typical activities going on under the strobe lights. Fuck.

Suguru, where did you go? Please… Your heart feels like it’s a rock in your stomach. Please don’t tell me you’re fucking her right now in somebody’s bedroom. It’s not my business— but I can’t stand the thought of it—

Satoru chuckles, and you look back at him, unable to hide your expression of pain. You’re about to excuse yourself to find a bathroom to cry in, when he speaks again.

“You’re right. How should I flirt, hm? Wanna coach me? It’ll lift your blues, too,” His smirk would’ve had you folding had you not met Suguru. But you did cross paths with the raven-haired man— collided and intertwined, more like— and now nobody compares to him. Nobody would ever be him.

“Not really. Excuse me,” you begin to say, before turning slightly, about to slip away—

“Suguru is my best friend,” the stranger says.

You freeze, whipping around now to face Satoru.

“He told me about you— first time he ever told me about anyone, actually. Suguru said you were somebody he actually loved.” Satoru’s cheeky expression has been wiped off, replaced with one of aloof nonchalance and detachment. It’s almost eerie, but your attention is elsewhere.

You’re at a loss for words, eyes caught on Satoru’s, hanging onto everything he says like maybe, just maybe, it means that Suguru wants you back.

“He’s had his fair share of flings and hookups, after all.” Satoru teases, smirking again, bending down to your level.

“I thought I was losing my best friend to a weakling.” His breath is surprisingly chilly against your face. “Turns out you were never the one. Sucks that you couldn’t make him stay.” You feel everything shatter. “Sucks for you, I mean,” Satoru finishes. He leaves out the part where he gloats about being the one Suguru has always admired, and stuck with.

You’re shocked, mouth hanging open. Confusion, hurt, anger, betrayal— all the feelings clash like giant waves crashing against one another inside your heart.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Satoru grins, shrugging. “It means what it means. But I’m curious,” he says, leaning closer, his pearly teeth glinting red under the strobe lights, “What is it about you that had Suguru caught up on ya?” His lips graze your cheek, his voice in your ear. “I don’t get it.”

You slap him before you can realize what you’re doing. Violence is not the answer, but this time, it sure as hell felt like it. Your fingers sting, your panicked thoughts a running train. Did I just? Oh my god! I didn’t— I fucking did—

“I— I’m sorry—” you stammer quickly, eyes wide in shock at your own actions. Satoru is eerily emotionless, staring down at you with those startling ocean eyes. You shiver despite the heat.

“Hm.”

It’s all he says. You open your mouth to speak again, blinking—

And he’s gone.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

A swig of the liquor causes the liquid to slosh in the green bottle.

“Thought you liked shy girls, Suguru?” Satoru pokes, a red handprint on his cheek. He’s kicked back on the couch outside the bathroom, grimacing when the alcohol hits his tongue, spitting it out back into the bottle.

“I do,” Suguru replies calmly, a streak of bare skin showing amidst the shaving cream on his face. He runs the razor back down, taking off more of the fluffy white foam.

“Yeesh. Can’t believe we used to drink this shit,” Satoru sticks his tongue on dramatically, tossing the full glass of alcohol across the room. It lands right in the trash bin with a clang. “That’s where it belongs,” he huffs.

“So?” Satoru prompts, kicking his feet up. “You realize she doesn’t fit your ideal type, right? Why’d you get with her for a whole year, man?”

“She was shy at first,” Suguru says softly, a glint of something like pain in his eyes. He catches Satoru’s gaze on him in the mirror and the glint disappears. Satoru doesn’t notice, now peeling open a candy from its foil wrapper. “And I told you already, Satoru,” Suguru continues, sparing his friend an exasperated glance. “I love— loved her.” A blip. A mistake so quickly covered that if it was anyone but Satoru, they’d miss.

Blue eyes pierce Suguru.

“But it wasn’t going to work out. Love isn’t meant for us. You and I… We’re not meant to be with humans,” Suguru murmurs, looking at his face in the mirror. It was myth that vampires didn’t have reflections. They did. Something the myths forgot though— vampires always have some sort of change written in their eyes. There will be some sort of difference from their human form, hidden in their eyes, after they turn. Suguru touches his eyebags, dark and heavy. That’s not what changed. No. His warm, earthy brown eyes had turned purple the night Satoru turned him. Rich amethyst irises gaze back at Suguru. He wishes he didn’t recognize them. Now he’s stuck dealing with people commenting on his “cool contacts,” for the rest of eternity. Suguru exhales deeply, softly, his still, dead heart aching.

“Being undead with a vital thirst for human blood will do that,” Satoru ho-hums, blissfully unaware of the insensitive nature of his obliviousness.

Suguru is silent, continuing to shave, but the blade knicks his skin. He curses quietly.

“So,” Satoru speaks with the chocolate melting on his tongue, grateful that at least his cravings and delight in sweets didn’t change when they turned, “You don’t trust yourself to be around her without hurting her. But you were with her for a year, doing well for a year. What do you say changed?”

Suguru dabs at the blood dripping down his otherwise unmarked face. It would heal, his skin would be perfectly smooth again in a day, not a trace of his mistake, or scar, would remain. All wounds heal within 24 hours for vampires.

“My urges got insatiable. Blood bags weren’t enough,” Suguru says curtly. Despite the battle of breaking up with you being long over, Suguru’s mind is a war zone. I couldn’t even look at her… without… needing to taste her blood. His fists clench on the marble sink. It got bad. I almost hurt her.

Satoru stares at his best friend, knowing that in this silence, his mind is a maelstrom. Suguru sees Satoru’s unflinching gaze, but remains quiet. He knows his friend won’t understand.

Satoru presses on anyway, nodding like he’s bored.

“Right. You can’t suppress your urges right now. That happened to me too. The second year is the hardest.” Satoru was the one who turned Suguru, after all. “It helps when you just feed on multiple pretty girls a night and compel them all to forget. You could’ve had both, you know. Her and human blood from others. You’re so mopey now.” Satoru’s callous remark piques Suguru’s irritation, a flame of anger burning in the raven-haired man’s chest.

“I won’t do that and be in a relationship.”

“I saw you feeding on that random chick an hour ago. But you’re still grumpy. You move around like you’re actually dead, Suguru. You torture yourself by still caring about your ex. She’s nothing special. I don’t get it.” Ah. The truth comes out.

Suguru’s eyebrows knit, his mouth pressed into a firm line as something dark flickers in his eyes.

“Satoru. First off, I only feed when they consent first. We both do that, and compel them to forget. And my ex, she has a name, and she’s worth something even if you can’t see it. Just shut up.”

“And what worth do you see in her?”

Suguru is silent for a moment. How could he convey the light and warmth that you were in his life? He’d died twice, once literally, once figuratively, and yet— you brought him back. “…She’s… good.”

“And?”

Suguru’s temper flares. “You just don���t get it, so will you just leave it?” He snarls, fangs involuntarily popping out.

“You’re such a grouch nowadays,” Satoru huffs, before popping another chocolate into his mouth. He gets up, stretching.

“Well. I need to feed again.”

“Be safe about it. And I’m not referring to your safety,” Suguru says sternly, his whole head turned to look at Satoru now, some white foam still on the man’s face.

“Yeah, yeah, mom, I got it.” With that, Satoru pulls his black coat over his lean, muscled body, a wolfish grin on his face as he slips out the apartment door.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

You’re intoxicated. It’s two AM and you’re stumbling around campus like a fucking idiot.

Well how about that? Satoru spies you from across the quad, your movements sluggish and uncoordinated. His veins buzz with electricity, and he knows: he is still very much alive despite the coldness to his skin, the lack of a heartbeat in his chest. What else could you call the rush, the thrill he’s got right now, except living? His urge to feed has grown exponentially.

He slips through the shadows.

You nearly jump when a tall, dark figure appears before you, looming over you.

Snowy hair shines in the lamplight, blue eyes flashing like glaciers, staring right at you. You swear they flash red for a second.

“You again?” You slur your words. You aren’t scared. He’s Suguru’s best friend, which means he by extension must be a good guy. Almost as if he hears your thoughts, Satoru grins. His teeth are brilliant, his canines shining ivory and glistening like expensive accessory jewels.

If Satoru was being honest, this was perfect. The golden chance to get Suguru to forget about you and move on, so his best friend could finally look and be alive again, the two of them happily slaying the vampires that hurt humans— this chance just seems to have fallen into Satoru’s hands like a magic star that grants his wish.

“Hey,” he nearly purrs, slinking around you as you take a step forward— stumbling a bit— cold fingers grip you firmly, holding you upright.

“You’re fucking making me freeze even more!” You retort, snapping at him as you yank your warm arm away from his cool grasp. You were more than tipsy, but you recalled his rudeness from earlier.

“Just trying to help. You sure aren’t shy, huh?” Satoru remarks.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” You spit out, the question giving you both Deja vu.

“It means what it means,” Satoru grins. Deja-fucking-vu. You were getting fed up now, huffing and mumbling under your alcohol-tinged breath an insult that Satoru’s super hearing picks up on. He stifles a laugh.

“Wait,” Satoru calls out. You don’t turn around or slow your pace. He strides up to you in two quick, lengthy steps. He bends, entering your vision, his teeth sharp and protruding from his close lipped smile. Were they always that long?

“I’m great at reading people. And as much as you want to deny it, your heart is beating faster around me.” He suppresses his urge to poke your ribcage, directly over the beating muscle.

“Shut up,” you growl.

“You could make me, you know.”

He keeps up with your sluggish pace as you try to make your way back to the dorms, struggling to reply.

“There you go again with that cliche flirting,” you snort.

“And here I am again, asking if you’re offering lessons. Though the better question would be if you’re even qualified to give them,” Satoru grins.

“What do you want from me? Don’t you think it’s weird to be flirting with your best friend’s ex?”

You think this will shut him up. That, or he’ll have a lame excuse. And for the first time in this second conversation you’re having with him, his answer changes.

“If I’m being honest,” he speaks in a rich, velvety, low voice, and you almost feel entranced, your feed stopping, your gaze resting on Satoru. “I’m doing this for him. And about what I want?”

You sway in the chilly night breeze, barely registering anything but the sound of his voice.

“I want to know if you’d let me bite you.”

Edited version found here! (More dialogue and scenes :)

comment to be on the tag list!

Do not plagiarize my writing in any way. Do not feed my writing to ai.

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

I did the thing guys

I did another CHAPTER GUYS

I DID IT

Gods I love being able to write on an actual computer again. My glorified typewriter. So happy.

So here we are, chapter two!!!!

My poor socially awkward lil swordsman bb I lub hims

Strawhat Stowaway

Chapter 2

Ch. 1 link

Little bit of hurt/comfort, slow burn, silly, fluffy, will be trigger warnings in later chapters but not this one

Wordcount: 3.2k Taglist thingy that I just had to edit in because I forgot I'm so sorry: @dimplewonie @hearts4zoro @kawennote09

After an alcohol drenched Halloween party at your friends' dorm, you wake up to find yourself in a strange place. This might not be quite as alarming...if not for the fact that it's an entirely different world, enshrouded with pirates and strange magic.

♬♫ Desperate Guy - The Fratellis ♫♬

Hear me now, hear me now, there’s nothing very much I wouldn’t do to catch your eye

And you can’t see me now, see me now, there’s just so many things I’m haunted by

He heard Nami offering to loan you a change of clothes as he crossed the deck, but that was drowned out by your words from minutes earlier, still echoing around Zoro’s head; your cheeky smirk while your eyes passed over him, blatantly checking him out.

I’d settle for a date.

Zoro had been on his own for a few years before meeting Luffy. He’d had a handful of one night stands, but this was new. You had appeared out of nowhere, less than an hour ago, and now you were flirting with him—and all he had managed to do in response was stare at you and stammer like an idiot.

You had to be joking.

You were probably joking. You seemed like the type, already had been joking around a little about the gravity of your situation, taking it in stride instead of shutting down in fear and defeat. That was pretty cool in itself. You definitely had resolve.

And you seemed pretty smart. And pretty hot—

“God dammit,” he grumbled under his breath, rolled his eyes at himself as he entered the small cabin with the hammock stretched across from one wall to the other. He pulled his t-shirt off a little more aggressively than he intended and tossed it at the hammock, digging through his belongings for a new one. He had to get a hold of himself; you had made one little comment and he was acting like an idiot.

“…seem to be taking this pretty well.”

“I mean, I can’t really do anything about it if I don’t even know how I got here.” He glanced sharply toward the doorway when he heard your and Nami’s voices drawing nearer, crossing the deck as he pulled out a black shirt and red haramaki. “And I’ve never been on a ship before, so that’s pretty cool once you get past the existential dread.” You glanced through the doorframe as you were passing by with Nami, meeting his eyes for a moment, and he was pretty sure you smirked again and glanced across his shirtless torso before disappearing past the view of the doorframe. “And I’m not complaining about the views, either.”

Yeah, you had definitely smirked again.

The swordsman could do little more for a long moment than stand there staring at the doorframe, frozen in place, gritting his teeth and twitching slightly. It was like you were intentionally trying to get him flustered—and he had to growl a few swears under his breath as he shook out his shirt and pulled it over his head, because damn it if it wasn’t working.

“Hey, Zoro!”

Zoro jolted in alarm halfway through straightening his haramaki, jerking his head to look over his shoulder at Luffy.

Hanging upside down in the doorframe, presumably by his feet from the deck above, given he was holding his straw hat in place with both hands.”Hey, how come you’re red?”

“I’m not red,” he said through his teeth, adjusting his waistband.

“Uh…yeah you are,” said Luffy slowly, tilting his head.

Zoro rolled his eyes. “The hell do you want?”

“Oh, yeah—what’s the deal with the stowaway?” Easily distracted as ever, Luffy launched into a tirade of excitable questions. “Where’d she come from? Did you talk her into joining the crew yet?”

“Yeah,” Zoro scoffed, fixing his swords in place at his hip. “Crew therapist.”

“Whoa, seriously? That’s great!”

Zoro stared at the self-proclaimed captain for a long moment, raising an eyebrow at him. “That…that was joke.”

“Aww….” Luffy frowned, swinging back and forth in the doorframe like some strange clock pendulum. His frown turned thoughtful after a few seconds. “What’s a therapist do, anyway?”

“Give advice for money, apparently.”

“Sounds weird.” He finally dropped down, flipping over to land on his feet in the doorway and straightening his hat before tucking his hands behind his neck. “Could be useful, though. Good for morale.” He gave a resolute nod with that brief assessment, hitting his fist into his opposite palm. “We’re recruiting her.”

Zoro just gave a sigh and shook his head in borderline disbelief—though only borderline, because this was Luffy, and he had already come to expect this level of childlike impulsiveness out of him. He turned to the side to move past Luffy in the doorframe. “Good luck with that.”

Though there really wasn’t much else you could do right now—no one had any idea how you had ended up on the ship, and there was at the present no way for you to get back to where you came from. You were, in a word, stuck.

“Oh, come on, you have to help, too.” Zoro rolled his eyes as Luffy clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re my first mate! And besides, you’ve talked to her more than anyone else.” Luffy nodded as they reached the deck railing, hopping up to sit there. “That’s your first official assignment as my first mate—recruiting a crew therapist.”

“Yeah. Sure thing, ‘Captain.’”

There was really no point in telling Luffy that they weren’t a crew—it fell on deaf ears. Zoro really didn’t have any major issue following him at this point; Luffy had more than proven himself an able fighter against both Buggy and Kuro; had, even if half of it was purely luck, managed to procure them a ship, and protect said ship against a Marine vice admiral. Even if his methods weren’t exactly conventional…they had worked. No one could deny that.

But it was a little more of a stretch to recruit you, when it was pretty clear that you didn’t even want to be there.

And yet you seemed pretty cozy with both Nami and Usopp when you emerged back onto the deck with them, the three of you looking at some rectangular device in your hand. The gaudy costume tricorne hat you had been wearing when you showed up was now on top of Usopp’s head, and you had changed into a black patterned tank top and dark shorts, and at this point Zoro was just doing his damnedest not to even look at you.

“…makes calls, plays music, takes pictures,” you were saying, as the other two stared over your shoulders at the device in clear bafflement. “You really don’t have anything like this here?”

“Den den mushi, but all they do is make calls,” said Nami. “But this thing is—” She shook her head, laughing. “This is weird.”

“Hey, can I—?” said Usopp, holding his hand out, and you shrugged and handed it off to him. He laughed and pushed himself between Luffy and Zoro at the railing. “You guys gotta see this, it’s a cell phone. Hang on, hang on—”

Zoro looked over at the device, his brow furrowing as Usopp tapped at it—and then all three of their faces appeared on the front of it.

“What the f—?”

“Whoa…” Luffy waved his hand in front of it, and the picture on the device mimicked him perfectly. “That’s so cool!”

“Yeah, and you touch this, and…” Usopp tapped a circle toward the bottom of the device. “And it makes it into a picture—”

It—how—?!” Luffy grabbed it from Usopp, gawking at the picture of the three of them. He looked between it and Usopp and Zoro, eyes wide as saucers. "It—it just—? So cool—”

“Yeah, and it saves it, look…”

Usopp touched the device, pulling his index finger across it, and the picture changed to one of him, you, and Nami, with Usopp openly gawking and Nami staring at you in alarm while you seemed to be giggling at their shock. Zoro tilted his head a little as Usopp went on scrolling through pictures, tuning out his explanation that it operated via some weird otherworldly magic called a “battery.” The majority of the pictures seemed to be of you, or of you with other people, maybe family and friends. There were quite a few of you with a younger girl that resembled you a great deal, and just as Zoro had opened his mouth to ask about it, he abruptly found himself unable to form any words at all at the sight of the next picture.

And barely managed to catch the device when Usopp dropped it in equal shock—and barely caught Luffy by the back of his shirt when he nearly fell backwards over the railing.

There was no denying at all that Zoro was more than a little red in the face now—why the hell were there pictures of you naked in the thing?

You and Nami exchanged a glance as Zoro stared off to the side and held the phone out at you, mumbling some incoherent apology that was somewhere between sorry and didn’t know. You made a weird sort of strangled squeak in your throat when you glanced at the screen, and Nami gave a snort of laughter as you shoved it back in your pocket.

Luffy recovered a great deal more quickly, turning and flopping over the railing. “Can we go eat now? I’m starving.”

“What else is new,” Nami commented.

Down on the docks below, Luffy set immediately to his plans to recruit you onto the crew, explaining how they definitely needed a crew therapist for the sake of keeping up morale on long journeys, and you seemed more amused than anything at his antics. “What we really need is a musician, a pirate ship has to have a few good musicians. Can you play music?”

“Well, I played the flute in band when I was in high school,” you said, frowning a little.

“Perfect! Have you got one?”

“Ah…didn’t think to pack one before I got isekai’d into this shit-show, sorry.”

He tilted his head like a curious puppy. “Ise-what?”

“N…never mind,” you said, shaking your head. “Not important.”

Still, he was undeterred, practically buzzing with questions—what was high school, how did this “band” thing work, sports games, what sports? Soccer? As you explained the basics of the sport, also explaining that you weren’t sure because you didn’t exactly play it yourself and Usopp chimed in that he was kind of an expert at it, Zoro lingered behind the three of you, still trying to get the mental image of you sans clothes out of his head, to absolutely no avail—the picture seemed to have imbedded itself into the back of his eyelids.

“You look like a tomato.” He glared over at Nami at her snickering as she pointed between his face and his hair. “Red and green—”

“Shut the hell up,” he growled through his teeth

“She said you turned red when she asked you out, too.” He rolled his eyes when Nami elbowed him in the arm. “So the big bad swordsman doesn’t know how to talk to girls, huh?”

“Shut. Up.”

It normally wasn’t an issue for him, but for some reason it was quickly turning into one with you. How forward you were being about flirting when you had only laid eyes on each other for the first time barely an hour ago, how you had that little smirk any time you did—and that picture definitely hadn’t helped at all. Nami wasn’t exactly wrong, then. You definitely were having an effect on him that he wasn’t used to, but being taunted about it wasn’t going to do him any good.

Nor was nearly walking headlong into you the second that he entered the restaurant, his hand shooting out in reflex and grabbing your waist—and letting go just as quickly.

“Uh—sorry.”

But you were far too busy staring straight ahead as Luffy and Usopp spoke to the host, a little pale in the face, to even seem to notice or hear him. He gritted his teeth a little when he heard Nami give a small snort of laughter behind him, and that did seem to snap you out of your trance, as you looked at her sharply. You leaned to the side a little toward the other girl, eyes still glued to the fishman host, as you whispered, “Wh—what exactly is that?”

“That…” Nami glanced between you and the host, lifting an eyebrow. “You’ve never seen a fishman?”

“I don’t think we have those where I’m from,” you muttered through your teeth, and Nami had to cover a laugh with a put-on cough at your borderline panic. “They—they just—what, half fish half man?”

“Kind of,” she said. She approached the host herself when Luffy and Usopp tanked at their attempt to get a table at the evidently overbooked restaurant, and slipped him a small stack of berry notes, changing the man’s tune quickly. “They’re really not much different from humans,” she said quietly as all of you followed him down the stairs and into the dining area. “They can breathe underwater, though.”

“Can they?” you said, a little weakly.

The host led the group to a large, rounded booth, and Luffy hopped into it first, shifting over to the opposite end. Usopp took the next seat, followed by Nami and you. Zoro glanced between either end of the booth, decided he was probably better off not sitting that close to you, and made to sit down at the end of the booth by Luffy.

And promptly realized that this was going to be impossible with his swords at his right hip, as he got the sheathes briefly stuck between the booth and a few pillars situated next to it. He jerked them back out quickly.

“I’d be happy to check your swords for you, sir,” the host said pleasantly.

He glanced at the man—and briefly at you as he heard you giggle, your hand curled over your mouth to muffle it.

No choice, then. Great.

“I got this,” he said shortly, heading over to the opposite end of the booth. He sat down heavily, adjusting his katana, and made a point of not looking toward you again. The host left you with menus and a promise that your waiter would be with you all shortly, while Luffy leaned toward Usopp and wondered aloud what kind of food they had here.

Zoro, flipped open his menu and set immediately to seeing what kind of drinks they had—because dear god did he need one.

He kept mostly quiet during the brief wait, listening to the others and you discuss the menu. Discuss the restaurant. Discuss the crew—as Nami pointed out once more that they weren’t actually a crew, and Luffy brushed it off as he always did. You seemed more and more interested, and you honestly got along with everyone like you had been there for far more than just the last hour or so, joking around and laughing with Nami, calling Usopp out on one of his bullshit stories without any hesitation at all.

Maybe Luffy wasn’t too far off the mark in trying to recruit you.

The idle chat at the table was interrupted by a commotion at another end of the dining room by a couple of diners arguing with each other, a pirate and a marine lieutenant, with the situation being abruptly diffused by a waiter quickly knocking out both offending parties.

And, of course, Luffy already had the spark of recruitment in his eyes as the waiter approached the table and set down a plate of rolls, speaking in a curt tone.

“Hi. Welcome to our shitty restaurant, where the only thing worse than the ambience is the food.” Luffy made a grab for the plate without any hesitation at all. “My name is Sanji, what can I get for you?”

“One of everything, please,” Luffy said through a mouthful of bread,”

“Any drinks?” he said, glancing around the table. “One of our signature cocktails to help choke down your meal?”

“Giving us the hard sell, huh?” said Nami, leaning back and stretching her arm across the backrest.

Zoro glanced over when he heard you chuckle a little—and back at the waiter as his eyes flitted between you and Nami, his tone and expression shifting immediately as a smile curved at his lips.

“Apologies, ladies. Didn’t see you there. Would either of you care for an apéritif to start? We have several rare Micqueot vintages in stock.” Luffy and Usopp both looked between you and Nami, and Zoro just crossed his arms, waiting for the idiot to finish. “Or perhaps you’d like a glass of Umeshu? You know…something sweet for someone sweet.”

And the audacious bastard winked.

Nami raised her eyebrows. “Something wrong with your eye?”

“Just blinded by your beauty.”

“I don’t know about my friend here, but I’m not really into sweet things, sweetie.” The waiter’s attention immediately turned back to you, and Zoro glanced over at you as you spoke up—as you leaned forward on the table, curling a hand under your chin, fluttering your eyelashes. “Whiskey for me. Lowball, on the rocks,”

So flirting was your thing, then.

Zoro cleared his throat loudly before the guy could fire back. “Waiter, can I get a beer? And something for my friends.”

“Two beers,” said Usopp. “I usually have three, but—”

“And a milk,” interupted Luffy, raising his hand.

“Water,” said Nami shortly.

“Three beers, one water, one milk, and…” He turned his attention straight back to you again—you, still leaning forward with your elbow on the table, your chin resting against your knuckles, your lips curved into a small smirk. “One whiskey, on the rocks? Any particular preference, madam?”

“Whatever vintage you recommend,” you replied coyly—and then you winked.

And his smirk only widened at that as he turned to leave. “Right away, madam.”

Zoro glanced over at you slowly, his eyes shifting between you and the departing waiter, lifting an eyebrow. You rolled your eyes over to him, still smirking. “Yes?” you said, waiting for him to respond.

“Nothing.” He rolled his eyes—it still seemed very much like you were doing this on purpose, toying with him just to get a reaction.

And if you were....

He rolled his eyes back over to you, “Madam,” he said sarcastically. “Forgive my rude behavior, madam. Would madam prefer her whiskey in a crystal glass, or would a golden bowl be more madam’s style?”

There was a fair bit of chuckling around the table. Nami nudged your shoulder, and you leaned to the side, your smirk widening into a grin as she whispered something behind her hand into your ear. You straightened back out, your eyes glinting with mischief as you met his gaze and laid your hand lightly on his bicep.

“Aww, you’re not jealous, are you?” And you only leaned in closer, laying your temple at his shoulder and fluttering your eyelashes again, and he immediately regretted opening his mouth as he felt his face heating up. “Should I tell our handsome waiter that you wanted to be flirted with too?”

“Wh—what—”

And the chuckling around the table turned into hearty laughter, as you pulled away and leaned toward Nami instead, leaning into each other as the pair of you more or less cackled at your quip.

He was taking all of this way too seriously—and the sight of you laughing like that, despite how desperate your situation was, made him smile a little. Made him laugh a little himself, tilting his head back against the backrest of his seat at the booth, and speak up amid the laughter, almost affectionately.

“I hate you guys.”

[vanishedinvain]

𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐩

summary: the night before anthony and simon's duel from benedict's perspective.

warnings: angst, anxiety

a/n: wc: 546. this is a cut scene from ch. ii. of perfect all-american bitch, my benedict bridgerton x reader series where benedict becomes the viscount, but can be read as a standalone since this is a flashback sequence! despite how long the chapters already are, that's after i've spent a full day editing them lol, so i'm thinking of posting scenes that i've cut/would've liked to include in the main story but wasn't super relevant to the plot (like this one)

Benedict and Colin exited the study feeling about a decade older than when they walked in. Anthony had provided them grimly detailed instructions on what to do in both of the worst case scenarios. The two younger brothers congregated in Benedict’s bedchamber to go over the logistics one last time. 

Colin was to remain on guard at the home. He would arrange for a hired hack to be at the house to transport Anthony to either the docks or the hospital. He needed to keep Daphne from interfering, their other siblings away from any violent sights, and their mother calm.

Benedict needed to contact the solicitor to secure their financials. They would need to give notice of either death or disappearance to the people of Aubrey village and to Parliament. They might have the Bow Street Runners called on them in a few days time. Benedict might have to arrange for the funeral and a casket and—

Oh dear, the room was spinning.

Benedict had been running through the list in his head for the past few hours, his cursed version of counting sheep. Colin was snoring on the bench at the foot of the bed, occasionally bumping against the frame. 

Colin seemed a great deal calmer than Benedict. He seemed quite sure that the duke would yield, or that they would both fire their pistols wide. Perhaps, he was truly that optimistic, if a bit naive. But perhaps, he was only putting up a front. Because when Benedict suggested Colin go back to his own bedchamber once they were through, his younger brother had insisted he was too comfortable to move.

It was a bald-faced lie if he ever saw one. Colin was taller than Benedict, which meant his legs were scrunched up when he was horizontal on the bench. But he managed to fall asleep anyway, and Benedict draped a spare blanket over him before retiring to bed himself. 

And truthfully, Benedict did not want to be alone either. If this was their last night of normality, he would rather spend it together than apart. He laid staring at the ceiling until the first streams of sunlight threatened to breach the inky sky.

It was time.

They made their way down to Anthony’s study. This would be Colin’s post; close enough to the main entrance to execute his tasks, but hidden away from the staff, and more importantly, their mother.

Benedict clasped a hand on Colin’s shoulder; he hoped the gesture came across strong and reassuring, but Benedict felt more like he was grasping onto a life-jacket.

Colin was still boyish, the baby fat not quite melted off his face, and looked entirely too young to be dealing with this. He mirrored his brother, also grabbing Benedict’s shoulder. “This whole affair will all be over in a few short hours,” Colin said with a small smile.

Benedict couldn’t bring himself to agree as it would be disingenuous. There was something peculiar in the air this morning, as hokey as that sounded. Something just wasn’t sitting right with him, but he couldn’t put doubts in Colin’s head. 

He was the older one, so act like it. “The only way out is through,” he said with the solemn resolve to bring this business to an end.

why was this cut? as much as i liked exploring the relationship between colin and benedict (tbh i love getting the chance to explore any bridgerton sibling relationship hence why beneloise got a whole prologue), but 1. i was approaching a ridiculous word count and 2. it didn't entirely make sense for benedict to start the story from the night before.

taglist: @daddy-obrien @noirrose21-blog @loviyysev1045 @giuseppeverd1 @chauchirem @camilalexa93 @books-with-se @alexlovesfiction @dreamssfyre @czarinera @chris9683 @g4ns3y @kindbearqueen @mattelbaby @witchyvoman @ayidipinursue @fairyellieee @78-bratz-doll @simbaaas-stuff @starcollector13 @bonitoflakes071 @dallamdoll @2005priness @mythixlly @sickmarriedandying @takemeoutrose @boojaynaqueen @amaliarosewood @everybodys-favorite516 @abrose11 @bluelittleblackgirl @guppypuppy84 @mayalopes @how2besalty @reginageorje @aprilthearcher @5hundreddaysofsummer @niniackerman @bonjour28 @thebazil3 @answrr @quadrisl @livingvicariously1 @bitchyally @renintheszn @napollya @bitchfuckdotcom @imagandom @bugg06 @my-queen-rhaenyra-targaryen @cassiejpg @mrspotterlupinblack @jinx53 @naclara98421 @themeanestlittlewitch @dpaccione @rainybabe25 @mysticenvy @crazymar15 @scooper-trooper @universal-s1ut @fairyfelicitysmoak @tittiemama @rr1tualz @giulssmediobolud4 @pastelpunkpercy @ladybird-666 @sparky2020sworld @radstrangerdinosaur @lillyrosenight

if you weren’t tagged, check your privacy settings!

[dragonbabes]

The Thorns that Bind

A/N | I had to completely rewrite this chapter because word didn't save any of my edits to the very rough draft, so that's what it took so stinking long. I also struggle to get anything done when I feel even the slightest bit of pressure to complete it...

Pairing | [OC]Crow!Rook x Lucanis, Solas x [OC] Lavellan

Warnings | Several, actually: death, and also very dark themes are going to start coming to play in these coming chapters, starting with this one...

Words | 8,490

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 (In progress)

Chapter 3 | How Deep It Cuts

“So?” Isehari couldn’t really fathom how large Bell’s eyes grew when she was excited. Those bright brown eyes were akin to Fiori’s; she’d hoped to introduce the two someday. They both were spurred by curiosity and had a predisposition toward looking for the bright side of things. “What do you think?” Bellara leaned forward in her seat at the dining table and cast a curious glance at the journal in front of Ise.

“It’s sweet.” Isehari smiled softly, rubbing the rough pages between her fingers and scanning the words on the page before her again. It was a romance — something Lucanis was much more adept at reading than she was — full of tension and longing, smoldering stares, and stolen glances. It was hitting close to home, and the assassin shot several sneaky glances to the other Crow perched two seats away. Suddenly, it was hot in the room.

Ise flicked to the next page, read a bit more and gasped. The others, who had broken off into their own small and quiet conversations, looked up and assessed the elf at the head of the table. The rosy color that had taken up Rook’s cheeks and the roguish grin on her lips piqued their interest; she always caused trouble when she dawned that look.

“Sweet and scandalous!” Ise laughed as Bellara noticed that she had read a bit farther than intended. Ise’s eyes greedily ate the next few words before the startled Veil Jumper could snatch her journal back; words about tongues traveling and hands grasping, desperately. “Oh my, Bell!”

“What is it?” Neve, ever the curious spirit, tore away from Lucanis and leaned over in her chair trying to catch a glimpse.

“Nothing!” Bellara blurted, and Ise snapped the journal shut, handing it back to her friend.

“That’s nothing?” Ise questioned with a teasing look at her friend, which only caused the red hue taking up Bellara’s cheeks to spread up into her ears. Rook bit back her giggle.

“Ise!” Bellara took to giving her friend a scrunch-nosed, narrow eyed look before giving Neve a significantly softer, bashful look. “It’s nothing, Neve.”

“Scandalous? From my sweet Bell?” Neve chuckled and, determined to not let Bell brush this one off, leaned her chin into her palm and batted her eyes at the Dalish elf, “I’d have to see it to believe it.”

“Oh,” Ise replied with a wink to Neve, “It’s always the sweetest ones you have to worry about.”

“Tell me about it.” Neve leaned back in her chair. Rook’s eyes, when panning from Neve and back to Bellara, snagged on Lucanis. All the teasing left her at that point, and she suddenly felt the need to apologize to Bellara. Staring at the object of her affections while laughing about roaming hands and adventuring tongues had Ise’s stomach up in knots; she couldn’t imagine where Bellara was. Her hand found her friend’s arm.

“I’m sorry for reading too far.”

“Oh, it’s okay.” There was a sheepish smile on Bellara’s lips. Ise squeezed her arm and leaned to catch her eye. When she did, she continued with a glint in her eye.

“If it’s any consolation, I thought it was good. I’d read more, if you’d let me.”

“Really?” The elf perked at that. Ise grinned back.

“Yeah! I am, after all, a fan,” her green-blue eyes returned to Lucanis, “of wandering tongues and grasping hands.”

He tore his gaze away from hers instantly, and Isehari giggled to herself under the assault of Bell’s playful smacks. There was a redness that settled in the apples of his cheeks that made Isehari feel that she was on top of the world. No god stood a chance against her, because she had made the Demon of Vyrantium blush. She drank in how he shifted in his seat, stared down at the drink in his hand, and then… Trailed his eyes to Neve.

What that look meant, Rook didn’t know, but it was a punch to her gut. It wiped the smile from her face and made her run cold.

“Rook!” Bellara cried. Rook jumped and only managed to return the sly grin to her lips, cooing and leaning back into her chair. She sucked in a huge breath and folded her hands over her stomach in a white knuckled grip.

“You wrote that?” Neve cried. “Let me read it! I love smut.” Bellara scoffed and crossed her arms, safely locking the journal under her arm; her eyes darted the length of the room, landing everywhere except for Neve. Ise tried to keep her attention on the two bickering in front of her, but she couldn’t help but check if Lucanis was still looking at Neve…

He was. With a fond smile tugging at his lip. Rook tore her eyes back to Bellara; she wouldn’t be looking again.

“No! I didn’t –“ She cleared her throat and gave another snort, “That is not what I wrote!” Bellara took the time that everyone shared their snickers to give Ise another sharp look. She shrugged back at her, but couldn’t form a sentence to defend herself from it.

Who cared who Lucanis looked at? If anything, she was glad it was Neve… Right? Neve was beautiful and strong and so, so smart. She was everything someone could want… If Lucanis wanted her… Rook couldn’t blame him. And if Neve returned those feelings? Ise looked at her friend; how her chocolate eyes shimmered and her rich, olive skin seemed to glow in the candlelight.

Well, she definitely couldn’t blame her, either.

“So, Neve,” Rook would do Bell the mercy of redirecting the rooms attention, “You read smut?”

The room falls silent as Neve deadpanned and processed her admission from earlier.

Ise giggled over her drink as she watched a devious grin curve Bellara’s lip.

“She wrote… Like you.” Isehari turns her head in Varric’s direction.

“Oh yeah? What about?”

“Scandalous things, really.” Ise hoped that a joke would snap her out of it, out of the dead stare she’s shared with the ground for the past… Well, she doesn’t know, really… it doesn’t matter anyways. “She wrote about love.”

Her hand finds a brittle twig, and begins to wring it between her hands… It handles her abuse surprisingly well, but after a particularly harsh twist, it snaps.

“And now, I won’t write ever again.” The elf flinches at the sudden echoing of words. That she won’t.

“I’m sorry.” It barely comes out as a broken whisper. She can’t bear to look at Bellara — even if it’s not really her — so she looks past and to the murky green clouds about.

She hopes the team will look for Bellara and Davrin first. If she has to return — if she can return — and face the world without them in it… Ise turns her eyes to Varric. She’s not sure she can stand that.

“That’s all you’ve got, huh?” The words spit at her sound unnatural on Bellara’s lilting voice. “Empty apologies, empty promises.” She’s not sure when it happened, but the stone figure had brought her face dangerously close to Ise’s, forcing her to look; she holds her breath with a wobbling lip and looks down.

“You can’t even look me in the eye.”

~*~

There’s a rumble that water makes when it collides against glass. Those currents — invisible to the eye — would be enough to sweep anyone away. Even the Demon of Vyrantium. He tenses when he hears it; the warble of a bubble traveling, water being cut by a fish’s fin, and the hissing rumble of murky depths.

The clinking of a chain, the sting of a cut around his ankle; the weight of cold metal around his neck.

Lucanis shoots up, reaches for a dagger, and finds none. His hands will do. Rigid and upright, the assassin takes in the cell about him with dilated pupils; a large window with golden trim, schools of fish and bubbles floating by just outside, an empty table with half burned candles, the figure of a halla on a small table to his left… The plush and soft green fabric of a sofa beneath him.

Lucanis slaps a hand against the sofa and lets out a relieved breath through his panting. Thumb tracing over the fabric, he listens closely to the sounds around him. No screaming. No moaning or whipping or rowdy guards joking the hours away. Lucanis snaps his mouth shut, forcing his rapid breaths out through his nose, and nods to himself.

Right. He left the Ossuary. He has been free from it for months. Rook… She freed him.

Turning his stiff neck to the left, Lucanis takes in the ebony mask placed at the center of the long dresser against the wall. He takes another steadying breath and stands on shaky legs. He really should take the mask to get the large gash on the point of it buffed out. He’d bothered her about it before — appearance is very important to a crow, after all — but she’d only snickered back at him. Something about her liking the look of it; makes her look a little more intimidating, she said. It had made him chuckle, wondering who would be scared of her.

First, he stops to run a finger along the edge of finely maintained daggers, laid out next to each other on the table behind the couch. Next, he looks through the collection of carefully labeled poisons on the worktable by the door. He sobers to the thought that Isehari really is a woman as dangerous as himself. He knows she is a force to be reckoned with, but when he’s heard the heavens sing through her laugh, seen how her eyes reflect the sun and the moon, the way the stars dim next to her smile… He pities her enemies; both for being at the end of her sword, and for never having the privilege of knowing her.

“Strawberry Keel Over?” He blinks at the name of the pink liquid swishing about in the bottle he picked up. “What even is that, Rook?” He mumbles. What sort of things does she mix up in her free time? He pops out the cork and wafts the liquid. A strong scent of strawberry and cream assaults him. The faintest hint of vanilla… No, honeysuckle?

“Belladonna.” Spite hums, suddenly appearing and inhaling deeply. Lucanis pops the cork back in, replaces the bottle, and closes the dark chest.

“She really is a de Riva.” He sighs to himself, tapping his fingers against the top of the chest affectionately, before turning back to the couch. The room is relatively bare, but there are small things about that sing of Rook. A stack of books here, quills and ink next to stacked parchment, a violin tucked away in the corner. Her scent hangs on everything. He begins to wonder just how he’s ended up here, since the last thing he remembers is reading in one of the most uncomfortable chairs in the dining hall, fighting the weight of exhaustion.

Taash, who is sitting on the ground halfway down the hall with their arms tucked and a light snore coming from them, clears up any confusion. Spite was back in action last night, it seems. He kneels silently next to the Qunari and gently shakes their shoulder til they stir awake.

“You should get to your room.” He says, “I’m fine.”

“Spite’s been coming through a lot lately.” He can hear the question in their words but ignores it. A tight smile and a short nod are the only response he gives while helping them to their feet. Since Rook went into the fade nearly a week and a half ago, the demon has been a lot harder to keep leashed. He thrashes about more, bangs against the confines of Lucanis’ body, and howls in his head day and night. Spite is a sore loser. From the day they met, the demon has had the habit of calling Rook his; one of the many reasons Lucanis pushed back against her little flirtations.

“He didn’t try to leave this time. Just went straight to Rook’s room; said he needed to find something.” Lucanis ticks his head to the side; what? “I don’t mind spirits… I’m-“

“Ravaini… Yes.” Lucanis finishes for them and turns to them with a smile. “Still, you should be careful. Spite is a demon. If I cannot control him,” especially now that Rook’s disappearance has him twisted up in knots, “I cannot say what he’ll do if you continue to stand in his way, Taash.”

“Is that worry I hear from you?” The young hunter asks with a lopsided grin. He waves them off.

“Don’t act so surprised. Go. Rest.” He shoos them away by jutting his chin toward their room. He waits until he hears Taash’s door click, and then spins on his heel, returning to Isehari’s quiet room.

He casts his brown eyes about again. Her wardrobe is shut and the clothes within nicely folded or hung. The books stacked atop her dresser, housed on either side of her ebony mask, appear untouched. As he turns to continue his perusal, he takes note of one of the books; leather bound and untitled. From the pages he sees scraps of parchment jutting out at awkward angles. Curiosity gets the best of him, and he is pulling open the covers before he can think of the intrusion.

Written in neat hand on the front page is a short note:

                Ise, I hear you’re off to stop the Dread Wolf. I’m pretty sure Viago’s gonna rub a hole in his head already, so I guess it’s best one of us stays. No need to stress the poor talon out more, no? Since you’ve forbade me from coming (really, a terrible choice) you have to write everything down in this journal. You know how I love your stories. To think my own sister will be the hero this time!

                Stay safe, Lethallan. Whatever you do, make sure to bring my home back… And don’t let the Dread Wolf take you; if he tries, give him my regards. - Fiori.

He begins to thumb through the pages. The first entry is dated to nearly a year ago, and in rushed script that he’d expect from Rook. It begins as a letter, addressed to Fiori, and details a day of traveling and a git at the bar that Ise had to knock some sense into. They continue like that, in the tone of an annoyed and impatient young crow, ready to complete her contract and make it back home. He is warm, reading her words, can almost hear her saying them, and lets out a soft chuckle.

Lucanis takes a seat on the couch and devours each word. She was positive – happy, even – in the beginning of it all; glad to be out and seeing the world in a way she’d never had the chance to before. This seems to be the part of her that she’s hidden – or tried to – from the rest, until he reaches a blank page.

Blank aside from eleven words:

                Solas started his ritual. Varric is hurt…

                What did I do?

Varric’s name rarely crossed Ise’s lips. He was her good friend; Lucanis has always wondered why Ise didn’t talk about him more. The others told him wonderful, extraordinary stories of their time with Varric… But Ise?

She only ever looked away, as if she could still see him. He always assumed that his passing affected Ise more than she could admit, and she only needed time… But he reads her words again.

Varric is hurt…

He wonders at it for only a second, before he continues to the next entry; just as short, it’s simply a bullet list of things they did, things she felt we’re important and she needed to remember, or things she needed to do circled frantically or crossed out. Between the frantic notes and scribbles, he would find the occasional address to her sister.

We broke the Demon of Vyrantium out today, Fiori. You should meet him… He has a sweet voice and even sweeter eyes. I think you’d like him.

Lucanis quickly slaps the book shut and blinks at the wall until the burning in his eyes goes away. Should he even be reading this? He turns the journal about in his hand, as if it would spout a mouth and tell him if he’s wrong or not… The words in here are things she didn’t intend for the others to see, things she didn’t want to say…

Things he didn’t allow her to say.

He curses in a thickened voice, as his mind escapes him like a mabari slipping out of its collar and runs to the memory of her last visit to him before Tearstone island. The rosiness in her cheeks, how she stared directly into his eyes and at his soul, how she has started to say it. Those dreaded words.

Those beautiful, dreaded words he’d cut off. He was scared of it. All of it, and what it might mean; for her… For him… He dreaded the thought that the first time those words were said between them could be a goodbye…

He hears his name on Neve’s lips from the lighthouse’s library. What Emmrich says back, he can’t quite make out, but he assumes the professor pointed her this way since her heels start clicking down the hall. Should he hide the journal? What would Neve do if she knew he was snooping in Ise’s journal? He’d never hear the end of it. He’ll hide it, then, back under the pile of books. Before he can stand, Neve lightly raps her knuckles on the door and enters.

“Lucanis?” His back is rigid, and his hands tighten on the journal. “Emmrich said I could find you in here.” The scent of coffee hits him and he turns his head to her slightly.

“Did you bring coffee?” She rounds the couch and holds the cup to him.

“I did.” Lucanis raises a brow.

“Did you boil it?”

“No.” She quips back, “I watched you do it the other night, remember?” He hums and slowly takes the cup.

“Thank you.” Neve turns her eyes about the room and lets out a heavy breath.

“Keeps a tidy room compared to the rest of us.” She comments. “I wouldn’t expect that.”

“Crows don’t make a habit of unpacking too much in one place…” He swirls the coffee around and watches the dark liquid; he’s wary of drinking it. But Neve made it for him. He brings the cup to his lips.

“What’s that?” She motions to the journal in his hand. His grip tightens until his knuckles are white, but she continues her slow walk around the room. She eyes the ebony mask, reads the spines of the books, pokes at the nose of the halla statue, and then picks up the small silver mirror.

“Isehari’s journal.” How can he hide it? He clears his throat, taps his fingers on its cover, and chances a look at Neve. She watches him from over her shoulder, and he swears he sees a flash of pity ghost over her expression.

“Are you reading all of her secrets?” There’s a teasing tone in her words, but a softness in her eye. “You find anything good?”  

“I…” He opens the filled pages and flips to the entry of the day of the ritual. “Read this.” Handing the journal to Neve and tapping his finger on the short entry, he turns his attention to the coffee. Her expression crunches in confusion and her dark eyes dart back to his.

“She did take a bad blow to the head that day… She was out of it for a while after.” Neve bites her bottom lip and reads the lines again. “It’s no surprise that she didn’t realize when she wrote this…”  Lucanis only hums back and stares at his rippling reflection in the coffee. The sound of pages flipping fills the silent room; he’s convinced she’s not actually reading what’s on the pages with how quickly she sifts through its contents.

“Oh.” Suddenly, she stops flipping through the pages, and Lucanis turns to see what’s caught the Shadow Dragon’s eye: a page with Neve’s name written along the top. A fond chuckle falls from Neve, and Lucanis takes note of the dimple in her right cheek. “Look at this,” she turns the journal toward him slightly and reads, “Neve knows people. Go to Neve for people things. Eats fried fish — lots.” She laughs, “Wisps of curiosity hang off her; can’t blame ‘em… She knows interesting things. Always finding answers.”

“She kept notes on you?” Neve’s head falls back with a laugh Lucanis rarely hears from her.

“She did!” She continues to read, the smile slowly melting off her face as she reaches the bottom. Turning the page, Lucanis reads Harding’s name.

“Every inch of these pages are covered with notes…” Neve turns the page, “Looks like she was keeping notes on all of us. Favorite drinks and foods, even our favorite colors. Emmrich’s is lilac, apparently. Who we work best with, what worries us…”

“Interesting.” Is all Lucanis can think to say back. He desperately wants to snatch the journal from Neve and read what’s written on his page; but he stays still, ‘peacefully’ sipping his coffee.

“Is it good?” Neve motions to the drink. “Do I pass?” Should he lie? He raises a brow as he takes another drink and considers the bitter and burnt taste blanketing over his tongue.

“If you want coffee, just tell me.” Neve sags

“Just say it’s bad.”

“Your effort impresses me everyday, Neve.” She laughs and smacks his arm lightly with a roll of her eyes. Her attention turns back to the book, and his goes to the untouched room. What was Spite looking for in here? The room hardly looks ransacked by a manic demon; Lucanis has nothing to go off of.

“What were you looking for in here?” He asks the demon suddenly. Neve raises her head to him, eyes darting around with a punch between her brows…

“You?” She points to the coffee, “I figured you’d-“

“Not you.” He shakes his head. “Spite. I woke up in here this morning… Taash told me that Spite had been looking for something in here…”

“Huh...” Neve turns herself toward him on the couch and holds the journal up. “Was it this?” Lucanis shrugs.

“Maybe? It doesn’t look like he was searching for anything in here… And I don’t think he would’ve cleaned up after himself.”

“Well… What did he say?”

“What did you want to find in here, Spite?” The demon appears before him, like an earie reflection the assassin is still adjusting to, and looks around the room, stopping on the ebony mask.

“Rook connected to Pride. Here… I was looking for Rook.” Lucanis looks to the journal.

“He was seeing if he might be able to find a way to Rook from here… Since this is where she meditated to reach Solas.” The investigator extends the journal to Lucanis and considers with a hum.

“Makes sense. I think you should be the one to read through this…” He gingerly removes it from her hands, as if it would burst into flames just from his touch. Lucanis doesn’t intend to argue with Neve on it, both because he wanted to read every line between the covers of the journal, and he knows Ise would trust him to read it.

He didn’t deserve her regard, but she always gave it. He rubs his thumbs over the leather-bound journal as if it was Ise herself. His hands tremble, and he opens the journal to where he left off…

For now, this is the closest he’ll get to hearing her voice again.

~*~

“What?” The sniffling elf — who usually holds herself quite high — is scrunched into a ball a ways away from where Bellara had just been tearing her a new one. Varric surrenders his hands and turns away.

“Nothing!” Then quieter, more collected, “Nothing… Just… Been here a while, huh?” His hands find purchase on his hips as he rocks on his heels and looks everywhere than at her blotchy face.

“Then, by all means, leave! I’d hate to keep you.” Ise feels worse after snapping that at him and rests her head on her folded arms. “You make it sound like it should be easy.”

“That it’s not just tells me I chose the right person.”

“You’ve said that already.”

“I have?”

“Yeah… And now look where we are.” Trapped in an impenetrable prison, never to talk to another person, never to touch someone. Never to see Lucanis or tell him… She’ll never get the chance to tell him the truth. “I’m stuck here, and you’re-“ she can’t say it.

“Dead.” He finishes for her. She flinches at it.

“Yeah…” She deflates again and continues to trace idle flowers in the dirt. Fiori loves botany, and spent all their quiet nights shoved into their small room reading textbooks that Ise “bought” (she stole them) and spewing every little fact to her… It’s no surprise that Ise always finds herself drawing the petals of a rose or azalea while mumbling their scientific names or properties.

She misses those days. When it was simple… well, simpler.

Who’s she fucking kidding it’s never been easy. Though, she guesses if she’s here, she won’t have to worry about much of anything anymore…

“There she goes again. Giving up. Just like that.” His voice sends a cold rush through her, as if she fell into a frozen lake.

“Had I known she’d be so weak, I never would have trusted her.” Bellara’s voice hisses around her.

“It’s a bad idea to trust Isehari… I trusted her until the very end. And look where it got me.” There’s a gasp from Ise when she opens her eyes. Directly in front of her lies a colorless form — small and twisted — with round cheeks and curly hair. It was red, like hers. His eyes were hazel, now frozen in a dead stare, suck her into an icy and desolate place.

“Illen.” That name burned on her quaking lips like salt in a wound. She hasn’t uttered that name in eighteen years. Her dirt and blood covered hands move to hover above the beaten form before her… As if she could still save him. Her body is tense and heart hammering like it did that night.

“You remember.” There’s a hint of surprise in that cherubic voice. Ise lightly runs a finger over the freezing surface of his cheek, and she looks over his body; she remembers the black bruises over his pale skin, can hear the thudding of the blows that made his lip break and swell like that, can feel the slippery warmth of his blood on her freezing skin.

Of course she remembers. She will never forget.

“How old was he?” Varric’s hand on her shoulder makes her start, and she shoots him a quick glance from the corner of her eye; she recognizes the rage, disgust, and pity mixing on his features… It looks unusual.

“Eight.” His jaw clenches.

“And you?”

“I was ten years old.”

~*~

Viago stares – with a frown – at the skeleton pouring him his tea. The crow is rigid, obviously uncomfortable with being in the same room as a possessed skeleton and not taking a weapon to it. Manfred hisses with joy and brings his face level to the cup, watching the steam drift up and up. Viago’s brows pinch, he looks Manfred up and down and pulls his drink away. The crow angles his body away from him on the couch and tries to keep his attention on Lucanis.

“Manfred, come sit here.” Emmrich pats the chair next to him, where his companion happily bounced to.

“We’re sorry to drop in so suddenly.” Lucanis shakes his head at Teia’s words while sitting food down on the table. “We have news on Solas.”

Lucanis stills.

“Good. Pride owes us.” Spite growls, suddenly appearing and bending to be in his view, “We will make him pay.”

“What news?”

“He was spotted in Minrathous.”

“I figured you would want to be there, Lucanis.” Viago leans forward, sitting his cup down.

“You’re right. I’ll go get ready.” He spins on his heel and begins to stalk toward the door. His heart hammers in his chest, that thudding beginning to spread into his fingertips, all the way down to his toes. His hands twitch with the thought of being able to wring that wannabe gods neck. He’d take more pleasure in stabbing the bastard, but he needs answers first.

How does he find Ise? How do they get her out?

How could he betray her?

Then, and only then, would the Dread Wolf answer for his transgressions against Rook.

“I want to be there.” A voice Lucanis doesn’t recognize sounds just as he begins to push on the doors. He quickly turns over his shoulder to find the owner, a young elven girl with curly blond locks framing her round face. He brings in a sharp intake of breath as he recognizes the hue of her eyes. Eyes identical to Rook’s. Teia is up within a second with a noticeably concerned expression.

“Fiori! How did you get here?” Teia takes to checking the girl for any wounds but finds her intact. Fiori begins to respond but stops when Viago’s towering form appears behind Teia with an expression that could wither a flower in seconds.

“Why are you here?” Lucanis watches the girl squirm for just a second, before she balls her hands into fists, and lifts her chin.

“She’s my sister. I have just as much of a right to be there as any of you.” She scans the others standing around the circular table, eyes stuttering on Manfred. She only brings her eyes back to Viago when the talon lets out a short laugh.

“You? You’ve got to be kidding me!”

“Why shouldn’t I go? I’m trained. I’m ready.” Viago laughs harder this time.

“You’re ready? To kill a god? You haven’t even taken your first contract, and you’re ready to kill Solas?” Fiori shifts.

“She is my sister.” She repeats. Lucanis raises his brow and looks to Viago. The talon places his hands on his hips and stares back just as stubbornly as Fiori is. There’s silence around the room until Viago snorts, spins on his heel and takes his spot on the couch again. He takes a sip of his drink – eerily collected – and sits it down before answering her.

“No.”

“But-“

“Fiori, do you know how dangerous it was for you to follow us through the Crossroads? Without any of us knowing?” Teia, knowing a lost battle when she sees one, begins to lay into the elven girl.

“I got here fine, didn’t I?” Fiori crosses her arms over her chest and moves to sit down in a chair as if she’s lived in the lighthouse her entire life.

“That’s not the point. You put yourself at an unnecessary risk-“

“A stupid risk.” Viago interjects, Teia doesn’t miss a beat before continuing.

“What would you have done if you came across Darkspawn? Or Venatori?”

“I would’ve been fine. I’ve trained just as hard as Ise.”

“You would’ve gotten yourself killed. It’s dumb luck you made it through.” Viago raises his voice, effectively getting the girl to shrink back in her chair with that stone cold tone, “Then what, Fiori? Ise comes back and finds out that all she has done for you was pointless, because you went and got yourself killed?”

More silence follows. Lucanis has studied every expression and every spark that would find its way into Rook’s eyes over the months they’ve been together. He recognizes the stubborn line that Fiori’s mouth settles into, and the genuine disregard for Viago’s warning in the girl’s eye. She is going to follow them no matter what the fifth talon says. Lucanis steps away from the door, and the girl jumps as he silently places himself a bit to her left.

“She’s going to follow anyways.” Lucanis raises his brow at Viago, and the way his friend sighs, tells him that he knew that as well. There’s a bit of a gasp from Fiori as she stares up at Lucanis with wide eyes.

“You’re the first talon? Lucanis Dellamorte?” He draws back slightly, but nods to her. She stands quickly and closes the distance between them.

“Teia said you and Ise were close.” Lucanis sends a lidded look to Teia, who has suddenly found the tips of her hair very interesting. “Did she ever tell you why she wouldn’t visit me?” Lucanis’ mouth opens and closes as he tries to find an answer for her.

“She wanted to keep you safe. She faced three gods… If they discovered what you are to her?” Lucanis rests his hands on her shoulders and gives a reassuring squeeze. “She absolutely would not risk that.”

“And you would just throw that away. Walk yourself before the very gods she protected you from.” Viago grumbles at her; Fiori shoots a very quick and very sharp look at the talon. “Now, can I get to what I came here to take care of, or would you like to waste more of our time, Fiori?” The girl rolls her eyes at him.

“Thank you.” She mumbles to Lucanis before taking her seat again.

“I’ll go with you, Lucanis. If Solas really is in Minrathous, the Shadow Dragon’s are sure to have more information on him.” Neve says, standing from her seat and nodding at the two crows on the couch.

“I’ll write the Inquisitor. She’ll want to know.” Harding stands and scrambles out alongside Neve. Emmrich takes to discussing with Teia and Viago the progress on the dagger. Lucanis quietly takes his leave.

~*~

The team travelling to Minrathous didn’t speak a word from the time they’d left the lighthouse to the moment they step out of the Minrathous eluvian. The sun is high in the cloudless blue sky. It’d be beautiful, he thinks, if it weren’t for the crumbling remains of the sitting area this once was framing it. He chances a peak to Neve at his side, and notices that she’s already started to stalk through the dark remains of the Shadow Dragons base. He waits until they’ve stepped through the threshold of the shop before speaking – something he’d picked up from Ise, after the dragon attack.

“Still no word on the Venatori?’

“No.” He watches her cast her eyes about. His right hand instinctively reaches to the hilt of a dagger, Spite seems to awaken as each of his senses are heightened, and he begins his own surveying of the empty Minrathous street. “The Shadow Dragons have taken to lying low with everything that’s happened.”

“It’s… Quiet.” Viago comments. The mage straightens, her own hand braced on her weapon and turns to the group slightly. The fifth talon suddenly reaches out and latches tightly onto Fiori’s arm. “Listen to every word that I say like your life depends on it,” Viago begins with his finger pointed at her, and bringing his eyes level to hers, “because it does. You are not trained to be a full-fledged crow. That was the deal between Ise and I. You make poisons, and you stay safe. You stay close to me. If you can’t, you are glued to Teia or Lucanis. Do you understand?” Fiori casts her eyes around the ruined streets of Minrathous, eyes widening on the bodies still left rotting on their noose. Lucanis steps to Neve as Viago shakes the young girl and repeats himself, “Do you understand, Fiori?”

“Yes!”

“Not even guards.” Lucanis mumbles to Neve.

“I was thinking the same thing…” Tossing another look about, she gives him a firm nod, “We move quickly and quietly. Get to the hideout and see what’s been going on here.”

“Lead the way.” He offers his own firm nod back and sets his shoulders. They begin a quick weave of Minrathous’ twisted streets. No guards, windows drawn. His ears catch the faint sound of fast footsteps in the alley parallel to the one they’re passing through. Their direction changes suddenly and heads straight for-

“Neve!” There’s only a moment to react before a small, scraggly form slams into her, and lets out a panicked shriek. In a flash, Teia has them by their hair, and a knife to their throat. It’s then that Lucanis notices the face; a young boy with tousled and knotted shoulder-length brown hair, dirty cheeks, and missing one of his front teeth. The boy is dressed in rags, feet bare, and bangs kept back by a fraying red sash.

“Oh,” Teia releases the child and sheathes her dagger, “Sorry about that.” The boy only backs away from her and bumps into Neve, who steadies him by the elbows, turns him to her, and looks him up and down.

“Hey.” She begins simply. The child seems to shrink under her gaze – which Lucanis notes is a surprisingly warm shade of brown – so she continues softer, “Are you okay?”

He begins a wide and blank eyed nod, before blinking and giving a vehement shake of his head. Neve kneels at this, and Lucanis moves closer. Viago and Teia take up positions on each side of them, so that every direction is under the watchful eye of a crow. Fiori, to Lucanis’ relief, stays close to Viago.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” Neve asks.

“The Venatori.” The child whispers, as if he’s scared just speaking that name will bring the bastards. She waits for him to elaborate.

“The Venatori?” Neve urges when he doesn’t speak up for a few more beats. He nods, then leans forward, cupping his hand over his mouth.

“They’ve been taking people. Everyone’s hiding now. I lost my sister on our way home… I’m trying to find her, but the Venatori saw me first.”

“Where’d you lose your sister?”

“By the market. I was hoping to give them the slip over here, but they have eyes everywhere.” Tears line the child’s reddening eyes. Neve shoots Lucanis a look. He gives her a nod; they’d get the boy to safety and see if there’s any trace of his sister after they check in with the Viper.

“Listen-“ She stops short, shifts, then asks, “What’s your name?”

“Aulus.”

“And your sister’s?”

“Lora.”

“Good. Aulus, I’m going to take you to a safe place. With the Shadow Dragons-“

“The Shadow Dragons?” The kid seems to shoot to life, now housing stars in his honeyed eyes. Neve pops a smirk onto her lips.

“Yes, the Shadow Dragons. But I need you to listen to everything my friends and I say.” Her eyes cast to Lucanis, and Aulus’ follow. The assassin gives him a short smile; Aulus only stares back with a blank expression. “Okay?”

“Ok.” Neve stands and adjusts her gloves.

“Seems we’re collecting children today.” Viago grumbles. Fiori gasps at him.

“I’m almost twenty-one!” She exclaims. Viago raises a brow and casts her a sidelong glance.

“Really? Could’ve fooled me, with the way you act.” Her cheeks redden, and she purses her lips as she gives him yet another glare… Is that all they do in House de Riva? Glare at each other and dig their elbows into each other’s guts?

“Alright, now stay close and-“ Neve’s cut short by the explosion. Lucanis is flat on his back and blinking at that pretty blue sky – now slightly obscured by thrown up dust – in the blink of an eye. He sees the writhing form of a blight tendril craning above them, like a predator eying its meal before striking. The hair on Lucanis’ neck stands.

“Up!” His warning is short and breathless, “Move!” He rolls to his right, Neve rolls to the left, yanking Aulus with her just a breath before the thick tendril slams down, throwing up stone from the ground and buildings. The city that was once holding its breath in complete silence, is now wailing; its hiding citizens pouring out from their homes that are being torn to pieces by blight and shielding themselves from the falling debris with hands over their heads. There’s a flash of pale blue light before Lucanis is hit with a frigid burst of air. The tendril separating the two convulses, and he swears he hears some twisted sort of shriek come from it, before it begins to draw away from the ground. Lucanis presumes it’s rearing for another strike. Just when there’s enough space, Neve pushes Aulus forward, and ducks under it quickly.

“Vi! Fiori!” Teia cries, rushing closer to the groaning mass of muscle and flesh; Lucanis can see the relief soften the lines of her face as Fiori is shoved into her arms and Viago dashes out next. They scatter away from the tendril, and sure enough, it strikes again where they had just been standing.

The ground shakes, and there’s a distant rumble; another area of the city being ransacked like this part.

“It’s spreading fast!” The mage cries, eying its rapid growth through building windows and up their walls. A young elven woman scrambles past Lucanis and knocks shoulders with him; when she stumbles, a tendril lashes out and wraps around her ankle. His companion latches onto the girl’s hand and begins a futile tug of war with the blight. She’s being dragged away with the girl. Lucanis swiftly takes a dagger into his hand and lunges forward, cutting mere inches away from the girl’s ankle, at the thinnest point. The blight recoils as he slices clean through.

Lucanis quickly returns to Aulus, who is still frozen a few paces away, grabs firmly onto his arm, and checks the others. He looks to Neve who is helping the woman up.

“We need to get back to the eluvian.” She gives him a despairing look and opens her mouth as if she is going to fight him on this. “We can’t outrun this, Neve. Best we can do is get who we can out.”

“I am Elgar’nan. First of the Firstborn. Last of the Evanuris.” Lucanis runs cold as the gods baritone voice slithers through his head. Still as disgusting and disorienting as before. Lucanis looks to Neve with a knowing look, finding horror fresh in her expression as well.

He keeps her eye with his mouth in a thin and grim line as tears build, and spill over onto her cheeks. He moves to her and raps her firmly on the shoulder, and she seems to start out of that dreadful state he knows all too well.

“Come to reign over you with a fine and gentle hand. Citizens of Minrathous, give yourself to me…” The assassin snorts, and nudges at Fiori’s frozen form.

”Elgar’nan is in my head.” Her wide eyes turn to Lucanis, “You hear him?”

“Let’s go.” He says to both her and Neve.

“Right.” Neve’s voice shakes. She draws in a trembling breath before shouting, “Follow me! Everybody!” Some notice, some don’t, “Follow me!” Only a few more begin to tag along.

”And together, we shall unleash magic so glorious,” the building towering over them begins to groan as blight rapidly grows around it like a snake, and it collapses inward under the weight, “So limitless… That all the world will be transformed.”

They scatter as the rubble of the building comes crashing down around them; some people aren’t so lucky as they are in dodging the jagged stone.

They’d only made it a short distance from the eluvian, but weaving through the crumbling streets while dodging the swinging and crushing of blight tendrils, tiptoeing around pools of the sticky black beginning to ooze from larger boils of blight festering in the cracks of houses, and avoiding being snatched up and torn away like flies proves a slow process. Lucanis chews at Elgar’nan’s words; that the world would be transformed. Looking at the grotesque landscape, the blood and ooze now coating the streets that he’d once found a charm in, he wonders how any creature could find this desirable.

Heavy steps and a warbling growl warn Lucanis of the Hurlock that soon bursts through a crumbling wall on their right. He dives out of the way of the blow and angles his blade so that the darkspawn’s sloppy swing is angled upward, giving Lucanis just enough of an opening to ram his second blade deep through its ribs. It lets out a cry that deafens out the shrieks of the city. Putting both feet to its chest, he kicks off it while yanking his sword from it. It stumbles backward but doesn’t fall.

He hates how many times he must stab a darkspawn before they die.

“Lucanis!” He casts a glance to Neve, who is holding off an onslaught of ghouls of her own. He waves her off.

“I’m fine! Keep going!” Teia is quick to appear at his side, throwing a small smoke bomb that begins hissing out smoke immediately. She then turns to Lucanis and begins to push him with the flow of the crowd.

“No time!” Is the only explanation Teia gives. He didn’t need much of one, anyways. They scramble backward through the narrowing street – the door to the old Shadow Dragon hideout is visible and looks relatively intact to his relief – while throwing the occasional spell or dagger at the horde on their heels, and dodging falling debris loosened by the blight’s wrath.

Lucanis scans the head of the small group they’re ushering and finds his target; Fiori’s golden curls whipping around as Viago spins her away from another ghoul throwing their heavy, clawed hands at them. There are too many of them swarming at his friend.

“Teia, Viago.” Lucanis breathlessly nods toward them. She doesn’t give him any sign that she’s heard him other than shooting in that direction. Lucanis keeps at the tail of the group as they begin to shove their way through the doorway to the eluvian. It’s a frustratingly slow process, but as soon as he’s close enough to his fellow crows, he flings himself into their fight. Heavy pounding on the ground – nearing quickly – tells him they didn’t shake the Hurlock from earlier.

Lashing out at a ghoul’s throat, he nearly cuts its head clear off and then buries his other sword to the hilt in another’s chest. He can hear the hurlock’s large axe scraping the ground to their right and starts as another large blight tendril bursts from the buildings across the way. It would crush the hideout – and the eluvian – to smithereens in one blow. They would all lose their way out of this mess.

“We need to go! Now!” Lucanis grabs Fiori by the hood of her cloak and yanks her to him. He runs, with her held tightly under his arm, to the dark doorway.

“Viago!” She cries, trying to push away from him, but he has her in an iron hold.

“He will follow. You need out.” Lucanis growls at her, navigating the overrun and darkened rooms; the eluvian’s glowing and shifting glass is a welcome sight. Neve is hurrying people through and meets his eye as soon as he steps into the room. As the last of the civilians disappear, he guides Fiori to it.

“No! I can’t go until Viago and Teia-“

“Go!” Lucanis hisses at her, almost desperately. If Fiori died while under his watch, Ise would never forgive him; he couldn’t live with that, whether he sees her again or not.

“I won’t!” She tears his hand off her cloak and looks toward the door with a contorted and twisting tearstained face. “Viago-“

“Go!” Lucanis takes her by the collar this time, and meets her eyes with a blaze in his, and then he shoves her through. He’d apologize later. Neve looks to the doorway again, “Go, Neve.” Lucanis urges her through, and she listens.

“Mierda!” He hears Teia curse after there’s a huge rumble and the ground shakes beneath Lucanis’ feet. The curly haired elf slams into the doorway, with Viago close behind and guiding her forward.

“Quickly!” Lucanis yells, shifting his feet and casting his eyes up to the reddening sky; just as it did at Tearstone.

Lucanis steps through the eluvian with Teia and Viago. The sound of the blights screeching and the animalistic gargles that come with darkspawn is gone in an instant. But, with the stillness of the Crossroads, comes the wails from the people they’ve managed to get out. He counts the heads.

Ten. Only ten managed to make it out with them.

“No!” The scream has Lucanis drawing his blades again, but he stops short when he finds the older woman leaned over the body of a boy of fifteen, if he had to guess. Stepping closer, Lucanis notices the boys hand clasped over his stomach, and the blood trickling over his pale skin… Skin with black already beginning to cut jagged patterns - like a million lightning strikes – just below his skin. Lucanis’ stomach twists and somehow his frown deepens.

“He’s been tainted.” Viago quietly says, coming to stand next to him. Lucanis nods, and his eyes flutter.

“We can take him to the Wardens and see if they can perform the Joining for him. It’s his only chance.” Neve is quick to be at the mother’s side, one hand on her shoulder, and the other reaches to hover over the boy’s wound; a milky blue light emanates around her hand in a sphere. His struggling slows, and his rapid panting slows; but not enough. “We need to move if we are to help him.” Neve urges the mother, and the woman seems to snap out of her trance. Entire body visibly shaking, she nods.

“Yes. We’ll get you to the Wardens, darling. You’ll be okay,” Her quaking hands brush the sweat soaked, sandy brown hair away from his forehead, “We’ll save-“

“No.” The boy stops his mother and shakes his head. “No, mom. I don’t- I can’t…”

“Yes, you can. I promise-“

“I can’t live like that mom.” His face twists with a sob, “I would rather die.”

“You… you’re not thinking clearly right now. Once you undergo the Joining, you’ll feel better!” She begins to sit him up, but the boy pushes away from her.

“Mom, please… I cannot live like that.” The boy keeps his mother’s stare, and Lucanis’ own eyes sting as he watches her shoulders sag and her head fall.

“It will be painful.” Neve tells him, almost in a whisper. Then, the boy’s eyes are on Lucanis. Why is he looking at him? He can’t help the slight shake of his head as the boy’s eyes trail down to the sword in Lucanis’ hand, making his expression fall, along with his heart.

Lucanis can hear the mothers sobbing worsen. He sees the boy turn back to his mother. He says something. His smile is soft, chin wobbling. His mother’s hand wipes at the tears falling from his blackening eyes, but really, she just smudges the blood and dirt around. She kneels and places a long kiss on his forehead… Lucanis wonders what that feels like.

The kiss of a mother on the forehead.

Neve and Teia’s shadows shift over the boy as they take his mother by the shoulders and gently pry her from him. She holds him until they part at the fingertips. Again, he meets the boy’s eyes. Viago slaps Lucanis heavily on the shoulder, walks to kneel at the boy’s side, and takes up his hand.

Lucanis kneels. The boy looks from Viago to him and then smiles at Lucanis. The dagger is heavy in his hand…

“Mercy, please.” It’s but a broken whisper on dying lips.

Prev | Ch 4: Mercy, I Beg (In progress)

[hbyrde36]

Times Like These (The Anniversary Edition)

CH 1 CH 2 Ch 3 Ch 4

Chapter 5: Under Pressure

WC: 7049 | AO3 link

TW: Mentions of past homophobic abuse

“I- I think so?” Robin said.

Eddie shook her gently. “Robin, the two of you basically share a brain at this point. If you think you know, then you know.”

“Okay, yeah, I'm on it!” She said, nodding rapidly as she ran from the room. He could hear her feet flying all the way up the stairs and into Steve’s bedroom.

Eddie cradled Steve’s face in his shaking hands. “Stay with me Stevie, please? Just hold on.”

Robin came charging back into the kitchen less than a minute later, cassette in hand. “I’ve got the tape, but I can’t find his Walkman!”

“Shit.” Eddie cursed, remembering too late that it was probably out in Steve’s car like it had been in the last loop, but they couldn't risk wasting more precious time retrieving it. “Just put it in the living room stereo and crank the volume.” 

In seconds a familiar baseline began to filter in from the other room. 

🎵Pressure pushin' down on me🎵

🎵Pressin' down on you, no man ask for🎵

🎵Under pressure that brings a building down🎵

Eddie almost had to laugh.

“Under Pressure? Little on the nose don’t you think, big boy?” He murmured to Steve under his breath. 

Robin rushed back in, worrying her bottom lip as the song continued to play.

🎵Watchin' some good friends screamin' Let me out🎵

🎵Pray tomorrow gets me higher🎵

🎵Pressure on people, people on streets🎵

Eddie kept waiting for Steve to snap out of it, for there to be some kind of reaction but there was nothing. He wasn’t responding, but he wasn’t floating either—It was the only indication he had that they were doing something right. It would have been reassuring except that the song was almost over and he didn’t know what would happen when it reached its end and they were forced to stop and rewind the tape.

“Come on, come on, come on.” Robin chanted, staring intently at Steve’s face, looking–just as Eddie was–for any small change. “Why isn't it working, Eddie? Why won’t he snap out of it?” 

He didn’t reply to her, he had no answers to give. All he could do was plead with Steve, beg him not to leave them like this. 

“We can’t do this without you. You gotta come back, man.” Eddie’s voice cracked, tears threatening to spill down his face but he forced them back. “You have to fight your way out.”

Robin latched onto his back, adding her own cries to his plea. “Don’t do this to me Dingus, please. I’m not raising these kids without you. We need you—I need you. ”

Eddie’s heart sank as the final notes of the song played, but just when the rhythmic snaps started to fade out Steve sucked in a sharp breath, and his beautiful eyes returned to normal. He pitched forward hard as he came back to himself, but Eddie was right there to catch him and slowly lowered them both to the floor, half cradling the other boy in his lap.

Steve whimpered, letting out the most heartbreaking sound as he wrapped his arms around Eddie's shoulders, holding onto him right back—gripping him hard enough to hurt. Eddie couldn't have cared less, he’d take the bruises. No force on this earth could have made him let go of Steve right then, or vice versa.

“It's over.” Eddie said softly, reaching for what he could say to reassure Steve that he was safe now. “You’re on the floor in your kitchen with me and Robin. I don’t know what he showed you, but I promise you it wasn’t real.”

Robin fell to her knees beside them and added herself to the pile, her body shaking with the force of her own sobs. Steve removed one of his hands from its vice grip on Eddie and grabbed onto her as they all rocked lightly together. 

“This is real. Me and Eddie are real. We’ve got you.” Robin added.

Eddie whispered words of comfort into Steve's hair over and over again. There was nothing else he could do for him except to just be there. He knew Vecna liked to take your worst moments and twist them into something even more awful and devastating—to use your worst fears against you, and Steve had lived through a lifetime’s worth of trauma in just the last few years alone, leaving him with no shortage of bad memories to choose from.

The three of them remained huddled together on the floor for a long time, until Steve finally quieted. Still, Eddie didn’t want to let him go. He was sure Robin didn’t want to either, but the clock was ticking. There was no guarantee that Vecna would lay off for any long period of time. They needed to get Steve’s music back on, now, and get him a tape made as soon as possible.

Robin seemed to arrive at the same conclusion he did, and pulled back from the group hug swiping roughly at her face. “He- he’s gonna need his Walkman. Steve, where–” 

“His car,” Eddie answered for him. “I’m sorry… I didn’t remember until–”

“It’s okay.”

Robin sat back on her heels and looked thoughtfully between the two of them—Eddie looking back at her, and Steve still hiding his face in Eddie’s chest. She nodded to herself once and stood up, brushing herself off. 

“You got him?” She asked.

He felt terrible. He knew he should be the one to go. Get the Walkman, do the tape, all of it, and leave the two best friends to console each other, but this was his worst fear come to life—that his changing something had resulted in someone else getting hurt. It should have been him, not Steve.

“Yeah, Buckley. I got him.”

Robin bent down and pressed a kiss to the top of Steve’s head, pausing in silent debate for a moment before doing the same to Eddie, and went to take care of business. 

Finally Steve sat up a little, no longer needing to be completely held up. His eyes were red-rimmed, swollen, and he looked exhausted. 

“I know you’re not okay, so I won’t ask stupid questions, but is there anything I can do?” Eddie asked. 

“Help me up?”

“Sure thing, sweetheart.” Eddie said, the pet name slipping off his tongue so easily and naturally that he almost didn’t realize he’d said it. Not that it mattered given the circumstances. He didn't have the energy to care just then anyway. There would be plenty of time to panic about it later. 

With help Steve managed to get to his feet, though it was obvious that he was still a bit shaky. 

“Think you can make it to the couch, or do you want me to carry you?” Eddie asked. He honestly intended for it to come off as a joke, but even as he said it he knew he would have done it had Steve asked—had he needed him to.

Steve rolled his eyes but that didn’t stop Eddie from noticing the slight flush creeping up his neck. “I’ll manage.”

The blush continued to spread, pinkening his cheeks as Eddie led him into the other room with a guiding hand on his lower back for support. 

Once he’d seen Steve safely to a seat, Eddie joined Robin on the floor where she was surrounded by blank tapes looking lost, which was fair. The Harrington's sound system was a little intimidating if you were only used to a standard radio. He patiently showed her what the kids had done the night before to make Chrissy and Max's tapes—where to load each cassette, which buttons to press, and in no time they were making progress on Steve’s very own mixtape.

Steve was quiet while they worked, and the longer it took the more he seemed to withdraw into himself as he stared off into space. 

-

Just over two hours later it was done, both sides of the cassette were full of back-to back-recordings of Under Pressure. 

Robin excitedly ejected the tape and popped it into the portable player, walking it over to Steve and placing the headphones over his ears herself. He took the player from her with a weak smile and pulled his knees to his chest, going right back to gazing at nothing as the music played.

She caught Eddie’s eye and the two of them shared a worried look. He opened his mouth to say something reassuring, though he didn’t know what, when the sound of the front door hit their ears.

It had to be the girls coming back from their mission to find Fred, but the noise still put him on alert, and he only relaxed when he heard Nancy—already talking before she and Chrissy had even rounded the corner to the living room.

“We couldn’t find Fred. He wasn’t home, and neither were his parents. We checked the diner, the library, even stopped at the school in case he went in to work on the paper. I just can’t imagine where…” She trailed off, finally looking up and spotting Steve tucked into the corner of the couch.

Chrissy went pale as she noticed him too—her hands flying up to touch the wires of her own headphones hanging loosely around her neck. “Oh my god, Steve, I- I'm so sorry. Are you okay?” 

“I’m alright.” Steve said, sitting up straighter and squaring his shoulders. 

It was as though Eddie could physically see him putting himself back together now that he had more of an audience, and he kind of hated that Steve felt like he had to be strong at all times. He should be allowed to fall apart if he needed to, and if he would allow it, Eddie would be right there to put him back together again.

“I’m sorry you couldn’t find your friend,” Steve continued. “Maybe Vecna won’t go for him now, considering how things have changed.” He waved a hand, motioning vaguely to himself.

He didn’t even sound bitter about it, that’s what fucked Eddie up the most, and of course he didn’t want anything bad to happen to anyone if they could avoid it, but if it came down to a relative stranger or Steve? Right or wrong, Eddie knew what his choice would be. 

“Steve, don’t…” Nancy began, but Robin quickly cut her off.

“Hey! So I was thinking… Why don’t we all go, and let the boys get some rest? My parents are expecting me home tonight anyway, and Nance I’m sure your dad is ready to kill the kids by now. Do you think you could give me and Chrissy a ride?”

A few hours ago Eddie would have been nervous at the prospect of being left completely alone in the house with Steve, but now he could have kissed Robin for jumping in like that. He also owed her one, again, for letting him be the one to stay with Steve. After the way he had tensed when Nancy and Chrissy walked through the door, it was clear he didn’t need the extra stress of so many eyes on him right now. 

“Yeah… if you’re sure you two will be okay here alone.” Nancy said, aiming the question at Steve who simply clenched his jaw and nodded. 

Chrissy looked down at the floor, shifting her weight from one foot to he other. “I’m still trying to avoid my parents.”

“No, um, I was thinking you could come home with me tonight?" Robin said quickly. "Buddy system, right? We should stick together.”

Nancy didn’t look too happy about any of it, but thankfully remained quiet as Robin said her goodbyes to Steve. The two friends hugged, sharing a brief whispered conversation, and if Robin’s face was sporting a few new tear tracks as they pulled apart, no one was going to call her on it. 

“I'll be right back,” Eddie assured Steve, before following after the three girls to walk them to the door. 

Nancy went right for the car after giving Eddie one last sidelong glance. Chrissy hesitated, throwing an apologetic smile his way before following after her. Robin lagged behind, pulling Eddie into a fierce hug. “He’s my best friend—just, promise me you’ll take care of him?”

“I promise.” Eddie said easily, hesitating before deciding to say more. “I– he means something to me too.”

“I noticed.” She said, giving him a knowing smile, and rushed off to the car before Nancy could get too impatient.

Eddie waited for their car to pull away before closing and locking the door, quickly returning to Steve's side. 

"Listen, uh-” He began, rubbing his suddenly sweaty palms on his pants. “I’m not gonna push you to talk about what you saw or anything, but I’m here for you if you do want to talk about it, or for anything really. I... care about you. I know that's—maybe that's weird for you and if it is I'm sorry. It’s just-” 

He trailed off for a moment, waving a hand through the air. “Time loop shit, y’know? We’ve been through a lot together even if you don’t remember it, and seeing you like that–"

The silence stretched between them for a minute with Eddie unable to finish his thought. 

"Thanks, Eddie. Really I... I don't.” Steve stuttered out after a while. “It’s not weird, its—nice, that you care. I don’t think I'm ready to talk about any of it yet? But um, when I am… it’s– I’m glad you’re here.”

Eddie nodded, relieved. He wondered what they should do now, what might make Steve feel a little better, bring him back to himself. Like earlier, he came back to food. Wayne was always trying to feed him when he had a bad day, and while this was maybe a lot worse than anything you’d call a bad day, a little nourishment certainly couldn’t hurt.

“Alright, come on.” He said finally, getting up from the couch and offering Steve a hand. 

“Where are we going?” Steve asked, letting Eddie pull him to his feet. 

“We haven’t eaten anything since this morning, and I kinda want to see what I can throw together in that fancy kitchen of yours.”

-

He sat Steve down on one of the stools pulled up to the counter, feeling eyes on his back as he flitted around the kitchen doing a thorough search of the refrigerator, freezer, and pantry to get a feel for what ingredients he had to play with.

At first Steve had tried to insist on helping, since Eddie was technically the guest here, but with a little convincing he seemed happy to watch with barely concealed amusement as Eddie worked.

He was pretty good at making something out of nothing, so the fact that the fridge was just on the wrong side of barren wasn’t a problem. 

“Do you like to cook?” Steve asked.

“Not really a matter of liking it, but yeah, I don't mind. My uncle works a lot so I've always tried to help out, then he went on the night shift and it was either this or starve. What about you?”

“I can cook a little. Got tired of takeout and frozen meals so I started trying a few recipes here and there. It’s fun, actually. I like chopping stuff.”

Eddie chuckled lightly. “Yeah, me too.”

Something about it did have him wondering though, and not for the first time, where Steve’s parents were. Obviously they were out of town right now, otherwise the party wouldn’t have had the run of the house all the time like this, but the way Steve was talking made it sound like they were around even less than Eddie had thought. He might have asked about it but he had a hunch that parents weren’t a happy topic for Steve, and he was determined to keep things light for now. 

“So, what are you making anyway?”

“Goulash? I don’t know if that’s really it’s name but that’s what Wayne always called it.”

There had been a single sad borderline freezer-burnt package of ground beef in the freezer. Not much on its own but add that to a box of noodles, a few cans of tomatoes, and some of those fancy rich people seasonings? And it was some good shit. A recipe he could make with his eyes closed and one hand tied behind his back.

It took maybe all of 20 minutes before their meal was ready, and to Eddie’s surprise they talked the whole time. Steve asked him more questions about the food he grew up with, and what sort of things he liked to make for himself now, and as the conversation flowed he seemed to return more and more to his usual self. 

Eddie scooped some of the delicious concoction into a couple bowls and plopped one down in front of Steve with a little bow, a move that drew the widest smile out of the other boy that he’d seen all day. 

He ate standing over the counter, which he often did even at home, but in this case it was just so he could keep looking at Steve.

“Where did you learn to play guitar?” Steve asked between inhaling forkfuls of pasta, somehow not growing sick of listening to Eddie babble on about himself.

“Self taught, mostly. Wayne got me this second hand acoustic the first birthday I had with him. I checked out some books for beginners from the library and figured out the basics that way, and then I just learned by listening, trial and error.”

Steve put his fork down, blinking up at him. “That’s… you’re kind-of incredible, Eddie.”

Heat rose to his cheeks instantly and he ducked his head, avoiding having to respond by taking a much-too-big bite of his food.

-

With full happy bellies they returned to the living room after cleaning up the remnants of Eddie’s culinary masterpiece. Steve looked even more exhausted than he had before, a side effect of the aforementioned culinary masterpiece no doubt, but when Eddie suggested he turn-in for the night early, the other boy insisted he was fine.  

“I hate all this sitting around waiting and not doing anything.” Steve huffed, plopping himself down heavily on the couch.

“We did manage to arm ourselves, I'd say that’s pretty good work for one day.”

“I know, and I know I’m the one that told the kids we needed to wait to make a move until everyone was together, but—it just doesn’t usually happen like this. When this shit comes back it’s always go-go-go right from the start. There isn’t all this time to sit around and… think.”

Eddie could understand that. If he wasn’t using so much of his energy in worrying about Steve right now, he’d probably be feeling more antsy about the lack of progress on a plan himself, but as it was, he was happy they had a little time to just breathe.

“Let’s find something to do besides think then, yeah? What sorta movies you got laying around here? Must be something worthwhile about working at Family Video.”

Steve gestured to the cabinets on the other side of a large built-in entertainment center, the one opposite the stereo system they’d been using earlier. Inside was a plastic shopping bag loaded up with VHS tapes. Eddie quickly flipped through the titles, unimpressed with the selection until he reached the last one.

“Goonies?! Dude, that literally just came out on video!”

Steve shrugged, smiling sheepishly. “I may have snatched a copy before they went out on the shelves the other day. For the kids.”

Eddie grinned. “Screw the kids, we’re definitely watching this.”

They barely got past the opening credits before Steve fell asleep, his head falling to rest on Eddie's shoulder as his entire body relaxed. For the next hour and 54 minutes Eddie didn’t dare move a muscle, not wanting to disturb Steve when he’d finally allowed himself to rest. On a more selfish note, the situation allowed him to enjoy the feeling of Steve's body against his own without having to feel self-conscious or guilty about it. 

Unfortunately, the movie had to end eventually and then Eddie had no more excuses. He roused Steve as gently as he could, lightly nudging his shoulder until he blinked awake with bleary eyes. 

“Come on big boy, let’s get you to bed.” Eddie whispered.

Steve nodded absently, allowing Eddie to pull him to his feet again, just as he had earlier, except this time once he was vertical Steve didn’t let go—instead linking their fingers together as he held on tight to Eddie’s hand.

They had touched far more than this only a few hours ago, but for some reason feeling Steve's warm palm pressed so purposefully against his own made Eddie's breath hitch, and he froze in surprise. 

“You’re coming too, aren't you?” Steve said through a huge yawn, tugging on Eddie’s arm when he didn’t move right away. 

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” Eddie replied in a daze. 

-

He thought Steve would drop right back off to sleep once they were laying down in the comfort of his bed, but as they faced each other, he could see the other boy's eyes shining in the dark—reflecting the dim glow of a streetlight peeking in through a crack in the blinds.

“It felt like I was stuck in there for a long time.” Steve said after a while, his fingers picking nervously at a spot on the sheet beneath them. “I know it was only a few minutes… but it felt like so much more. He showed me Robin getting beaten up by the Russians at Starcourt. When it happened for real, I was able to keep their attention on me most of the time, but in there–”

Steve stopped himself mid sentence. It was clear he was fighting back tears and Eddie didn't hesitate to offer his hand, laying it out between them on the sheets. Steve took it immediately, fiddling with Eddie’s rings as he continued to talk.    

“Then it was the kids—Dustin. There were these tunnels, and I had gotten the rest of them out but he… The demodogs were coming too fast. All I could do was wrap myself around him and hope that was enough. Back then we got lucky, the dogs just ran off right past us for some reason, but he changed it. Vecna, he… I saw–”

He broke off with a sob, his whole body shaking with it. Eddie scooped him up into his arms, running soothing hands along his back. 

“The dogs, they- they tore him apart.”

Steve clung to Eddie like a lifeline, just as he had in the kitchen, burying his face in Eddie's chest as he went on. “He also showed me my parents. It was nothing compared to watching Dustin or Robin being hurt, but god Eddie... It was like hearing every shitty thing they’ve ever said to me all at once. How much of a failure and a disappointment I am. Too dumb, too soft, too sensitive. How I could never be the man they wanted me to be.”

“You know that’s all horseshit, right? You don’t believe any of that stuff, do you?” Eddie said.

Steve only sniffled, shrugging with his face still hidden, pressed against Eddie’s borrowed shirt.

“Hey, none of that.” Eddie leaned away, gently tilting Steve's head up to look at him.  “You are an amazing person, Steve Harrington. You are kind and loyal and brave and absolutely selfless, literally to a fault sometimes. You’ve been saving those kids—shit, you’ve been helping save this whole town for fucking years. Even without all that, if your parents can’t see how lucky they are to have you for a son, then fuck them. Seriously.”

-

Like the morning before, Steve was gone again when Eddie woke up, but this time he wasn’t in the bathroom.

He rushed down the stairs in a panic, worried about what might have happened in the night. What if the Walkman’s batteries had run out. Eddie had flipped the tape for him once in the middle of the night when he’d woken briefly and realized it was a little too quiet, but each side only ran for so long. 

Maybe they should have set an alarm.

In his distraught state, he didn’t smell the coffee or the bacon cooking, only noticing the aroma when he skidded down the hallway on socked feet to find Steve in the kitchen making them breakfast. 

The wave of relief nearly sent him to the floor, and he had to grab onto the wall to keep himself upright. Steve had his headphones on and was mercifully facing away so he didn’t notice Eddie’s ridiculous overreaction. 

When Steve did finally turn and saw him standing there, the look that spread over his face threatened to finish the job and put Eddie on his ass. There were no walls strong enough to keep him from falling when the insurmountable force that was Steve Harrington’s smile was aimed at him like that. 

In a role reversal from the night before, it looked like it was Eddie’s turn to watch while Steve cooked for him. 

He wanted to turn the tables in other ways too, by asking Steve more about himself like he'd done for him the night before. The problem was, everything Eddie could think of that he wanted to ask would inevitably lead to topics he didn't want to bring up while Steve looked so light and happy. 

A hundred little questions died on his tongue as he shot each one down for one reason or another. 

Somehow sensing his struggle Steve interrupted his thoughts. “Eddie, I'm okay. You don’t have to walk on eggshells around me…. I can tell there's something you want to say.”

“Sorry.” Eddie said, wondering when Steve had gotten so good at reading him. “It's nothing specific really I just-” He shrugged. “I dunno, you let me talk your ear off about myself last night and I guess I wanted to do the same for you. I want to know more about you—the real shit you don’t learn through the high school rumor mill, but I didn’t want to bring up anything that would bum you out.”

Steve nodded in understanding. “All roads lead to the Upside Down. This—stuff, it kinda takes over your life once you’re in it. There’s not many days that go by where I don’t think about it, at least a little. It’s okay. Go on, what do you want to know?”

Everything, was the honest answer, but in the interest of starting somewhere Eddie asked, “Why didn’t you leave? Go to college or just move or something, why did you stay here after graduation?”

“I always planned to go to college. I’d even filled out the application and everything. I was still working on my essay when it all started up again the second time. In the middle of it all I got the shit beat out of me by Billy Hargrove, my first serious concussion, and suddenly it just didn’t seem important anymore.” 

Steve blew out a long breath, plucking the last two pieces of bacon out of the pan with a pair of tongs and adding it to the pile already draining on paper towels. He was quiet as he plated up the food, sliding one of them across the counter to Eddie before finally continuing.  

“I was supposed to go to business school, get a degree, and work for my dad—at least that’s what he wanted me to do.”

“What do you want?” Eddie asked. 

Steve smiled sadly.

“To make it to 21.”

“Jesus, Steve.”

“Sorry.” He said, dropping his gaze to the floor. “I don't know. I guess, I've never really thought about what I wanted. Only what was expected of me.”

“What about when you were a kid? What did little Stevie Harrington want to be when he grew up?”

“Promise you won’t laugh?” Steve asked.

“Cross my heart.”

“An astronaut.”

Eddie’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

He would have expected something very different, though nothing less grand— professional athlete of some kind maybe? It was a pleasant surprise though, and he felt like he’d uncovered Steve’s nerdy little secret. It was kinda hot. 

“I was only like two years old, but I remember everyone gathering around the TV to watch the moon landing, and then seeing the footage again when we learned about it in school. I thought it was the coolest job, getting to explore something new, to see and touch things no one else ever had before. I know I'm not smart enough for NASA, I figured that out pretty early on, But yeah, that was my first big dream.”

“There’s lots of different kinds of smart, Steve. And for what it's worth I think you’d have made a great astronaut. NASA only wishes they could have someone as strong and fearless as you.”

It wasn’t until after they’d finished breakfast that Eddie realized it had been almost 24 hours since they’d sent the kids packing to Mike’s house.

“I’m surprised that Dustin and Co haven't knocked down the door yet. Do you think Nancy told them… about yesterday?”

“She did. She uh, also told them to give me some space today unless there was an emergency.”

“Huh. That was nice of her.”

“Yeah.”

Part of Eddie wanted to just come out and ask. The more he saw them interact, the more confused he was about whatever was or wasn’t going on between Steve and Nancy. Half the time Steve just seemed stressed and uncomfortable around her but Eddie couldn’t tell if that was only due to the whole exes thing, or if it was because he still had feelings for her. But somehow, even after everything else they’d opened up to each other about, it felt like a step too far, and he didn’t want to accidentally make things weird between them. 

They spent the rest of the day being blissfully lazy, which again felt so strange in the middle of everything, but it was also just what Eddie needed. It was nice to have a break from it all, to feel normal for once even if it was only temporary, even if they were playing pretend. 

Reality, of course, came crashing down on them just as they decided to turn in for the night, when Robin called to let them know Fred’s body had been found earlier in the day in the woods behind his house. 

It was a blow for sure, and Eddie felt awful for not doing more to help when Nancy had suggested it, but there was nothing they could do about it now. He’d managed to save Chrissy, and that would have to be enough.

-

“How come you live with your uncle?” Steve asked, a little out of the blue as they were getting into bed. 

They’d both been quiet since getting the bad news from Robin, and that might have been part of why Eddie was so taken aback by the question, or maybe it was just because the answer wasn’t a happy one. 

Steve quickly realized he’d accidentally struck a nerve and immediately tried to backpedal. “Sorry, I was just curious, I didn’t think. I- I shouldn’t have asked that.” 

“No, it’s okay. I mean, you already know my deepest darkest secret so–” Eddie shrugged, trying to play it off like it was no big deal, but Steve wasn’t buying it. They’d grown too close for that now. 

It was a painful story, and not something Eddie usually like to even think about, let alone talk about, but he realized with a start that he did want to. For better or worse he wanted Steve to know him, all of him. 

“My mom left when I was five. Couldn’t blame her, my Dad is a real mean bastard. I thought that maybe one day she’d come back for me but… Anyway, I did my best to keep my head down, stay on his good side. I was nine when he started taking me out on jobs, I got real good at hot-wiring. He loved that his son was turning out just like him.” 

Eddie scoffed, the very thought of him becoming anything like that garbage dump of a human being was disgusting, laughable. He’d played a part, acted the way Al Munson expected a son of his to act out of self preservation, nothing more. 

“I hated it, but it kept him off my back for a while. A couple years later I skipped school one day with a friend, who also happened to be my very first crush. I thought my dad was out for the day. We weren’t even doing anything, just hanging out listening to music, which is why I didn’t hear the old man come home. I don’t know how long he watched us from the doorway, but he must have seen something on my face that tipped him off. Maybe he’d already suspected it and this was his confirmation, I don't know. When I finally noticed him standing there, he- he looked so angry, and I just knew that he knew—that he’d seen.”

Eddie rolled over, staring resolutely at the ceiling. He’d never told the full truth of that day to anyone before. Wayne knew the most, not every detail, but enough that he’d sooner kill his own brother than to ever speak to him again. 

“My friend left, I’m sure he just thought I was in trouble for skipping. I don’t remember much of what happened right after that, it’s all a bit of a blur, but I know he beat the absolute shit out of me. I woke up later that night on the floor. One of my eyes was swollen shut and there was hair and blood stuck to the carpet all around me. He’d taken a pair of clippers to my head. Looking back, I know I was lucky he hadn’t killed me but in the moment I was just so mad that he’d cut my stupid hair. It was long, not as long as it is now but he’d hated it, thought it made me look like a girl, or a queer.” 

Eddie let out a burst of humorless laughter, the sound wetter than he’d expected it to be, from the tears he only just realized were streaming down his face. He rubbed at his cheeks absently and cleared his throat. 

“I’d only met Wayne a few times, he and my dad never really got along, but he’d always been nice to me. I knew where he lived, so I shoved a few things into a bag and hitchhiked to Hawkins. He took me in, no questions asked. Dad got arrested on a drug charge a few weeks later, wound up going to prison, been there ever since.”

“Can I hold you?” Steve asked, sounding as though he’d been crying too and Eddie realized he’d been hovering there for a while, unsure if his touch would be welcome. Given the story, it was understandable, and incredibly thoughtful and sweet of him to check first.  

Eddie nodded, allowing Steve to pull him into the circle of his arms, and couldn’t think of a time where he’d felt safer or more comforted.  

“I’m so sorry that happened to you. I’m glad you had someone like your uncle to run to, he sounds like a really great guy.”

“Yeah, he’s the best. Don’t know what I’d do without him.”

-

Eddie woke up surrounded by warmth. He vaguely remembered falling asleep while Steve held him, and was surprised to find himself in the same position, as if neither of them had moved during the course of the night. 

His heart began to race, and almost immediately he was filled with a deep sense of dread. Was this it? Had they finally gone too far? It was one thing to comfort each other in the throes of a panic attack, or while taking an unpleasant stroll down memory lane, but it was something else entirely to wake up with another dude’s face pressed into your neck.

He shifted, wondering what the odds were that he could disentangle himself without waking the other boy up. It didn’t seem likely but he had to–

“Morning,” Steve said, with absolutely no trace of sleepiness in his voice. 

–try. Shit.

Okay, so Steve was awake—may have been for a while. No need to freak out about that or wonder how and why he was so comfortable cuddling this closely with a male friend. Nope, Eddie was not going to think about or read into that at all, because that way lay madness.

Instead he made the perfectly sane decision to wrench himself out of Steve’s grasp and scramble off the bed, intent on locking himself in the bathroom for some as-yet-to-be-determined amount of time. 

But, before he could make it to that door, there was a knock on the other one. 

“Hey Dinguses, just wanted to give you a heads up that you’ve got a full house downstairs so, y’know, join us when you’re ready.” Robin said loudly through the wood, her footsteps retreating down the hall quickly once Steve shouted back that he’d heard. 

“I guess our day of rest is officially over.” Steve muttered, stretching as he flung the covers off, and said nothing about Eddie’s dramatic dismount from the bed. 

He got up, maintaining eye contact as he pulled his shirt off, depositing it in the hamper before pulling a new one out of the drawer. 

Finally Steve looked away, slipping past and into the bathroom leaving Eddie staring after him dumbstruck with his mouth hanging open wondering what the fuck was going on.

- 

Still half in shock and questioning his reality, Eddie followed Steve down the stairs to join the rest of the party, only for the phone to start ringing as they hit the bottom step. 

Steve grabbed his hand, as if it was the most natural thing in the world and pulled him down the hall, past the kitchen, and into a room that looked like an office where he picked up the call. 

He couldn’t gather much from Steve’s side of the conversation. Partially because he said very little other than—“Okay,” “I will,” and “yes, I understand”—and partially because Steve was still holding his hand!!

Steve smiled brightly as he hung up the phone. “I meant to tell you yesterday but with everything it slipped my mind. You remember Hopper, right?”

“Yeah, um, didn’t he die in the fire at the mall?” Eddie said, struggling a little to focus on the current topic. 

Steve gave him a significant look and, oh—right. He remembered now, the fire that wasn't just a fire.

“The chief was mixed up in all this Upside Down shit too, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah, he’d been in it from the beginning. He got killed in the blast when Joyce closed the Russian gate under the mall, except… maybe he didn’t? According to Joyce, Hop's been in a goddamn Russian prison for the last 8 months. She got a ransom note a couple days ago, that’s why she’s not coming here right away. She and this guy Murray are in Alaska right now trying to get him out.”

“That’s amazing!” Eddie said, and he meant it too. They could do with a little good news for a change. He and the chief hadn’t always seen eye-to-eye but he was a decent guy, for a cop.

Steve's smile dropped suddenly.

“What is it?” Eddie asked.

“Yeah, just—what if she can’t get him out? What if they hurt him in there? I know what it's like to be tortured by these guys and that was only for a day. They’ve had him for months.”

Eddie squeezed his hand. “I wish I could tell you it’ll be alright, but the truth is I just don’t know. In the past loops we could never reach them. I guess this explains why if she was off trying to rescue Hopper.”

Steve squeezed back. “She asked me not to tell anyone, especially the kids, not until he’s out of there and safe, but I thought you should know. Just in case.”

-

They finally joined the others who had taken over again like they fucking owned the place. It was a full house, everyone was buzzing in anticipation of Jonathan, Will, and El’s arrival. When asked about the phone call Steve only said that it was Joyce and she’d just dropped the others off at the airport. A small but necessary lie.

It felt good that things were finally happening. Obviously Eddie had been enjoying all the downtime with Steve, but there was always that lingering worry in the background, like a dark cloud hanging over their heads. Wondering what would happen next, if they would win, if he would survive. If it would stick this time or if he was doomed to keep looping back forever. 

The afternoon went by in a flash with all the commotion and before long it was time for Nancy and Mike to leave for the airport to pick up team California. 

The expected time of their return came and went, souring the excitement of the day.

It was shaping up to be another big family sleepover night, which was just as well. With Nancy and Mike not having returned yet, stress was at an all-time high and it was probably best that everyone stay under the same roof until they knew what was going on. 

Steve kept reminding them all that it could be nothing. Flights got delayed all the time, for all kinds of reasons, it didn’t necessarily mean something bad had happened.

It would have been a solid excuse, if only any of them believed it. 

Over 4 hours after Nancy and Mike had left, the phone finally rang. It was them, but it was not good news. It had taken time and a lot of persuading on Nancy’s part but she’d finally gotten someone from the airline to talk to her. The plane the others were due to come in on had left Lenora on time and landed in Indianapolis as scheduled. Jonathan, Will, and El–Jane had even checked in for the flight, but when the plane took off from California none of them were on it.  

Chapter 6

Special thanks to @penny00dreadful for being the best beta, friend and cheerleader.

Reblogs are always appreciated and if you want to be tagged, just let me know! I'd be more than happy to do so 💜

Taglist: @hitlikehammers @pearynice @cranberrymoons @thoroughlycollected @blubblesandink @finntheehumaneater @brbsoulnomming @estrellami-1 @hellion-child @mentallyundone @manda-panda-monium @spicysix @kikidoesfanfic @dreamwatch @lawrencebshoggoth @stillfullofshit @lil-gremlin-things @mamafaithful

[helmetjellyfish]

first person pronouns & honorifics for magmell main cast and then some

edit log:

10/27 - updated Okijirou's section under Shinya and vice versa. these lean more towards "what they call each other" than honorifics/titles, but one of them does have some fun trivia attached to it.

11/2 - updated Ryou’s personal pronouns. forgot to include that he uses “watashi” when he’s closeted.

—

so kuragebunch (the website the manga is hosted on) is celebrating its 11th anniversary, and as part of the festivities all chapters of the japanese raws (except for ch. 51) are currently free to read until 10/28 11:59AM JST. i figured i'd take advantage of that and put together a chart of the first person pronouns and honorifics that the characters use in japanese. here it is as an image.

the characters have been divided into four categories: magmell (koutarou, minato, nagisa, shizuka, asahi, ran, haruno, ryou, natsuhiko/deputy director); the fishermen (shinya, okijirou/oki); the parents (kouyou, asumi, nagiko); and other (mahiro, naru, mikako, seira). a blank space means they have never directly referred to that character in conversation before, at least not by their name/title. multiple names/titles listed for a character means that all are used interchangeably unless indicated otherwise.

criteria for selecting characters was 1) having a full name, 2) having made at least two appearances*, and 3) having been featured on the cast page and/or having interacted with at least two other characters who already qualify. ex: seira counts because she was on the vol. 8 cast page and appears in ch. 30/32/40/41-42, naru counts because he's talked to both oki and shinya and appears in ch. 12/21/43, but ren and namikazu do not qualify.

*for the sake of convenience, "one" appearance can be defined as either a) showing up once in a single-chapter story or b) showing up in both chapters of a double-chapter story.

i'll also be formatting it as a list under the readmore, in case that's easier to view! formatting will be as such:

Category

Character A

Self: "(Personal Pronoun)"

Character B: (What Character A calls Character B)

fair warning that this will be very, very long. here we go!

Magmell

Tenjou Koutarou

Self: "Boku"

Minato: Director ("Kanchou"), Minato-kanchou, Minato-san (Starts using in ch. 14)

Nagisa: Nagisa-chan

Shizuka: Shizuka-san

Asahi: Asahi-san

Ran: Ran-kun

Haruno: Doctor ("Sensei"), Haruno-sensei

Ryou: Ryou-kun

Natsuhiko: Deputy Director ("Fuku-kanchou")

Shinya: Shinya-san

Okijirou: Okijirou-san

Kouyou: Dad ("Otou-san" [Young], "Tou-san" [Present])

Asumi: Mom ("Kaa-san")

Mahiro: Mahiro-kun

Mikako: Mikako-san

Osezaki Minato

Self: "Ore"

Koutarou: Koutarou

Nagisa: Nagisa

Shizuka: Shizuka

Asahi: Asahi

Ran: Ran-kun

Haruno: Haru

Ryou: Chibata-kun

Natsuhiko: Natsuhiko-san

Kouyou: Kouyou

Asumi: Asumi-san

Nagiko: Nagiko

Osezaki Nagisa

Self: "Nagisa" (Third person. This is common in small children)

Koutarou: Koutarou-kun (Written only in hiragana. Likely also to reflect her young age)

Minato: Daddy ("Papa")

Ran: Ran-chan (Written only in hiragana.)

Haruno: Ghost Man ("Obake no Oji-san")

Nagiko: Mommy ("Mama")

Nagaizumi Shizuka

Self: "Watashi"

Koutarou: Koutarou-kun

Minato: Director, Minato-kanchou, Minato-san

Nagisa: Nagisa-chan

Asahi: Asahi-san

Ran: Ran-chan

Haruno: Haru-san

Natsuhiko: Deputy Director

Mahiro: Mahiro

Yui Asahi

Self: "Boku" (Written only in katakana. I do not know the significance of this)

Koutarou: Tenjou-kun

Minato: Director, Minato-kanchou, Minato-san

Shizuka: Shizuka

Haruno: Haru-san

Dougashima Ran

Self: "Ore"

Koutarou: Koutarou

Minato: Minato-san

Nagisa: Nagisa

Shinya: Shinya-san

Haruno Izuho

Self: "Watashi"

Koutarou: Tenjou-kun

Minato: Minato-san

Nagisa: Nagisa-san

Ryou: Chibata-san (Initial), Ryou-kun (Present)

Natsuhiko: Deputy Director

Chibata Ryou

Self: "Suzu" (Young) [This is third person again], “Watashi” (Around his mother), "Ore" (Present)

Koutarou: Senpai (Initial), Koutarou-san (Present)

Minato: Director

Shizuka: Shizuka-san

Haruno: Doctor, Haruno-sensei

Seira: Seira

Mito Natsuhiko

Self: "Boku" (Young), "Watashi" (Present)

Koutarou: Koutarou-kun

Minato: Minato-kun

Nagisa: Nagisa-chan

Shizuka: Shizuka-san

Shinya: Shinya-kun

Okijirou: Oki-kun

Kouyou: Kouyou-kun

Fishermen

Shirahama Shinya

Self: "Ore"

Koutarou: Koutarou

Minato: Minato

Ran: Ran

Natsuhiko: Natsuhiko-san

Okijirou: Mister ("Oji-san") [Initial], Oki-san, Master ("Shishou"), Old man ("Jijii") [This is derogatory, like "old geezer"]

Naru: Naru

Sagara Okijirou

Self: "Ore"

Minato: Minato

Natsuhiko: Natsuhiko

Shinya: Kid ("Bouzu") [Initial; This is familiar/derogatory language, like "sonny". May be wordplay, since it's the same kanji as the fishing term "bonzes" from ch. 36], Shinya (Present)

Parents

Tenjou Kouyou

Self: "Boku"

Koutarou: Koutarou

Minato: Minato

Asumi: Asumi-san

Nagiko: Nagiko

Tenjou Asumi

Self: "Watashi"

Koutarou: Koutarou

Minato: Osezaki-san (Initial), Minato-san (Present)

Kouyou: Kouyou-kun

Mikako: Mikako-chan

Osezaki Nagiko

Self: "Watashi"

Minato: Minato-kun

Other

Uchiura Mahiro

Self: "Boku"

Koutarou: Mister ("Onii-san") [Initial], Koutarou-kun (Present)

Shizuka: Shizuka-san

Kitagawa Naru

Self: "Ore"

Shinya: Shinya

Okijirou: Oki-san

Suzuki Mikako

Self: "Watashi"

Koutarou: Tenjou-kun

Oomori Seira

Self: "Atashi"

Ryou: Chibata-san (Initial), Suzu (Until end of vol. 8 presumably)

feel free to let me know if i've missed anything or if there's any mistakes! i hope this was useful (or at least interesting) information to learn ^_^

[celestialiron]

Echoes of Courage: Chapter 8

Hi all! I'm sorry for the late update, a small update on life, with my new job & what I have to get done, just for now, updates for chapters might be a bit slow. Just until I can get everything else done with work & settle in before getting to edit & update each week. I wanted to let you guys know so that you're not disappointed with the slow updates once more!

With that said, I hope you all had a great weekend & that the rest of your week is great! ♥♪

Summary: Okay, it's time for the love experts(?) To step in with some advice for the most stubborn people ever!

(Prologue: Ch.1 - Ch.2 - Ch.3 - Ch.4 - Ch.5 - Ch.6 - Ch.7)

It was back to business with work and missions. Throughout the night, the brothers were out on a patrol, checking over the city for any threats, new or old.

Well, almost checking over the city.

“Guys, seriously?! We’re in the middle of patrolling!” Leo exclaimed, looking over at each of his brothers at what they were doing. Raph was barely looking around the city, most likely checking over Alexis’ place while texting her, Donnie seemed too distracted on finding recipes for Kira while going through whatever else he found while patrolling and Mikey was taking pictures, sending them to Sara. Rolling his eyes, Donnie answered from his corner of the rooftop, “You need to relax, Leo. Just because you’re not getting laid anymore, doesn’t mean we have to stop what we’re doing with our lives too,” “yeah Leo, relax! Even then, there’s nothing happening right now! You’re usually the one who also doesn’t take patrolling as seriously as usual too!” Mikey cut in, taking more photos of graffiti he secretly worked on and sending it to Sara. Gasping dramatically, Leo wasn’t really sure how to respond to either statements, both being completely true. “Raph, can you please talk to your brothers about this too?! You usually have my back on this!” All three looked towards their older brother, who was still on his phone, not paying attention to any of them. “Huh? What are you bozos talking about?” Smacking his forehead, Leo was at an odds, not knowing how to handle all of this. “C’mon guys, it’s only for a bit more and then we’ll be heading home!” All three giving Leo blank stares, he sighed before saying the next thing he knew would get their attention, “if we finish in the next five minutes, pizza’s on me. How about that?” Suddenly, everything else was forgotten and they were on track for patrolling, with the thoughts that Leo was finally paying for pizza. ‘God, I’ve really grown into this role, gotta bribe them with pizza at this point, huh.’ Leo thought, finally able to catch a couple more air time before going home, mentally crying for his wallet to buying pizza for his family. 

Though he thought it wasn’t noticeable, Leo had been acting a bit… crabby to say the least. 

It was the second week of September and Valeria had not responded to any of his messages. He tried to act as if nothing was happening, but he was really freaking out about it. Not only that, but he and Valeria had been secretly getting together in a “friends with benefits” kind of situation for months now and he was not liking the ignoring on her end. ‘If you want things to end, at least say it to my face. I can take it,’ were his thoughts, before crashing into a wall that was in the direction of Hueso’s, falling right into a trash bin. The three laughing at his pain, almost calling it karma for what he tried to “lecture” them on. Getting up, heading straight towards Run of the Mill, they made their way to grab their food before heading home. “Ooooh Señor Hueso!” All that could be heard was a defeated sigh, before the skeleton man came over to serve the brothers, “yes pepino, the usual I presume?” “You know it, bone man! Just add a couple more pies and we should be set!” Nodding his head, rang them up (to which Leo openly cried about his money) and waited for their pizzas to be done. “Oh by the way, Sara’s coming to sleep over so no funny business!” Mikey stated out of the blue, the older brothers just looking at him questionably. “So, you and Sara, huh? You guys dating or what?” Flustered, while accidentally dropping his phone, Mikey glared at his brothers, “NO, we are not dating Leo! We’re just friends!” Chuckling at his little brother's response, Leo continued his teasing. 

“Oh really? Then why do you two act the way that you do, hm?” 

“‘Cause it’s not weird for us, okay! She’s my best friend and yeah, I do like her but I’m not gonna just ruin our friendship if I know she doesn’t feel the same way!” Surprised by his response, Raph spoke up about it, “buddy, have you really tried talking to her about it? She seems like she’ll understand, no?” Sighing, Mikey just shook his head, “it wasn’t really direct, but I have asked if she was interested in the idea of dating anyone, but she wants to focus on school right now. I can understand that, it’s why I haven’t said anything, I don’t want her to feel pressured. Even if it hurts a bit, I don’t want her stressing.” “Ah yes, the tell signs of falling in love!” Turning around, Hueso stood shaking his head, almost as if remembering the feeling of being in love. “You should all take notes from the smallest one, with that he might just be able to win over that girl’s heart someday,” with that said, Mikey felt better about the decision he made a while ago when he first realized his feelings for Sara. “And you would know, wouldn’t you Hueso,” Leo said, trying to get under his nonexistent boneskin. “Yes I would pepino. Maybe instead of going from one fling to another like a floozy, you would be able to fall in love with the right person too,” he finished, smirking at Leo’s face.

Surprised by his response, the rest of them gave a good laugh at Leo, while he grumbled before taking the pizza, making a portal to head back home. Saying their goodbyes, the brothers were finally home, walking towards the kitchen to enjoy their dinner. “I’ll be in my room,” with that said, not eating anything, Leo headed straight towards his room, not noticing the stares of concern his brothers were looking over his way. Once in his room, heaving a big sigh, Leo laid on his bed, face plopping onto his pillow, wanting to forget about the world for just a bit. Once more, he checked his phone, wondering if Valeria would be texting him right back. The last few messages were sent from him a day ago and still no response.

Monday, 9:30pm

NeonLeon: hey, just checking in, you doing alright?

Thursday, 11:00pm

NeonLeon: wondering how it’s been… still haven’t heard back from you…

Sunday, 10:30pm

NeonLeon: just tell me if I did anything wrong Val, it’s been 2 weeks now!

Putting his phone away, he laid on his back, thoughts plaguing his mind, thinking of anything that could’ve happened for her to react this way. ‘It can’t be from staying over after we’re done, she made it clear that she wanted me to stay over a long time ago. And it couldn’t have been from that one day in the training room, she had apologized for it. But now we’re in this situation and I don’t even know how to fix it!’ Looking towards where his clothes were, was a very large navy blue hoodie that he had “borrowed” from Valeria, every chance to tease her about it when they were alone. ‘I don’t know, maybe she does want it to end. But this way? I thought she would at least talk to me about it, we’re supposed to be best friends! Then again, that’s not her style at all.’ His arm over his eyes, continuing his thoughts.

 ‘Of course I fell for the most stubborn headed person. I did this to myself huh?’  

Leo chuckled, feeling conflicted with all these emotions he’s been feeling. He knew he loved Valeria. Maybe when they first met, maybe when he tried to bring out the best of her when they were hanging out, maybe when March hit and he woke up to a dream of just them in it, he couldn’t even remember. So this one thing they were constantly doing every other day or every minute either of them were alone was amazing. Leo felt the feelings hit harder, when or how he wasn’t sure but all he knew was that he wanted to talk with Valeria about it, but her not responding or at least a one word answer would be something. And he wasn’t about to portal his way in her apartment, as much as he absolutely wanted to do just that.

“Knock knock, it’s your favorite little brother!” Mikey sang, with a plate of pizza in hand. Smiling while sitting up, Leo grabbed the plate from his hand, slowly eating it, “you’re my only little brother Michael,” “yeah, I just like to remind you guys of it sometimes!” Laughing while stuffing his face, Leo finished eating before questioning Mikey. “I have a feeling that you didn’t just come in here to bring me food, did you?” Slowly but surely, there was Mikey, with his Dr. Feelings glasses on and already sitting on a chair along with a notebook. “So, what troubles you Leo? How are you feeling today?” “No, no! I am NOT about to be lectured in my own room!” Leo shouted, before he could say anymore, Mikey got closer to him, an almost ominous tone to his voice, “either that or we do this out in the living room where our entire family can hear, pick your poison.” Swallowing his spit, he just nodded, sitting on his bed, awaiting whatever Mikey had in store for him. “GREAT, let’s continue shall we!” Cheerfully, he read off from his little notebook, “since I’m still waiting for an answer, I’m just going to list off what everyone’s said for the entirety of two weeks now. For the most part, we all agree that you’re emotions are all over the place and it’s slowly being taken out on us, to now bottling up your feelings again, which if I remember correctly, we’ve talk about you doing that years back and how bad it is for you,” giving his older brother a look, he continued, “as well, we’ve noticed the lack of you hanging out with Valeria, which maybe could be it or could it just be stemming the fact that you have feelings for her and you don’t know how to handle them?” 

Surprised by that last statement, Leo quickly cut him off, “what makes you say that?!” “oh please Leo, it’s super obvious, I’m surprised she hasn’t even noticed it either. The real question is, what are you gonna do about it? And how would this mysterious person you’ve been sleeping with feel about that too?” ‘Oh boy, if only you knew Mikey,’ Leo thought before finally saying his peace to “Dr. Feelings”, “First of all, I’m doing fine! I’m not hiding anything , I promise you that,” counting down on his fingers, with Mikey giving him a look before letting him continue, “Secondly, just because I’m more focused on missions doesn’t make it look like my emotions are all over the place! So sorry for that now and thirdly!” He paused, not really knowing what to answer for anything Mikey had just asked. Leo sighed, before rubbing the back of his head, unsure of what to say next. “Leo?” Concerned with the sudden silence, setting his glasses and notebook to the side, Mikey put a hand on his shoulder, making Leo look at him. “I don’t know what you’re going through, but just know that we’re here for you. Please, whatever it is you’re trying to hide from, tell us. Or at least be careful with it. We don’t want anything happening that’ll affect you,” he finished, giving Leo a side hug, letting him know things will be okay. Softly smiling, with one arm, hugged him back, understanding where he’s coming from. “I just have a question for you and this stays between us, got it?” Nodding his head, Mikey pulled back, sitting on the chair again, “say you were sleeping with someone for a while and you’ve been feeling a certain way for a long time and you wanted to talk to them about it but they’re not responding to anything you say. Do you keep trying or do you let them go?” Thinking over the scenario, he finally answered, making Leo doubt himself once more.

“Honestly, if maybe say a couple days or weeks of no response, I would try to move on. I know it hurts to think about, but it’ll only hurt myself too if I were to just keep waiting around for them to give me any sign. It’s also on them to figure their own feelings out too, whatever it is they’re going through, especially if say whoever this person is and I were sleeping around, it’ll only get worse too.”

With that said, thanking Mikey for the small talk they had before leaving his room, Leo stayed sitting on his bed, thinking things over between him and Valeria. Sighing heavily while getting up, Leo made his way over to the training room, in hopes working out will help clear his head and make a choice for himself.

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

“KNOCK KNOCK, I’M COMING IN!” Izra shouted before going inside Valeria’s apartment. Noting the quiet apartment, she made her way to Valeria’s room, checking to see if she was even home. Opening her door, Izra noticed her, all curled up in a ball underneath the sheets. Sighing, she made her way over, sitting down while placing the food she had been carrying for Valeria on her desk. “So, wanna tell me why you’re in bed all depressed?” Groaning, slowly but surely, Valeria sat up, sheets falling to hang around her waist, she answered, “why do we have to feel anything? Like what even is the point of anything? Am I good enough for anything?” Grumbling, she laid back down on her bed, looking up at her ceiling. ‘Well, at least she’s speaking,’ Izra thought, before taking her shoes off and getting comfortable laying right next to Valeria. “Tell me what’s wrong. Is it the guy you’ve been sleeping with these past months?” Nodding her head, Valeria covered her face with her blanket, too embarrassed to talk about it. “What’s going on with him? Last time we talked about him, you said sex with him was the best thing that’s ever happened to you.” Valeria shook her head. “Nothing. But everything. I don’t know!” She clenched onto the blanket, still speaking through it, “it’s like suddenly I can’t see myself with anyone but him but I don’t want to commit to anything, it’s so frustrating!” Confused, Izra asked, “why not? If you like him, then what’s stopping you?” Silence was met until it clicked with Izra, “oh my god, is it because you FINALLY realize you have feelings for Leo too!? After all that yelling we did!” With that said, Valeria sat up so fast, she’s pretty sure she got whiplash from it, “Izzie, we’re not having this conversation again! I don’t have feelings for Leo! If I did, wouldn’t you have known about it and I would’ve said something too?!” “No. You wouldn’t have. You made that very clear last month.” Izra said blankly, making Valeria wince, knowing that she was right. 

She hadn’t said anything, Izra had no clue that it was Leo who was the “mysterious man” that she had been sleeping around with for months now. Everything had been going great and it seemed nothing would ruin the strong bond they had. But that was also the issue too. She wasn’t sure when it happened or maybe how long it actually had been when she felt it, but… 

Valeria was falling in love with Leo. 

She couldn’t even begin to say when the feelings formed or how long it might’ve been for apparently everyone to see. Which is to say that him texting her for two weeks straight with her not responding had been painful, especially after she apologized to him after that day in the training room last month. Valeria didn’t know what to do, what to say, what to feel . She hadn’t felt this way in a very long time and though it was a very toxic relationship, she had loved her ex-girlfriend very much, even after the break up. What came easy was the moving on, to date or sleeping around with anyone and not getting too attached, it felt better for her. Anyone that’s tried staying in a relationship with her had called it quits, straight up telling Valeria that they either found her personality too much, the scars somehow being too much (or ugly, the last guy told her many times), or even when talking about very little details from home would cause to be too much for those around her. 

“Too much baggage.” “You’re too damaged, I can’t handle that.”  

It was words and whispers like that from people who said it to her face her whole life, giving herself enough pride to not show anyone that it hurts to hear something she had always known was true to herself, which is the one thing she knew the friend group would always yell at her for even thinking that way. Which was why she was distancing herself from Leo, so he wouldn’t have to worry about the baggage she carries, how she will always feel so broken, so utterly damaged that maybe she’ll just grow to always be alone. To die alone without a significant partner, only friends and family, to live through their own happiness over hers. Rubbing over her scar, she knew that it always came down to that story . That part of her childhood that’ll forever be ruined for her, no matter how many times she’s tried moving on, she knows people have not been too kind about the story of it. Which is why it scares her even more. Scares her that maybe, potentially, Leo could be different from everyone else. But she didn’t want to take that risk. There was already so much risk in her life, she didn’t need anymore of it. She was tired of risks being taken for her life.

Before she knew it, Izra grabbed her hand, continuing where she left off from. 

“Valé, I know that you’re feeling so many emotions right now. It’s okay to say you like two people and not know who to pick. You’ve only told me a couple stories about the guy you’re sleeping around with. But I also see how happy you are when you and Leo are hanging out. The stories you’ve told me alone and both of your interactions just tells me you do like him, whether you want to admit to it or not. Hell, he may be a flirt, but maybe Leo likes you too and you both are just dancing around the bushes! In the end, it’s up to you and what your heart says too.”

“Even if he did, he wouldn’t stick around.” Valeria said sadly. 

Sitting up to meet her gaze, looking at her sadly, Izra asked, “what do you mean by that Val?” “You know what I mean, Izra!” Shaking her head, Valeria continued, “you know what I’ve been through, with what happened back home to my ex to everything! What if Leo finds out and decides to not only reject me but stops being friends with me?! With us?! I don’t want that! And don’t even say anything because we’re keeping what happened a secret from them and I know it’s eating you up too!” Covering her face with both hands, Valeria leaned her elbows on her knees, still rambling, “I can forget all of that when I’m with them, but it’s just so much easier to keep my distance, so no one gets hurt or be bothered by too much of our own baggage! My own baggage! ” Rubbing her back, Izra said something that made Valeria halt any movement she was thinking of doing.

“Yeah, distance is better, just look what happened to us when I distanced myself from everyone.”

Valeria wasn’t sure what to think, but luckily Izra kept talking, quieting her loud, dark thoughts. “Listen to me very carefully. I know it hurts that we haven’t told them anything from home, but you also understood and agreed to not saying anything either. It’s what we were always told to do since we were kids,” nodding in agreement, Izra went on, “also, what happened between you and Mariah was not the same as this. You were taking advantage of, even when you guys broke up and you took her and her family to the airport when they moved away. It hurt to see you that way, but we were there to help you move on from it. Though messing around with a few of our classmates was something else that we’ll talk about another time,” elbowing her rib, Izra softly chuckled before continuing, “and what happened to you when we were kids wasn’t your fault . Remember what Pops use to say too. We will always tell you that because it’s true. Do you understand me?” Looking straight into her eyes, Valeria nodding her head in agreement once more, Izra smiled at that. “So don’t ever say that your mysterious man will leave you if he ever found out because you don’t know that. Or if Leo stops talking to you about anything because you know Leo the best . He and his brothers never once made any intentions that they would ever abandon their family and friends. I don’t think I can stress this enough either,” Izra finished off, hoping it’ll stick in her best friend’s head that Leo would never do anything to hurt Valeria.

With their thoughts said out loudly, both laid back down on Valeria’s bed with a loud ‘thump’ , staring straight to her ceilings once more. 

“You know you have to start showing up to the training they have for us again, right?” Valeria groaned, not up to actually showing up to the guys’ special training for the friend group. Correction: for the girls to be protected from the dangers of the world. “It’s going to be awkward Izzie, especially with Leo and I not talking.” “Well, you did that to yourself. You have to lay in it,” Izra cut off, knowing she would be thinking of excuses for either behavior. Sighing deeply, Valeria knew it was only a matter of time before she could get away with not seeing or talking to Leo for this long. “I’ll try my best to come, okay?” Looking at her, Izra just nodded, knowing how hard Valeria was beating herself up for all the conflicting emotions she was feeling.

“Besides,” sitting up, Izra made her way to the food she brought over for Valeria in the first place, “the training is really entertaining the guys too cause… y’know already.” Silently agreeing, Valeria asked a question that’s been on her mind lately since the guys started this training with them, “yeah, so with that-" "Don’t worry, I was thinking a lot about that too,” Izra finished, understanding what Valeria meant by the concern. Grabbing her food to give to her, before leaving, Izra made sure to tell Valeria something very important for her to know too.

“You know we love you. It hurts us when you’re going through these conflicting times. I just hope you make the right choice. I don’t want to have to kick your ass by hurting not only those guys but yourself too. And please don't do what you’ve done before to feel better too. We’re living differently now, we can’t think like how we used to, handling conflicting emotions like back home!”

Rolling her eyes, but taking into consideration her words, answered, “okay already, I get it! I love you but please, I think it’s enough for the day!” Laughing, Izra hugged her friend, pinching her cheeks a bit before heading out. Hearing the door closed, grabbing utensils to eat from her bed, Valeria held her final thoughts before eating her dinner.

‘I know I have a choice to make. I just hope… that he understands the decision I’m making... For both of us.’

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

(Next: Ch.9)

[shsy7573]

We’re in this Together - Ch. 1

For more info or chapter index, see overview post

DISCLAIMER: I do not own own Voyager or any of the characters in this fic (except for the aliens. Those were my creation.)

*This story is not beta-read and has not been edited or proof-read in any way! This was just something I threw together over the past three days and decided to post as my first entry on this site!*

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

CHAPTER ONE

“Captains log, stardate 50658.85. Lt. Torres and I’s shuttle just touched down on a small, M-Class planet. Scans show that the surface contains limited amounts of dilithium, and B’Elanna suggested it would be a good idea to harvest some. While we’re here, Voyager has headed off on a diplomatic mission to the homeworld of a species that controls this sector of space. The planet is located approximately two light years from here, so if all goes well, we’ll be meeting up with them in about a week.”

As the shuttle craft engines whirred to a halt, Captain Janeway joined her Chief Engineer in the hull. Over the next week, the two would be spending a lot of time together. While both parties weren’t too keen on being cramped in a shuttlecraft for that long, it would be a nice chance to get to know each other more. The Captain intended to make the most of it. 

“Ready to get a move on, Lieutenant?”

B’Elanna looked up from where she had been collecting her mining equipment. “Aye, Captain. According to the shuttle’s scans, there’s a pocket of dilithium not far from here. Unfortunately with all the uneven terrain, this was as close as I could get us.”

Janeway smiled, grabbing a tricorder, a phaser, and an equipment belt. “Well then, I hope you don’t mind walking.” She remarked, tossing a phaser to the half-klingon.

B’Elanna rolled her eyes, smiling, and the two set off in search of the crystalline material.

-

As the duo approached a small stone butte, both women's tricorders started going crazy. Exchanging a glance, they each split up, going separate ways around the rockface. Several spike-like pillars jutted out of the ground around and atop the butte, making navigation slightly difficult.

While the Captain tried to locate the dilithium’s source, she was distracted by a strange scuttling sound coming from behind her. Quickly, she spun around, putting her tricorder into the belt, and pointing her phaser towards the source of the sound.

Her gaze fell upon a small tunnel opening at the base of the hillock. Emerging from the gap was one of the… strangest things the Captain had ever seen. It was humanoid, with long slender legs covered with some sort of legging-like material. The legs seemed to be the only part of the alien that was covered. That, however, wasn’t what shocked her. Because instead of arms, this creature had four spider-like limbs sprouting from its shoulders and shoulder blades. The two front appendages had hands attached at the end, however the limbs coming from the shoulder blades ended in sharp, menacing pinchers. There were four, yellow eyes on the creature. Two large ones located on the typical place for a humanoid, and two smaller ones placed in the centre of the face, not too far above the first pair. Instead of lips, this creature had the mouth of a spider, with long curved fangs extending from the dark flesh. The rest of its body seemed relatively normal, with ashen-grey skin and scraggly black hair.

Long story short, it was horrifying. Each of its eyes looked around, apparently trying to find whatever it was that had drawn it from its hole. That’s when its gaze landed on Kathryn. Immediately, it made a surprised hissing noise, scrambling back a step or two despite the fact that Janeway wasn’t even all that close to it.

The Captain held her hands up, phaser pointed at the sky now. The creature tilted its head as she spoke. “My name is Captain Janeway, of the Federation Starship Voyager. If you can understand me, I promise you, I come in peace.”

A strange clicking sound began to emit from the creature’s throat as it took a few weary steps forward. Although it was difficult, Janeway could make out the tones of a voice through the harsh sounds.

“I do not know you.”

“I come from a long way away. We are here hoping to use some of your resources. You see, we are lost and are trying to get home.” The Captain explained. She kept her grip firm on the phaser, but still kept it pointed upwards.

The whirred, clattering voice spoke again, it’s one of its right hands reaching out towards Janeway’s face. Crusty, nail-broken fingers drifted across her cheek, and Kathryn did her best not to flinch at the gritty, sandpaper feeling. “You are an outsider.”

Kathryn nodded, smiling a bit. “That’s right.”

“You are not from here. You are not like me…”

The Captain watched as the creature seemed to come to some sort of conclusion. She relaxed a little as it pulled its hand away.

“I’m so glad we could come to an understa—“

“You are food.”

Faster than she had ever seen anything move, the creature lashed out and knocked the phaser out of the Captain’s hand with its hand-ended-arm. It tucked its human legs to its chest, used the spider-like appendages to lunge forward.

In an instant, it was on top of Kathryn, its pincered mouth snapping dangerously close to her face. The Captain let out a yelp of surprise as she grappled with it. All at once she was trying to keep its mouth away from her, while also battling the swiping that was slicing the air dangerously close to her abdomen.

Then, from father down the rock formation came a voice. “Captain!”

A stream of phaser light connected with the alien’s face, and it was thrown off Kathryn and onto the ground. The creature made a loud shrieking noise, and it fell to the ground with a thud. As it tried to scramble back up B’Elanna shot it again, rendering the creature unconscious.

Janeway let out heavy breaths, sitting up as her Chief Engineer ran over.

“Are you alright?” She asked, helping the Captain to her feet.

Kathryn nodded, “I’m fine. It didn’t manage to hurt me at all, thanks to you. Great timing.”

B’Elanna blazed past the praise, obviously frazzled. “What the hell was that thing?! Scans didn’t indicate any life signs on the planet’s surface.”

Janeway shook her head, and nodded towards the hole it had crawled out of. “Something tells me these things don’t live on the surface.”

The half-klingon put her hands on her hips, looking around as if to try and spot any more exit points that the creatures could emerge from. After a moment of collecting her thoughts, she looked back at her Captain. “And you’re sure you’re okay?”

Janeway raised her hands, “I’m alright, promise.” She thought for a moment, before nodding to the engineer, “did you find the dilithium?”

B’Elanna’s eyes lit up at the reminder and she nodded. “Yes, I did. There’s a small vein barely visible on the eastern face of this rock formation. It shouldn’t be too hard to mine out.”

The Captain nodded, “right. Let’s get to it then. I want to be off this planet as soon as possible.”

“Agreed.”

With that, the Captain followed her Chief Engineer towards the dilithium source. On her way out, she made sure to grab her phaser. Something told her she’d be needing it.

-

Harvesting the dilithium took longer than either woman felt comfortable with. With the knowledge of a new threat, neither one wanted to be taken by surprise again. The speed on the creatures had been a shock, and there was no telling when another one might emerge. So they took turns, one would work on extracting the dilithium from the rock face while the other kept watch of their surroundings. Every half-hour or so they would switch.

By the time they had gotten it all and started making their way back to the ship, two hours had passed. It had been a pretty generous amount of the ore, and they decided that would be good enough. They were acutely aware all the pounding would probably draw more creatures to the surface, and they didn’t want to take their chances hunting down another vein.

Just as the shuttle craft came into view, about one hundred feet away, their fears were confirmed. The skittering, scraping sound of many kegs on stone caught both women's attention. The sound was coming from behind them, and it didn’t sound all that far away.

“Run.” Janeway ordered, her voice was eerily calm. Not having to be convinced, B’Elanna and Kathryn both started sprinting towards the shuttlecraft. 

About halfway to the shuttle, a small herd of the spider-aliens came into view behind them. Jumping out from behind the many clusters of rock formations and barreling towards the two star fleet officers. Janeway was able to count seven of them after a couple glances behind her, and they were gaining fast.

Like the other one, when trying to move fast they didn’t use their human legs. Instead, they curled up their body, and used their spider-like appendages to throw themselves across the rocky terrain. It seemed like a pretty effective tactic.

“Captain!” B’Elanna yelled worriedly.

“I know!”

“They’re gaining!”

“We’re almost there! We just have to get to the shuttle!”

Both girls seemed to run even faster. The shuttle was close now, and even though their lungs were burning, Adrenalin spurred them onwards. The terror of being caught by the arachnoids outweighs the pain of sprinting over one hundred feet with a load of dilithium slung over their backs.

They neared the craft, the aliens were dangerously close now. Practically right on their tails. They breaths came in heavy, panicked bursts. The Captain’s heart rammed inside her chest, and the blood rushing through her ears was almost enough to drown out the fear enduring clacking that thundered behind her. As she ran for her life, she prayed on whatever deity controlled the Delta Quadrant that neither of them would trip.

Finally, after what seemed like both hours and milliseconds, each raced into the shuttlecraft. B’Elanna entered first, so Janeway yelled out towards her. “CLOSE THE DOOR!”

B’Elanna slammed her hand down on a control panel as Janeway reached the shuttlecraft, and the door began closing. But not fast enough.

“Fly the shuttle! Get us out of here,” Janeway ordered as she pulled her phaser out. Three of the spider-aliens launched themselves into the air, and slipped through the small gap between the closing door and the rest of the shuttle.

The Captain fired her phaser as the first one landed, hitting it once in the chest, and once in the face. As the alien crumpled to the ground with a shriek, the second one lunged at her. She shot but missed as its hands wrapped around her shoulders and slammed her back towards the front of the shuttlecraft.

“Captain! The aliens on the outside are clinging to the shuttle! I can’t shake them!”

Kathryn yelled in frustration as she kicked the creature off of her. It clung on to the sides of the shuttlecraft with its pinchers, cutting through control panels, shuttle walls and internal wiring as it was flown back. 

“Structural integrity at fifty percent!”

The third spider-alien tried to take a lunge at B’Elanna. The Captain, not having any of it, put herself between the creature and her crew man, sending out a phaser beam that knocked the creature sideways and into the side of the shuttle’s windshield.

She cried out in pain as the other arachnoid’s pinches sank deep into her hips, pulling her back and towards it and tearing through her flesh as it did so. 

“Captain!”

“Keep flying!”

“They’re tearing through the outer hull!”

Janeway twisted in the spider-aliens grip and kicked out, hard. Her heeled boot connected with a sickening crack with the alien’s chin, and it let out an ear piercing shriek. Sensing that its friend was in pain, the other alien recovered from its crash and lunged forward. Its pincers sunk into her arms, clamping down and causing her to cry out in pain. 

“Something’s torn through the impulse engines! We’re starting to descend!”

“Try to level us out!”

“I can’t!”

Gritting her teeth, the Captain ripped her right harm out of the pincer’s grip. A large gash opened up, and blood gushed from the wound, but she didn’t care. As the alien’s hand tried to reach for her phaser, she took the whole of its arm into her grip and twisted as hard as she could.

The creature shrieked, relaxing its grip with the other pincher just enough for her to twist free. The spider-alien with the broken jaw lashed out with one of its limbs, but Janeway was faster this time. She levelled her phaser and sent two quick beams at the beast. One shot the arm just as it was about to slide through her chest, and the other shot it right in the forehead. The creature was sent backwards again, and knocked unconscious.

Suddenly, a pain unlike anything the Captain had ever felt in her life erupted from the back of her left shoulder. It was a cold kind of pain, shooting down her arm and causing her whole body to cramp up. In her deliriousness, it took her a moment to figure out that the remaining alien had bitten her. It’s fangs sinking deep into her flesh and causing her arm to spasm in agony.

The Captain gasped, wrenching her shoulder away, and sending the butt of her phaser right into the alien’s temple. The force of the blow sent it crumpling to the ground, and the Captain fell down right beside it. Her breathing heaved, and her body still twitched from the sensation of the bite.

“Captain, we’re going to crash!”

Janeway hauled herself off the ground with her right arm, tucking her left gingerly into her side as she looked out the windshield. B’Elanna was right. The shuttle was going down. Whatever those aliens had done it had compromised their engines. As she looked on in horror, a dark shadow on the side of a large plateau caught her eye.

“B’Elanna! There, that opening in the cliffside!”

“It’s too small, the outer walls will be completely shredded!”

Kathryn nodded, “and the aliens along with it!”

That’s when Torres seemed to understand the Captain’s plan. Her eyes lit up, and she veered the shuttle steering to direct them towards the tunnel.

“Captain, maybe you should do this! I’m not exactly a fancy flyer like Paris.”

Janeway shook her head, “It’s too late to switch controls now, we’re almost at the opening. I believe in you, B’Elanna! You can do this, you’re more than capable!”

B’Elanna grimaced as they rocketed towards the opening. “We’re about to find out! Brace for impact!”

Both women grit their teeth, gripping hard onto their seats as the shuttle crashed into the cave. The loud, sickening sound of metal scraping against stone filled the hull as the exterior of the shuttle was torn apart. The shuttle rattled violently as it bounced off the floor and ceiling of the tunnel and came to a slow, screeching halt buried inside the tunnel.

Both women sat there for a moment, stunned and shaken as they tried to take in everything that happened. After a moment, B’Elanna looked over at her Captain and gasped hard at the sight.

“Captain! You’re hurt!”

Janeway opened her mouth to respond, but was interrupted by the sound of weakened, desperate scratching on the shuttle bay door. Apparently the creatures had survived, but their attempts to get inside didn’t seem as effective as they had been on the shuttle’s engines.

“We have to go.” The Captain instructed, forcing herself to her feet. She stumbled over to the side of the shuttle and pulled out two backpacks. Each held two 1L canisters of water, a week’s rations, flashlights, phasers, a fire starter, and tools to set up a homing beacon. “Go get the med kit, and put it in one of these.” She ordered.

Not seeing any choice in arguing, Lt. Torres stood up and made her way across the shuttle hull. The door to the medkit’s buddy had a large gash through it, but when B’Elanna pulled, she found it was still able to be opened. She grabbed the med-kit and stashed it into one of the bags, before throwing the back over her shoulder.

“What about the dilithium?” B’Elanna asked, her gaze falling on the sacks of ore lying in the wreckage in the ground.

“Leave it. When Voyager comes we can beam it abroad from there. Carrying it will only slow us down.”

The Chief Engineer nodded. That was true, and as much as she’d like to protect the ore she figured these creatures wouldn’t have much care for it. They only seemed interested in hunting the Captain and herself.

Kathryn grimaced as she tried to sling the other backpack over her shoulder. Every wound on her body screamed as they were pulled, and she still couldn’t move her left arm enough to catch the other strap. 

B’Elanna stepped forward and grabbed the bag out of her Captain’s hand. “Here, let me help.”

The half-klingon lifted the bag up, allowing the Captain to simply weave her arms through the straps, and haul it up onto her back. Once it was on, she turned to the engineer and nodded. 

“Thank you.”

A scrape, much louder than the previous ones, caused both women to jump.

“We should get going,” B’Elanna suggested. Kathryn agreed, and the two made their way to the front of the shuttle. B’Elanna smashed through the windshield using a stray piece of debris, and the two helped each other out of the shuttlecraft.

When they’d each set down onto the hard stone of the tunnel, the Captain looked back at the shuttle with a slightly irritated expression.

“So much for an easy outing,” she muttered. With that, the two women pulled out their flashlights, and set off into the dark unknown of the planet’s tunnels. 

Little did they know, the trouble was just beginning.

[psychogirlfriendandsupervillain]

The Arkham Asylum Jig - Chapter 4 Teacher Cellophane

Characters: dk!Jonathan Crane, (she/her)reader (platonic, non-romantic, professional).

Story summary: Dr Crane gets asked to evaluate an elementary teacher who claims self defense for the murder she has committed. But he finds himself striking a deal, as he tries to find out what really is the truth.

Warnings: Discussions of crimes, therapy session, corruption, Arkham Asylum, absurdity, unseriousness about criminality and murder (bc that is the essence of Chicago).

Chapter Summary: Dr Crane tries to get reader to open up during another session, but is met with theatrics.

A/N: So, uh, guys, I messed up, there has been a chapter edited and ready to be published in my document this whole time, while I thought I had to edit it before publishing (also thought I was on the chapter after this), soanyway, here it is, I'm sorry.

Masterlist Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3

The chair creaks. “How do you feel about Gotham?” You lift your eyebrows and Dr Crane makes a circular gesture with his hand, searching for his intention. The air is cold, same as in the cells, but not quite as damp. “As a place of home. Do you feel safe, in general?” The greenish light in the room has not improved at all since last time. They really should fix that, if there was not so much else in a similar state. The wheels along the walls are still, the slow whirring of the ventilation taking their place.

“Who does?” When he stays silent you sigh theatrically and continue. “Overall, sure. All places have its vice and blood.” You fold your arms, settling back into the hard seat for yet another session required during your stay at Arkham. The pipes make a coughing sound. The showers must be broken, giving off nothing but drops when turned on. 

“Ever gotten robbed?” Dr Crane makes a noisy scribble before meeting your questioning look. “Personal curiosity.” He waves the pen as if to dispel any mistrust. He is not sure he could, considering he is sitting on the keys to your freedom, but on the other hand, you did hand them to him. Rather forced them on him. 

“Twice.” You cock your head and raise your eyebrows at some memory. “Poor target choice on their end.” Eyes come back to his. They’re back in the present, unreadable except what you want him to see. And what he sees is an unphased villain.

Dr Crane can’t help but repeat your initial facial expression towards his notes in agreement. It really was those robbers’ poor luck to gamble on someone with such a small wallet. “Regarding your profession” He catches. “What made you choose it?” He might be adding a small amount of admiration just for flair and hope. Flattery might have been invented for the rich and those in need of favors, but perhaps what he is asking isn’t so different from wanting a favor from you. That of your truth.

“What d’ya want me to say, doc? ‘Out of the kindness of my heart’?” Your accent thickens and your mannerisms return for a moment. His not so well concealed trick discovered, Dr Crane does not let you have the satisfaction of him admitting it, even though you both know it. He wonders where you picked up the accent, so invisible in the courtroom but ever present with him.

“Is it that not what all the parents want to hear?” He offers smoothly with a tone that promises comfort. He’s not trying to hit a nerve, not yet. Maybe you’ll shine a light through your cracks if he just gives you the opportunity.

“Most just wanna hear their kid is doing well in school.” A boring truth, based on your averted eyes and dulled down tone, perhaps even a sad one. Doing well could be all sorts of things, from staying out of trouble for the less fortunate to bought paper for the moreso.

“Teachers send the future into the world and yet you rarely get the credit.” Dr Crane muses, quite honestly if he were to say so, perhaps slipping just a little off topic for a moment. “Did that never bother you? Made you want to do something to be seen, something to escape the mundaneness of your life?” Perhaps he wants to touch a nerve a little. You are very calm, but not likely to confess thrill killing after too many nights grading papers. Dr Crane gets the mildly annoying feeling that you might be comfortable in his company, not nervous. A comfortable patient was not the sign of a breakthrough in his experience. He pages through his earlier notes.

“No. I actually quite liked being invisible. Makes people forget you’re there, let’s you slip around unnoticed. People tell you all kinds of things when you don’t matter.” 

He doesn’t find anything useful in the ink, nothing that indicates adrenaline seeking behavior. If you weren’t here on sentence for murder, he’d think you were almost boring. He lets the paper fall back and looks up again, a dry, almost sympathetic, smile gracing the corners of his mouth. “Never tempted to shoplift then?” 

“Never.” With his own smile reflected on you, he is tempted to believe you. 

“Well, even if you did, we could not prove it.” Dr Crane finds himself taking on the same conversational tone as he would with someone outside work. It is not as intentionally as he would like to claim. He gestures between the two of you. “And besides, doctor-patient confidentiality.” He’s not sure that that reestablishes the order of the situation. You might not have gotten him fooled, but you’re not handtied either. Your dodging is obvious for a reason. He is your privileged audience now that the court has made their judgement and the asylum doors have closed behind you.

You cross one leg over the other, rubber sole running over loose sand on the floor and the overall crunching as the fabric folds over itself. “You gonna ask me about my terrible childhood next?” Eyes make it clear you are amused, but you are also the one to suggest the game. “It’s not interesting conversation, doctor.” After two months in Arkham Dr Crane wouldn’t expect you to care about entertaining. Perhaps he is letting his full schedule prevent any real progress, because while you do play your patient role well, you play the part of unbothered repeat customer with more enthusiasm.

He sighs, and makes a gesture of resignment. “What do you want to talk about then?”

You lean forward quickly. “Teacher salaries.”

[interstellarflowers]

Professor Parker Ch. 1| Professor, Peter Parker x Student, Reader

a/n this fic doesn’t follow the marvel cinematic universe but assume that peter has been what he’s been through with the exception that tony lived, and bruce is still bruce, sorry but i just can't deal with endgame hulk/bruce rn emotionally or mentally. im sorry nat is still dead but dw i'll actually treat it with respect unlike endgame like goddamn where was her funeral, am i right? the stages of grief thing they did was interesting though. im sorry i digress, this is set in nyc (because heyo im a new yorka) and the avengers/stark tower is still a thing, peter is fucking traumatized and has turned kind of cold as a result. this fic may contain a smut chapter in the future? not sure yet, where this fic goes depends on the feedback, thanks for reading also sorry im not the proudest of this first chapter so ill probably edit it but promise itll only improve from here just not in the best mental state rn

University life wasn’t exactly everything that you imagined it to be. There was hardly time to do anything that people claimed was good about coming to university. The parties, the epic heartbreaks, and romances, they were just nowhere to be seen. In fact, there was nothing particularly extravagant about your experience thus far. You went to class, studied, and went to your internship. Your internship was probably the most exciting thing about your life at the moment, you were lucky to be accepted into the Stark Industries student internship, the company paid college tuition and only required around twenty hours of lab work a week, you couldn’t complain. Of course, the exciting part of the whole ordeal was the name attached to it, “Stark,” not that you had ever met him, but it was nice to have a unique feature like that in such an impressive student body.

So here you were on the first day of your third year of university. You lived off-campus, about a five-minute walk from the Stark Tower, but a twenty-minute subway ride to your campus. However, having an 882 square foot space to yourself was really nothing you could truly complain about despite the distance. The studio apartment being yet another benefit reaped from Stark Industries. Thank you Tony Stark, the unseen benevolent God in your life.

Typically you would start your mornings off quietly and in no rush, a shower, a cup of coffee, maybe some studying before heading off to your campus, but your phone had other plans for you today. Instead of your alarm going off like it was supposed to, you were woken up by the sound of a particularly loud car horn, and oh how grateful you were for that. As soon as you were jolted awake you shifted to grab your phone and turned it over to see an alarming 8:40am glaring back at you.

Holy shit. You were late.

You scrambled out of bed nearly face planting several times in your hurry to get dressed and only barely ran out the door with everything you needed at 8:47am.

By the time you managed to get to the subway and clamor onto the right train it was already 8:55am. Out of breath and panicking, you considered your options. You could explain after class, you could shoot an email, there were a plethora of things you could do but none of them seemed to justify being late as a third-year to a level 500 class. You had googled all of your professors while registering for classes as was common practice. You couldn’t find a RateMyProfessor on Professor...Parker? You were pretty sure it was Professor Parker, but you do remember seeing on the STEM department page that he was currently a Ph.D. student, so you could only hope that as a fellow student he would be at least a little understanding towards your lateness.

You stood outside of the lecture hall huffing and trying to catch your breath at 9:32am, psyching yourself up, you pushed open the door to the class and attempted to go unnoticed. The class was in a lecture hall despite being only composed of around thirty students, so if you were lucky maybe nobody would even see-

“Ms.(y/l/n), I presume?.” Shit.

“Professor Parker?” Shit.

“You are aware that class starts at 9am, and not 9:30am, would this be correct Ms.(y/l/n)?”

“Yes, Professor, it’s just that I had an emergency.” The lying route. Not exactly the highlight of your academic career.

“I regret to inform you that I only take valid excuses Ms.(y/l/n), please take a seat, and next time, don’t bother disrupting class halfway through the lesson.” Fuck. You mustered a quiet “ok,” and a small nod before escorting yourself to the back of the room, thirty-something eyes following you until you sat down.

You couldn’t focus for the rest of the class, it was just too embarrassing, time moved forward but you couldn’t help but be stuck on what had just happened. For the first ten minutes after sitting down you felt like dropping out of the whole class out of sheer fucking humiliation. This was of course before you reminded yourself that this class was a requirement to graduate in your field of study. You quietly bargained with yourself before sighing quietly and settling on the conclusion that Professor Parker was just a dick. A dick who certainly didn’t deserve the satisfaction of you switching out of his class. If he wanted to be like that, you decided, you would simply return the favor.

“I know, Ms.(y/ln), why don’t you tell us DeBroglie’s equation?”

“With pleasure, Professor Parker.” Yeah, you’d return the favor alright.

“Ms.(y/l/n), you stay.” Fuck that. You looked the other way and feigned ignorance as you kept making your way towards the door. About to leave, the door shut on your face.

“What the fuck!” You jumped before turning around and you felt your face heat up.

“Ms.(y/l/n), please refrain from using profanities in my classroom.”

“I’m sorry Professor Parker. I was just startled.”

“Mhm,” he took his glasses off and laid them on his desk, “Just don’t do it in the future Ms.(y/l/n).”

“Of course. My name is (y/n), by the way, Professor Parker, you can just call me that, actually, I prefer that people refer to me by (y/n).”

“Rest assured, I’m aware of your name, Ms.(y/l/n). My name is Peter, but you can continue to call me Professor Parker.” You could have sworn that you saw a ghost of a smirk on his lips. He knew what he was fucking doing, asshole. You held back from rolling your eyes into the back of your head.

“Of course, Professor Parker.”

“As you know, Ms.(y/l/n), I did request that you stay after class.”

“Oh? I sincerely apologize Professor Parker, I really didn’t hear you.”

“I’m sure, Ms.(y/l/n).” Fucking. Dick.

“Well, what exactly did you want Professor Parker? I do have another class soon.” Professor Parker narrowed his eyes at you in obvious distaste before reaching behind himself into a bin underneath his desk and pulling out a stack of papers,

“These are the handouts you missed from the beginning of the class. Textbook requirements, syllabus...Crucial information to have if you care to succeed in my class Ms.(y/l/n).” So coldly, so maliciously, Professor Parker placed the stack into your arms.

“I take my work very seriously, Ms.(y/l/n), I do my part as your professor so I only have the simple request that my students do the same.” You nodded feeling your face heat up again.

“Of course, Professor Parker, it won’t happen again,” you said with a tightlipped smile.

“Mhm,” Professor Parker turned around and began shuffling around some paper and without giving you a second glance said, “You are dismissed.” You nodded and hurriedly made your way out of his classroom. Of course, you had lied. You didn’t have another class until late in the afternoon. So you called your coworker instead,

“Hey, Harvey.”

“(y/n).”

“Wow, okay, don’t get too excited.”

“Sorry, just woke up.”

“Tsk, the early bird gets the worm, Harvey.”

“I don’t want a worm.”

“Fuck you. I’m headed to the lab, can I expect you?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You had been working with Harvey for around four years now, he was quite the impressive specimen, having attended MIT and graduating Summa Cum Laude at age 20 was no easy feat, he was closer to Tony Stark than you would ever get, he was quite personable, and you couldn’t deny that he was quite good looking. You’d never tell him that though, he didn’t need another ego boost. Besides, you had some connections of your own.

“Hey, (y/n).”

“Banner!”

“Can we expect Harvey today?”

“Honestly, not sure.” You both knowingly smiled at each other before you made your way over to what he was working on,

“Do you ever get bored here?”

“With you and the other idiot always running around? How could I?” You laughed,

“No, seriously, like wouldn’t you rather be doing nerd shit with Tony or something? Isn’t it a little tiresome babysitting us?”

“Tiring? Maybe sometimes, but not nearly as tiring as doing ‘nerd shit’ with Tony. He’s exhausting,” Bruce smiled at his own joke, “I don’t mind playing babysitter at all kid.” He fiddled with the handle of a mug that read, “Don’t be so Na Cl,” which you had gotten him a year back as a joke, but he still used it.

You really loved Bruce for all he was. Since losing your family back in 2012 during the battle in NYC, you didn’t really have any familial figures. But since landing this internship you found yourself with a parental figure again, and you would never be able to put into words how much it meant to you, so you didn’t. Besides, you didn’t want him to feel pressured about it, especially after everything he had been through himself. Frying half your body and losing the love of your life in such a short span of time was really nothing less than horrifying. Yet, here he was, smiling, laughing...You loved him for it.

“First day of junior year? How was that?”

“Shit.”

“Huh?” Bruce stopped tinkering with the device in his hands and looked over at you, “I’ve never heard of a course being too hard for (y/n) (y/l/n), what is it? Aerospace? Quantum?”

“No, just one giant dick.”

“Pardon-”

“My professor, he’s a fucking asshole.”

“Ah, I see. If he’s really harassing you (y/n), I don’t mean to overstep, I really think we should alert administration, what’s his name?” Bruce took a sip of his coffee.

“Professor Parker,” Bruce choked on his coffee, “Oh my God, Bruce, are you okay?”

“Yeah-” he said, still coughing, “Just a little too strong.”

“Okay, are you sure?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bruce caught his breath, “What did he do kid?”

“He’s just a dick that’s all.”

“You sure you don’t want me to do something about it?”

“Yeah, it’s fine, I don’t know what you could do anyways. Thank you though.”

“Actually, you’d be surprised.”

Sitting at your desk stressing over school work at 3am, it was nothing out of the ordinary for you. Everything appeared ordinary. The ordinary cup of tea, the familiar glow of your computer, and a morning chill creeping through your window. It was all so breathtakingly normal until there was a rap on your window. You took an earbud out of your ear, certain you were just hearing things, you looked to your window. Holy shit.

You opened your window wide so that he could crawl in.

“(y/n)?”

“Mr.Spiderman.” Still too in shock to fully process the situation you started to take in the scene in front of you,

“Please, it’s just Spiderman.”

“Oh-Oh my God, what happened?” Head to toe the suit seemed to have blood seeping through, tears in the body of the suit revealed gashes and a bullet wound.

“Bad guys. I know this guy-said he knew a medical student close by, you are (y/n)? Right?”

“Y-Yeah, but I’m really just a student, I’m not really a prof-”

“This guy, he said you might as well be.”

“I don’t know Mr.Spiderman, really, maybe I could take you to the hospital though.”

“-Spiderman, it’s just Spiderman, listen, (y/n), you know I can’t go to a hospital, it would ruin this whole secret identity thing I got going on here, and this guy, he’s probably the smartest guy I know, so if he says you can handle it, you can.” You swallowed and nodded,

“Yeah-” you wring your hands together, “Yeah-Sorry, let me go get my first aid kit.”

[resident-of-storybrooke]

Nothing Good Happens After 2AM (Ch 4)

Rating: M (finally earning that for this chapter)

Words: 2900

Read: ao3, ff.net CH 1 CH 2 CH 3

Summary: Emma took Killian home for the holidays as a fake date. Things seemed to be going well…until it didn’t. What happens when two fools in love didn’t confess their love over the holidays like they planned and have to go back home to reality? This. This is what happened…(A twist on fake dating during the holidays)

AN: Well....shit lol here we finally are! I wish I had a good reason for the year and a half delay. Honestly, I got one not so great review and it shook me a bit and I was already iffy about writing. But thank you to so many incredible souls being so encouraging and supporting me to get back into writing. Thank you to @kmomof4​ who read all four chapters and edited them (make sure to check them out). I really hope you enjoy this last part as I’m so happy to finally have this out for you all. A very late and final contribution to @csjanuaryjoy

tagging some of the fam squad (please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @kymbersmith-90 @let-it-raines @artistic-writer @hollyethecurious @hookedonapirate @carpedzem @nowforruin @kmomof4 @wellhellotragic @thesschesthair @teamhook​ @winterbaby89​ @zaharadessert​ @stahlop​ @ultraluckycatnd @blowmiakisscolin​ @peggyswan​ @jrob64​ @klynn-stormz​​ @tiganasummertree​ @batana54​ @pirateprincessofpizza​​

ALL THE LOVE

Ruby made her way back up to the party, excited to see how the rest of the night would play out after her phone call to Emma. As she made her way back into Killian’s apartment she saw the Nolans as they gestured rather animatedly. Then Ruby rounded the corner and looked in to see who they were yelling at. 

Shit. 

It was Killian. 

And from the looks of it they were letting Killian have it. And he was just standing there taking it.  

What the hell did he get into in the last five minutes to warrant this? Ruby was both concerned, but mostly entertained because the sweet sunshine Charmings never yelled. She strolled into the kitchen with a grin, figuring she would enjoy the show. That was until the furious couple saw her - apparently she was their new target. 

“Ruby Elizabeth Lucas! You have a lot of explaining to do.”

Ruby was confused to say the least. How the hell was she involved in... whatever this was? 

“Um...I don’t know what you’re talking about?”

“Bullshit, Ruby!” She was completely taken back, Mary Margaret never swore. “You just told me that Emma thought Killian was dating Elsa. And last time I checked Killian and Emma have been together for the last three months. So please, explain yourself. Now.”

“I feel like it’s not really my place,” she said, darting her eyes toward Killian, but she could tell no one was buying it. “Listen, Snow White and Prince Charming, your poor sister felt pressured to bring a date home for the holidays. She and Killian decided to go to Ruth’s and tell y’all they were dating so you’d back the hell off. And it worked and everything was fine. Then Elsa showed up and spooked Emma because she thought she lost her chance with him. Because shocker,” she looked fiercely at Killian and had to restrain herself from smacking him upside the head, “they’re both in love with each other and are being absolutely idotic and not telling the other the truth.” She turned back toward the stunned silent Charmings, “And you two are not helping the cause!”

Killian looked up in complete shock, his eyebrows nearly reaching his hair. The Nolans stood gaping at her, obviously not expecting her brutal honesty. 

“Listen,” Ruby took a deep breath. “Cut them some slack. You two were acting like Emma was going to turn into some crazy old spinster if she didn’t find a date soon. Also, you two act as though you are a literal fairytale couple.” She shrugged. “Sometimes it’s hard to live up to your kind of love.”

As David stood in shock, Mary Margaret finally spoke up. “We went too far, didn’t we?” That’s when she turned to Killian. “We’re sorry, Killian. We shouldn’t have ever put you in this situation. We love you, we love Emma, and that wasn’t fair...I hope you can forgive our behavior this evening.”

Just as Killian was about to speak up, the door opened revealing an out of breath Emma Swan.

Emma was confused by the odd looks she was receiving as her welcome. She should be used to their bizarre behavior at this point, but this felt different. 

As she made her way over to the group her nerves set back in. She was here to tell Killian the truth. She was going to finally confess her love for her best friend. On his birthday. What could possibly go wrong?

“Right, well, this has been fun. Perhaps we should give these two some alone time.” Ruby elbowed the couple so Emma and Killian could have a moment.

As Emma walked towards Killian she finally took in her surroundings and realized how packed the apartment was. “I wish there were less people here…”

“Why, Swan? I love large parties, they’re so intimate. At small parties-”

“-there isn’t any privacy. I like it when you quote things to me.” Looking at him, she realized how close they were. She wasn’t even aware of her own movement toward him. Then she looked into his blue eyes. She missed them. 

She missed him. 

They stood there, taking each other in. It’d been weeks since they’d been together, really together. Neither one knew how to start. 

“Emma, you came.”

She wished in that moment she had something poetic to respond with, but that wouldn’t be Emma. “That’s what she said.”

The two instantly burst into laughter, the tension dying with every laugh. 

“I missed you, Swan.” Killian reached his hand out to tuck a loose strand behind her ear, Emma leaned into his touch. 

“I missed you too. I’m so sorry I ran…I wish I had a good excuse, but I don’t. I wanted to tell you so many times how I felt. I was going to tell you. On New Year's Eve. I was finally going to tell you. I had this whole plan. It was a good plan. And then Ruby fucking decided to be Chef Julia Child and give me food posioning. And then...I saw how happy you looked with Elsa and I thought, I thought, I’d lost my chance with you.” Emma finally found the courage to look up when she finished.

Killian’s eyes were full of unshed tears. When Emma opened her mouth to try and say something to break the tension Killian wrapped his arms around her. Emma finally took a breath. A breath she had been holding for weeks. He didn’t hate her. 

“Emma, my love, I promise nothing happened with Elsa. She was Liam’s fiance. She’s an old friend and nothing more. You though...you’re so much more than that. I’ve been a coward. I’ve hidden behind our friendship, behind the lie we told your family, and I will not do that any longer. I’ve had three words on the tip of my tongue since the night we met, I swear, and I will not waste another minute without you hearing them.”

Emma extracted herself from his grasp. “Before you do, I have something for you.” 

Killian lets out a sigh, “Really? Right now?”

Without another word Emma pulled the small red box from her clutch and handed it to Killian. He looked at her with curious eyes. “It’s your birthday, open the damn thing, Jones.”

“So demanding. Now what do we have here? It's a-” 

He stopped.  

Mistletoe. 

It was the most infuriating object that haunted his dreams - well, besides Emma. That trip to her home, the infernal garnish was everywhere. 

There was that kiss.

God, that kiss. He relieved it daily, prayed that it wasn’t the last kiss he’d ever share with Emma. Up until this moment he was convinced that would be the case.

“Well, Swan, this is quite the gift. I don’t know exactly what to say.” He scratched behind his ear, a nervous tick they were both well aware of. 

“I, um, do you wanna see if it works?” Killian’s eyes shot up to Emma.

“Well, love, seems only right I try it out with you since you were the one that gave me such a generous gift. Shall we...”

Emma cut him off with a bruising kiss, it caught him a little off guard, but it only took a moment for him to catch up. Killian didn’t give a damn that there was a party going on around them. He finally had Emma in his arms. Emma’s hands wandered to the nape of his neck, holding on for dear life. Killian’s hands roamed down her sides before anchoring on her hips, holding her tightly against him. He cursed the fact that Emma was wearing a dress, even if she did look bloody gorgeous in the tight red piece. He couldn’t wait to have that blasted thing on his floor.

They finally broke for air, still clinging to one another, foreheads touching. Killian was ready to dive back in when he looked up and remembered they weren’t alone. Mary Margaret was crying, Ruby was cheering, and David looked slightly annoyed but Killian saw the small smile he was trying but failing to hide. 

“Come on, love. I think it’s time we faced the vultures. And I’d like you to meet Elsa, if that’s alright with you?”

“Yeah, I think that’s a pretty good idea, Captain.” Emma reached down and grabbed Killian’s hand before they walked over. 

Maybe the trope board wasn't wrong after all. 

CSCSCSCSCSCSCSCS

As the party went on, Killian and Emma were inseparable; the two constantly touching the other. At one point, while talking to Mary Margaret and David, Emma laid her head on Killian's shoulder, something she'd done a million times, but this time Killian placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. 

The two were in their own happy bubble. They pretended to be engaged with those around them, but they couldn't ignore but feel the sparks ignited with each touch.  

"So, Emma? It's nice to finally meet you. I'm sorry for the miscommunication. I feel as though that was my fault." Emma was confused on how Elsa seemed to be privy to their issue, but then she saw Mary Margaret across the room and assumed her friend had filled her in.

"Please, don't be. I was...scared I lost my chance with Killian."

"Oh, honey. I don't think you could ever lose this one." Killian squeezed Emma closer to prove her point. 

Turns out Elsa was hilarious and had wonderfully embarrassing stories about Killian. Emma had a feeling the two were going to be good friends after tonight. 

The party eventually wound down a little after one, slowly the various couples left. That's when Emma realized she was alone with Killian. 

Finally. 

Suddenly, Emma felt her nerves grow. They'd declared their love and haven't left the others' side since, but she would be lying if she said she wasn't nervous. She absentmindedly threw out some empty cups as she tried to plan her next move.

"Love," Killian called for her from the living room, "can you come here?" Emma slowly made her way into the room as Killian stretched out his arms to embrace her. 

"Emma, I...I know that tonight has been a lot. Our relationship has always been a lot. And I know the future is uncertain, but there's one thing I want you to be certain of - I will always be by your side. For as long as you'll let me, my love."

She didn't even know a tear had slipped until Killian pulled back to wipe it. 

"I haven't always made things easy. I get spooked easily, but I'm tired of running. I want to be with you, Killian. I love you."

"And I you, my beautiful Swan." 

The kiss started off slowly, different than the one earlier, but no less passionate. Emma brought her hands around Killian's neck, playing with the nape of his hair. As Killian kissed down her neck, Emma didn't recognize the noises that escaped her mouth.

As their kisses continued, Emma was surprised when Killian's legs hit the couch and he fell down. She hadn’t been aware that they moved. Emma said she was tired of running, and she was ready to show him. So she straddled his legs and hovered over him for just a moment.

They felt like teenagers again, making out on a couch like this. She could feel him harden beneath her, driving her wild. But, it wasn't enough, she needed more. Emma started unbuttoning his shirt, the bastard already had the top three undone. Without a second thought, she began to rake her fingers through the coarse black hair. 

"I've been dying to do this since we first met. So soft," she murmured. Killian found a spot behind her ear that made her mewl. Emma brought her lips to his ear, "I've always wondered how it'd feel against my breasts." 

With that, Killian pulled back. "My love, are you sure? We can wait. Because once I have you, I'm never going to let you go." Emma nodded slowly. As she looked into his eyes, she could barely see a trace of blue. His pupils were blown. 

Before Emma could stand, Killian wrapped his arms around her to carry her to his bedroom. He only ran into the wall twice as Emma was no doubt leaving marks on his neck. Killian gently placed her in the middle of the bed. 

"I always swore that if we got here, I would worship every inch of you."

"Killian, please, worship later. I need you now."

"Just a taste. Patience, darling." Killian was beyond thankful at that moment Emma had opted for a dress as he quickly removed her thong.  

Before she could speak, he brought his mouth to her sex. "You're already drenched for me. You..fuck...you taste delicious."

Emma couldn't speak, he was overwhelming in every sense of the word. She grabbed a fistful of his hair, not that she needed to guide him; he knew exactly what he was doing. 

Killian replaced his mouth with two fingers. "That's it, Emma. You look so beautiful like this. I want you to come for me, darling. Come and then I'll give you what you really want."

His voice was deeper, accent thicker. Emma had a feeling she could finish from his voice alone, but right now, it was his fingers and mouth that were going to do the trick. 

Emma lost all control of her limbs as he sent her over the edge. He didn't let up though, he continued slowly licking as she came back down. As her breathing returned to normal, Killian kissed up her body. 

"Worship later, Killian,” she moaned again. “Please. I need you. Now."

"So demanding, Swan,” he observed, taking his pants and boxer briefs off. “I think I like this side of you, all in a commanding voice, chills really." 

He climbed back on top of her, but instead of responding, Emma hooked her legs around Killian and flipped him, so he laid on his back. He looked up in awe, he had never been so turned on than in this moment. 

Emma decided she was tired of waiting, but before she could sink down Killian stopped her. "Give me a moment, let me grab something, I -"

"I'm clean, and I'm on the pill. I...I don't want anything between us."

"Gods, Emma. If you're sure? I'm good too, I haven't been with anyone since...since we met." 

Emma dove down to meet his lips as she sank down onto him. Killian swallowed her gasp as she adjusted to his size. Of course, he lived up to every innuendo, and Emma couldn't be happier for that than in this moment. 

For first times, they were both surprised with how easy it was to fall into rhythm with the other. There were only a few slightly awkward moments, but that didn't stop them from enjoying this moment. Emma's hips met Killian's with each thrust, quickly driving the other wild. 

"So fucking glorious, Emma. You're so tight like this. Ride my cock, such a good girl. I want to feel you come around me this time. You're stunning when you come. That's...fuck... that's it Emma, take what you need, darling."

Before Emma could even respond, Killian decided it was her turn to be flipped on her back. "Now, if I remember correctly, you wanted to know how it feels with me on top."

"That's, ugh, that's not exactly what I said. But I'm not complaining."

Emma felt that familiar sensation growing in her stomach as Killian's pace intensified. "Killian, I'm close. Together, I wanna -"

"Aye, love, together."

Killian felt her tighten around him as she moaned out in ecstasy, pulling him right after her. He gave her a searing kiss as he spilled himself inside of her. Killian fell on top of her, too exhausted to worry about crushing her for a moment. 

"Killian? As much as I love how, uh, close we are now, do you think you can move? I can't breathe, and I need to clean up."

"Oi, you're gonna give a man a complex!" Killian slowly rolled off her, in awe of the glow Emma radiated at the moment. Emma couldn't help but giggle as he was being an annoying ass, but mostly he was still...Killian. 

They were still them. Except they just had mind-blowing sex. 

She could get used to this new addition to their relationship. 

"Stay here, love. Let me." Killian was back in a moment and helped clean Emma. When he finished, he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, just like before. 

"What is it, Swan?"

"Nothing, I'm just happy. It's just so surprising."

"Aye, love, me too. But this doesn't change anything. I've loved you for years now, and we'll go at whatever pace we both see fit, but I'm in this for the long haul."

"As am I, Captain."

The two laid in bed, cuddled close, and shared lazy kisses. When Emma looked at the clock, she saw it was nearly three in the morning. A few weeks ago, Emma had thought nothing good happened after two am; it turns out she was wrong. 

"Swan? Can you tell me what the bloody hell a trope board is?"

[edupunkn00b]

Fathers’ Days, Ch. 2: Patton’s Proposal

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - [ AO3 ] - Word Count: 1132 - Rated T for Remus (C’mon, I said like one thing and that was barely anything!)

Patton has a proposal for the newly betrothed Logan and Remus. ---

Logan and Remus sat together at the dining table, lingering over morning coffee and the newspaper. “Why do you still get a printed edition?," Remus teased. "'Good Lord, man, have you never heard of downloads?' "

Logan laughed and finished the reference, "'Said Winston Churchill.' " He shrugged lightly, taking a slow sip of his coffee. He sighed happily. “There is something about settling in, spreading it out and just reading it cover to cover.” He brought the paper closer to his face and inhaled the warm, sharp smell of fresh newsprint. "Besides, can a download smell like this?"

Remus hummed as he wiped away the inky smudge from Logan's nose and grinned. “It makes it easier to do this, too!,” he suddenly swiped a section from Logan's hands.

“Hey!,” Logan laughed again, making a halfhearted attempt to snatch back the stolen section.

“Oh, I’m sorry, were you looking forward to reading about…,” Remus scanned the section, frowning, “Alas! My thievery was for naught. I’ve got the sports section.”

Logan chuckled, splitting the main section in half and handing it to Remus, “Here, there is an article about the new exhibit at the EMP they’re opening next month.” Remus leaned in to kiss Logan thanks.

“Good morning, everybody!,” Patton called out as he bounded down the stairs, gripping a large manila envelope.

“Good morning, Pat! Did you sleep well?,” Logan asked.

“I did, yes …,” Patton called back from the kitchen. “Oh, is this quiche?” He leaned over the counter, “Hmm... This looks like your handiwork, Remus!”

“Please, help yourself. I think I made too much.” He grinned, gently elbowing Logan once Patton turned away. “I woke up famished this morning.”

Logan shot Remus a quick warning glance, one that would have looked much more serious if it weren’t for the blush dusting his cheeks and the smile Logan couldn’t quite keep away from his lips. Remus simply waggled his eyebrows and studiously returned to the newspaper.

Patton entered the dining room with his plate, a cup of hot chocolate, and the envelope tucked under his arm. He sat down and started to eat, glancing up at Logan and Remus between bites.

After a few minutes of a comfortable silence, Patton blew on his hot chocolate and spoke into his cup, “So... as you know, Father’s Day is coming up soon.”

Logan grinned, “Yes, it is. It is quite early this year, in fact.”

Winking at Patton, Remus murmured, “We have some shopping to do, don’t we, Buddy?”

Patton nodded, and smiled when he'd drawn their attention. “Yes, definitely. There, um, was something else that I wanted to talk to both of you about… about Father’s Day.”

Remus and Logan exchanged a look. Narrowing his eyes a bit at the sudden seriousness in Patton’s tone, Logan put down his coffee cup. “Is something bothering you, Pat?”

Shaking his head quickly and grinning at both of them. “No, no nothing’s bothering me at all. I think this is … well,” he sighed. “I’m going to be blunt.” He took a deep breath and started to open the envelope in front of him. “I have a proposal for the two of you.”

“We're listening,” Remus grinned. He glanced again at Logan, eyes questioning. Logan shook his head slightly, shrugging. They both had no idea what Patton had in mind.

Patton pulled out some papers from the envelope and held them against his chest. He licked his lips, tightening his grip on the documents. “I’ve been doing some research on second parent adoption,” Logan quickly covered his mouth, eyes crinkling in a small smile. Patton grinned at Logan’s reaction.

Remus tilted his head, “Okay… that clearly means something to you, Love.” Remus looked between the father and son. His eyes suddenly widened. “Wait. Are we— are we talking about what I think we’re talking about here?”

Patton glanced at Logan, eyebrows raised. When he nodded in response, Patton put down the forms he was holding. He met Remus’ eyes. “You don’t need to answer today. You should think about it.” He paused, turning the papers around so that Remus could read them clearly.

Superior Court of Washington, County of King

In re matter of the Petition of: Remus Prince

For the Adoption of a Child: Patton Sanders

Remus blinked at the words printed on the top half of the page.

“Because Father’s Day is coming up next month, I… I was hoping…," Patton fiddled with the edge of the the now-empty envelope. "I... I wanted you to know that… I’d like you to be my Dad, too, Remus.”

Remus bounced his knee as he stared down at the papers on the table, mouth slightly agape. Patton rocked his foot back and forth under the table. “I don’t want you to do this if you don’t want to. It’s— it’s not even a real responsibility.” Patton started to ramble at Remus' continued silence, “I mean, I’m almost 16 anyway… You know, it’s just that you look out for me and we cook together and you do all the dad stuff, too and I’ve... kinda thought of you as my other Dad for a while now, even since before Remy's wedding and—”

Remus leapt out of his seat and pulled Patton into a hug. “Um, so is that a yes?” Patton squeaked.

He pulled back, sliding into the seat next to Patton. “Yes, Pat, yes, I’d love to be your Dad.” Patton threw himself into Remus’ arms, squeezing tightly. Logan beamed, watching the two of them pretending not to cry.

Patton looked up, “What are you doing all the way over there?” He opened one arm and all three stood together a big messy hug of tears and laughter.

After a few minutes, Patton started to wiggle. “Hey, Dads, can I go text Virgil? He helped me figure a lot of this out and is waiting to hear what you said! Remy and Emile, too!”

“Sure, Pat,” Logan kissed the side of his head and Remus gave him one more bear hug before they watched him bound back up the stairs to text his brothers.

“Wait, so…” Remus took a half-step back, biting his lip. “This means I get to be a… a real dad on Father’s Day?” Logan nodded, grinning. Remus looked into Logan’s eyes, “And this isn’t…” he rolled his eyes up and waggled his head a bit before looking meaningfully at Logan.

Leaning in to kiss his lips, Logan murmured, “No, you are not dreaming, Meus." He kissed Remus again. "Would you like me to pinch you?” He smiled gently, carding his fingers through Remus’ hair.

Remus pulled Logan closer, wrapping his arms tightly around his waist, eyebrows waggling. “Well, as long as you're offering,” he growled against his fiancee's neck.

Logan again gave him a half-serious glare that couldn’t mask his flushed cheeks. “Patton will be right back— he just went to get his phone.”

“Mmm, my Love," Remus grinned, shimmying his shoulders, "That definitely sounds more like a ‘later’ than a ‘no’….”

---

Taglist: @the-dead-and-the-decaying

[crossdressingdeath]

Twin Treasures ch. 2 v. 1

So that's chapter two edited and updated here; here's the original for you all.

Madame Jin stares at the two boys in front of her, ignoring her husband’s sputtering. “It’s only been a month.”

Wei Ying fists his hands in his filthy golden robes. “I-I’m really sorry!”

“You set the kitchen on fire,” Madame Jin says.

“I didn’t mean to,” Wei Ying says quickly. “I was just trying to get some rice! …And then I knocked it over. And it landed in the fire…”

“Nearly burning down Koi Tower in the process!” Jin Guangshan interjects.

Wei Ying flinches. It really was an accident! The rice had just been a little out of reach, and he’d dropped it trying to get it off the shelf. “I… I…”

“It was my fault,” Jin Rong says suddenly.

“Your fault?” Madame Jin asks. Jin Guangshan’s eyes slide from Wei Ying to Jin Rong.

Jin Rong nods. “Wei Ying asked me to get the rice for him, since I’m taller,” he explains. “But I… dropped it. It fell in the fire. Sorry.”

There’s a smile beginning to creep onto Madame Jin’s face. “In that case, why did A-Ying say he was the one who started the fire?”

Wei Ying twists his fingers together. “I… It wasn’t…”

“He didn’t want me to get in trouble,” Jin Rong says. “He said… He said it was his fault, since he’s the one who asked me to get the rice.”

“I see.” Madame Jin looks pleased, for some reason. Has she been looking for an excuse to punish her son? “Well, Sect Leader Jin, it seems to be a simple mistake. I see no need to cause a fuss. After all, it would be terribly embarrassing if the other sects heard you had tried your own son for arson.”

“I… Well.” Jin Guangshan coughs, very carefully not looking at his wife. “I see no reason to make a fuss over such a… minor incident. Although I would hope my son would not allow himself to be dragged into such nonsense by an orphaned street rat again. His reputation would suffer if he were to…” He trails off at Madame Jin’s glare.

Beyond her furious look, Madame Jin doesn’t bother to respond. She turns to the children. “Boys, come with me. I need to talk to you both.”

“Yes, Mother.” Jin Rong bows, then grabs Wei Ying’s wrist and tugs. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Um… okay.” Wei Ying allows himself to be pulled out of the room after Madame Jin and Jin Rong, leaving Jin Guangshan alone in the throne room.

Madame Jin leads them back to Jin Rong’s room in silence. She doesn’t speak until the door closes behind them. “Well? Would you two like to tell me the truth now?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Jin Rong says.

Madame Jin chuckles. “Come here.” She rests a hand on Jin Rong’s head. “A-Rong. Do you think I can’t tell when my own son is lying to me?”

Wei Ying flinches. “I’m sorry!” he squeaks, feeling dread creep along his spine. “It was all my fault, I made him!”

“No he didn’t!” Jin Rong says quickly. “It was my idea!”

“Boys, boys!” Madame Jin laughs. “I’m not angry. I just want to know what happened. The truth, please.”

Wei Ying sniffs. “I… I just wanted to make something for you…”

“For me?” Madame Jin asks gently.

Wei Ying nods. “You’ve been so nice to me, and you gave me a home and clean clothes and lots of food, and I wanted to do something nice for you, too!”

“I see.” Madame Jin reaches out and pats him on the head. “That’s very sweet of you, A-Ying.”

Wei Ying smiles shakily. “But… But I couldn’t reach the rice, and it fell over… and then it spilled into the fire…”

“That’s when I came in,” Jin Rong adds. “I heard him shouting for help and came to see what was happening.”

“He put the fire out!” Wei Ying says. “…Eventually.”

“Knocking all the spices onto yourselves in the process?” Madame Jin raises an eyebrow.

“Sorry, Mother.”

“Sorry, Madame Jin!”

Madame Jin sighs. “Honestly, you two. Such a mess. I’ll have the servants bring you water to bathe with. Clean up and change, alright?”

“We will,” Jin Rong says.

“And the two of you will stay in this room until tomorrow morning,” Madame Jin adds. At their complaints she says, “You did set fire to the kitchen. There has to be some punishment.”

“Yes, Mother,” Jin Rong sighs. Wei Ying just nods, not sure what to say.

Madame Jin smiles and pats them both on the head. “I’m very proud of you both,” she says gently. “A-Ying, it was very kind of you to try to cook for me, although I want to be clear that it isn’t necessary. I will make sure you’re taken care of no matter what you do, do you understand?”

“Yes, Madame Jin,” Wei Ying says quietly.

Madame Jin hugs him quickly and turns to her son. “A-Rong, it was very brave of you to lie to your father to protect A-Ying. You’re older, so it’s your job to look after him; I’m glad I didn’t need to tell you that.”

“Thank you, Mother,” Jin Rong says, a proud smile appearing on his face.

Madame Jin hugs him too, then stands. “Very good. I’ll have the servants bring you both dinner later, alright?”

Both boys nod and she smiles again, then makes her way to the door, where she pauses. “Tomorrow I’ll begin teaching both of you how to cook. We don’t need any more kitchen fires.”

Jin Rong looks like he wants to groan. “Yes, Mother…”

“Thank you, Madame Jin!” Wei Ying chirps.

“You’re very welcome, A-Ying.” Then she’s gone.

The two boys sit in silence until the servants come with water for their baths. Wei Ying grabs Jin Rong’s sleeve before the older boy can step behind the screen to bathe. “I’m sorry!”

“Sorry?” Jin Rong echoes. “Why?”

“I… I got you in trouble,” Wei Ying says. “Sect Leader Jin was mad. I’m really sorry!”

“It’s fine,” Jin Rong says. “Mother didn’t mind, and if she doesn’t mind she won’t let Father do anything.”

“But…”

“It’s fine,” Jin Rong insists. “It was an accident! If Father’s going to blame you for the rice being too high up, then…” He cuts himself off with a cough. “Go take a bath, you’re filthy.”

Wei Ying giggles. Jin Rong grabs a clean robe and throws it at him. “Okay, okay! I’m going! But Ge- Um, but Jin-gongzi needs to bathe too!”

“Shut up!” Jin Rong snaps, stepping behind the screen. “Why are you calling me ‘Jin-gongzi’ all of a sudden?”

“Well, Jin-gongzi is the heir to the sect,” Wei Ying says lightly. “And I’m just an orphaned street rat, after all! Your reputation would suffer if I was too familiar with you!”

Jin Rong’s spice-covered outer robes come flying over the screen and land on his head with remarkable accuracy. “Shut up!” he says again. “…Just call me Gege. It’s fine.”

Wei Ying stares silently for a moment, then smiles to himself as he peels off his dirty clothes and hops into his own bath. “Yes, Gege!”

“Um,” Jin Rong says. There’s a silence broken only by the splashing of water. “Can I call you Didi?” he blurts out.

Wei Ying’s smile stretches even wider across his cheeks. “Yes!”

He hears Jin Rong laugh. “Okay… Didi!”

Wei Ying giggles. “Okay, Gege!” he chirps.

…

After cooking lessons (a disastrous idea, Jin Rong thinks; Wei Ying is small and clumsy and keeps knocking things over, but Madame Jin just laughs and picks them up again), Madame Jin insists on teaching Wei Ying cultivation.

Jin Rong can’t deny being happy about that. He’s older than Wei Ying so he gets to be his shixiong, and he’s stronger and faster so he gets to show him how to do everything! And Wei Ying watches him practice with wide, awed eyes and shouts praise across the field like he’s the best thing he’s ever seen. And he learns fast! Within just a few months he’s already excelling at the basics. Every time he figures something new out, he always comes running to show Jin Rong before anyone else, even Mother.

His little brother is so cute. He bets none of the other sect heirs have such cute siblings.

(He’s definitely better than Jiang Cheng’s sister.)

“Gege, Gege!” Wei Ying looks over and grins at him, waving his practice sword (not even seeming to notice the weight, Jin Rong notes with some pride) and forcing the nearest disciples to duck out of the way.

“Didi.” Jin Rong has to drop his own sword as Wei Ying bounds across the training field and throws himself into Jin Rong’s arms. “Shouldn’t you be training?”

“I’ve been training all morning,” Wei Ying whines, leaning his full weight against Jin Rong. “Gege, we should do something fun!”

“Like what?” Jin Rong picks up his sword, ignoring the way Wei Ying flails to maintain his balance. “We still have work to do.”

“But, Gege!” Wei Ying says. He grins. “I know a secret!”

“Do you?” Jin Rong asks, interested despite himself. Wei Ying has quickly ingratiated himself to most of the servants who don’t directly serve Jin Guangshan, so he gets all the best gossip. “What is it?”

Wei Ying is bouncing up and down on the spot. “Not telling!”

“Yes you are,” Jin Rong says. “You always tell me, you’re terrible at secrets.”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

“Am not!” Wei Ying pouts at him. “I’m not bad at secrets! Just for that I’m not going to tell you, so there!”

“Tell me,” Jin Rong says. “You know you want to.”

“No I don’t!” Wei Ying insists. “I’m not going to!”

“Tell me.”

“No!” Wei Ying folds his hands over his chest. “…Unless…”

Aha! “Unless what?”

…He’s never claimed to be above bribing his brother.

Wei Ying lights up. “I want spicy food!” he demands. “Really, really spicy food!”

“Fine, fine,” Jin Rong says. “We can go down to the kitchen and I’ll talk to the cooks.”

But Wei Ying shakes his head. “I want Gege to make it!” he insists.

“What?!” Jin Rong scoffs. “Sect heirs don’t cook, there are people who do that for them!” At least, that’s what Jin Guangshan had said.

“But Madame Jin said that cooking is an important skill,” Wei Ying says. “And Gege’s cooking is the best…”

“Well… That… Of course my cooking is the best!” Jin Rong says quickly. “I’m the heir to the Jin Sect! I’m good at everything!”

Wei Ying nods emphatically. “Gege is the best!”

“And don’t forget it!” Jin Rong glances over at Wei Ying’s instructor. The woman looks amused, but also a little impatient. “Finish your training for today, then I’ll take you to the kitchen. Okay?”

“Okay!” Wei Ying scoops up his sword again and begins to run back, then turns. “You promise?”

“Yes, yes, I promise.” Jin Rong shoos him away. “Hurry up!”

“Yes, Gege!” Wei Ying chirps. Then he whirls around and scurries back to his instructor.

…

Jin Rong isn’t actually very good at cooking. He isn’t going to admit that to Wei Ying, though. He promised! A good sect heir always keeps his promises!

So here he is in the kitchen, scowling at a bowl of what’s supposed to be congee. “It’s…”

“It looks good!” Wei Ying chirps.

It looks bright red and a little gross. Is Wei Ying just making fun of him? “Are you going to eat it, then?”

“Mhm!” And he actually does. Jin Rong watches in horrified awe as Wei Ying gulps down the entire bowl of congee without a single complaint. “It’s good, Gege!”

“…Really?” Jin Rong asks. “I mean- Of course! Because your big brother is good at everything!”

Wei Ying nods agreeably. “Mhm! I have the best big brother!”

Jin Rong is not flattered by that. He isn’t! “Now it’s your turn.”

Wei Ying tilts his head to the side. “My turn?” he echoes.

Jin Rong sighs. “You promised that if I made you spicy food you’d tell me a secret,” he reminds his brother.

“Oh, right!” Wei Ying grins and beckons him closer, even though the cooks seem entirely uninterested (and probably already know; Jin Rong wouldn’t be surprised if they’d been the ones to tell Wei Ying this little secret in the first place). “I heard Madame Yu is bringing her daughter here from Yunmeng to visit!”

Jin Rong groans, all his curiosity replaced by annoyance. “Again?”

Wei Ying blinks at him, confused. “Again?”

“I guess Mother wouldn’t have mentioned it to you,” Jin Rong says dully. “I’m engaged to Jiang Yanli. Have been since I was born.”

“That’s… bad?” Wei Ying asks.

“Of course it’s bad!” Jin Rong complains. “I don’t like her. She’s boring, and she’s no good at cultivation! But Mother and Madame Yu decided we were going to get married, so I don’t have a choice.”

“But if you don’t like her then why don’t you just tell Madame Jin?” Wei Ying asks. “If she knew you don’t want to marry Jiang Yanli…”

“You think I haven’t tried that?!” Jin Rong snaps. There’s a brief clatter as the cooks scurry off to look busy. “You think I’ve got a choice? Are you stupid?!”

Wei Ying flinches. “S-sorry!”

“Of course Mother knows I don’t want to!” Jin Rong continues, ignoring him. “She just wants me to marry her best friend’s daughter! What I want doesn’t matter! And Jiang Yanli isn’t helping, she actually wants to get married!”

“But… that’s not fair,” Wei Ying says quietly. “Mama said that marriage is supposed to make people happy.”

“Well, it doesn’t work like that!” Jin Rong snaps. “Don’t be such a kid!”

“So what if I’m a kid?” Wei Ying whines. “You’re a kid, too!”

“Yeah, well…” Jin Rong shoves the younger boy, hard enough to knock him back a step. “I’m older, so I know better!”

“Gege knows lots of things,” Wei Ying agrees far too quickly, steadying himself against the counter. He’s staring at Jin Rong, eyes wide.

Jin Rong sighs and forces himself to relax, reaching out to pat his brother on the head. “…Sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have pushed you.” Mother always says a good sect leader should know when to apologize.

“It’s okay!” Wei Ying insists. “I don’t mind!” And he smiles, bright as the sun.

His little brother is just so cute. “Jiang Yanli’s going to be so jealous,” he says proudly.

Wei Ying tilts his head to the side. “Why?”

Jin Rong scoffs and pokes Wei Ying’s forehead playfully. “You’re so dumb, Didi,” he teases. “Obviously because my little brother’s way better than hers!” All Jiang Cheng does is whine and yell at Jin Rong. He bets Wei Ying will be way better at cultivation than that kid, too, once he’s had more practice!

Wei Ying blushes bright red, a delighted grin spreading over his face. “Gege’s the best brother, though!”

Jin Rong tries to stop himself from smiling. In the end he has to turn away so Wei Ying can’t see. “Obviously I’m the best,” he says. “I’m the heir to the Jin Sect of Lanling! I’m the best at everything!”

“Except cooking,” Wei Ying points out with a mischievous little giggle and a smile in the direction of the cooks.

“What- You said it was good!” Jin Rong complains. “You liar!” He lunges playfully at his little brother, all remaining annoyance forgotten.

“It was good, it was good!” Wei Ying yelps, scrambling away from Jin Rong’s hands.

“Too late! I don’t believe you!” Jin Rong grabs him and sets about his brutal vengeance.

“Gege!” Wei Ying shrieks with laughter as Jin Rong’s fingers dig into his ribs. “Stop it, stop it!”

“Never!” He tightens his grip. Wei Ying howls. “If you lie to your brother you have to face the consequences!”

“Sorry, sorry!” Wei Ying tears himself loose and runs to hide behind one of the cooks. “I won’t do it again!”

“Hey, get back here!” Jin Rong can’t stop himself from laughing. “Cultivators should never run from a fight!”

“It’s important to avoid fights you know you can’t win!” Wei Ying retorts, peering around the woman.

“So you admit I’m better!” Jin Rong crows, ducking around the cook. Wei Ying circles the other way.

“Only until I get more practice!” Wei Ying insists. “I’m going to beat you one day!”

The cook laughs. “Boys- Ah, Jin-gongzi, Wei-gongzi,” she corrects herself. “If you’re going to run around, don’t do it in the kitchen.”

“Sorry, Auntie!” Wei Ying chimes.

“Sorry,” Jin Rong echoes. He grabs Wei Ying’s wrist. “Come on, Didi, let’s go!”

They run from the kitchen, leaving the laughter of the cooks behind them.

“So,” Jin Rong asks, “you’re going to be better than me, huh?”

“Mhm!” Wei Ying nods. “I’m going to be the best cultivator ever, and then I’m going to stay by your side and protect you forever!”

…His little brother is the absolute best. “You can’t do that,” Jin Rong says, mostly to keep himself from doing something embarrassing.

“I can’t?” Wei Ying asks, eyes wide and sad.

Jin Rong nods. “Mother said, remember? I’m your big brother. It’s my job to protect you!”

Wei Ying’s face lights up and he bounces over to wrap his arms around Jin Rong’s neck. “We can protect each other!”

Jin Rong returns the hug. “Yeah. It’s a promise!”

(And sect leaders should always keep their promises.)

[dragon-fics]

HA: Ch. 16 The Apprentice and Her Master

Chapter summary: Left in the void alone, Heather must confront the mysterious person who is supposedly waiting for her

Prologue, Pt. 1, Pt. 2, Pt. 3 , Pt. 4, Pt. 5, Pt. 6 , Pt. 7, Pt. 8, Pt. 9, Pt. 10, Pt. 11, Pt. 12, Pt. 13, Pt. 14, Pt. 15

The figures faded away, and Heather stood in silence. Her muscles relaxed; she wasn’t even aware she was so tense. Heather glanced around the dark abyss, trembling slightly as it all hit her. She had passed their test… the test she wasn’t even sure she had even the slightest chance of passing. Heather drew in a long breath and hugged herself.

“Can—,” her voice was small and shaken, “can I talk to Aaravos now?”

The abyss stayed silent and dark; there was no sign of this person. Heather sighed and walked forward, head low and arms close to her stomach. She wished she could wake up already. Tonight had been exciting enough.

Then a whoosh and a bright light came from behind her. Heather turned around, looking at the pale portal in front of her. “Hello?”

Out of the portal came a dark figure, nowhere near as tall as the most talkative member of the council., but still taller than Heather, by about a foot. Long white locks billowed behind them as they walked forward, eyes and chest glowing.

Heather squinted. “Aaravos?”

The glowing portal faded away, allowing her to get a better look at the figure heading towards her.

He smiled. “You did excellent, Heather.”

She grinned. “Heh, it’s all your training, Sparkles.” She drifted towards him. “So… are you the one they were talking about?” She reached for his hand to ensure he was actually there. To her relief, she could hold it.

He gently wrapped his cool fingers around her and, ensuring her further, a small smile slipping onto his face. Aaravos shook his head, his smile fading away. “I don’t think so.”

Heather frowned and looked around at the abyss. Who else could want to see her?

Another orb of light appeared close by and slowly lowered itself to the ‘ground’. Its light faded away to reveal another elf… but this one was very much unlike the others. They didn’t have skin that reminded Heather of the heavens. Instead, their skin was almond brown with patches of grey and stars scattered around their body. They had short, undercut, bob cut silver hair and deer-like antlers on their head. They were lean built with pointed features, looking both but neither masculine nor feminine.

Heather peered at them and unconsciously reached for her facial markings. Theirs were very similar to hers. “Who… are you?”

They chuckled and looked at Aaravos. “Care to tell her, Master?”

Heather looked back at him, still holding his hand. She frowned. In none of his memoirs, had she found any mention of an apprentice.

Aaravos stare silently at the young elf. For the first time, Heather saw him stunned.

They came closer, a smile on their face. “It’s good to see you too, Father.”

Heather’s frown deepened. This was getting more convoluted by the second. This elf was revealing so much so quickly.

Aaravos released her hand and placed his hand on the mystery elf’s cheek, smiling down at them. “I thought I lost you, Elluin.”

They smiled, a tear rolling down their face. “You could never lose me.” Elluin looked at Heather. “not while she’s around.” They wiped away their tears and moved over to stand in front of Heather.

She glanced from them to Aaravos and wiped away his own stray tear. “So… who are you?”

They chuckled. “I am Elluin. And I was you in your past life. I am also the one who deliver you your prophecy.” They rolled their eyes.

Heather barked a laugh. “Exactly.”

Elluin smiled. “Shall we get started? And I’ll explain everything.”

*~*~*~*

Heather sat up groggily, morning sunshine blinding her as it poured into her eyes like burning lava. She groaned, glancing around the sun washed teal room. The night hadn’t seemed real, yet she could remember everything but her prophecy. She sighed, getting off out of the shallow pool of water, her gold and black outfit bone dry. She hummed and stepped out onto the steps, her bare feet warmed by the sun-touched tiles.

She opened the door of the room and walked down the long corridor. For a long moment, she was mesmerized, caught up in a web of her own thoughts. She had been destined to meet Aaravos? Heather found it hard to believe. She wound her way through his vast home, making her way down to the small kitchen and living area of his gigantic house.

He had mentioned that the tiny room was the heart of the house, where Aaravos had some of his greatest moments. At the time, Heather thought he meant achievements, but now she knew it had something to do with Elluin.

Heather entered the small kitchen, looking out at the large glass window that overlooked the Midnight Desert and Lux Aurea in the distance. She hopped up onto the violet stool by the obsidian counter, attempting to grasp what had happened last night. She stared at the black counter top as she thought, not noticing Aaravos walking in after her.

He rested a hand on her shoulder. “Good morning, Heather.”

“Morning,” she mumbled, coming out of her thoughts.

He smirked, tracing his hand over part of her she didn’t quite recognise.

Heather’s heart leapt, and she spun off the stool. Aaravos barely moved out of the way in time, and she spun around. On her back were a set of large wings, with the same ombre of indigo to yellow as her arms. She stretched them out, getting a long look at their glittering beauty. But they weren’t just glittering in the sun… they were twinkling with stars. Heather froze, her silver eyes narrowing. She looked at her hands. Stars were scattered across her skin. She took a quick peek down at her top. A small, white symbol of the star arcanum was embedded in her skin, high on her chest.

A muffled squeal escaped Heather as he spun around to face Aaravos. She chuckled madly and hopped on the spot. She dove into a hug, wrapping her arms around Aaravos. “Thank you,” Heather whispered.

Aaravos looked down at her, a soft smile on his face. He placed the bundle of clothing on the counter. “No, thank you, Heather.” He gently hugged her back. They stood there for a while, in each other’s embrace.

She slowly released him, stepping away with a broad smile. Her gaze drifted over to the bundle of clothing. She stepped forward, eyeing it curiously. “These are the garments you’ve been working on at night.” She observed.

Aaravos frowned. “Yes, they are.” He placed a silvery hand on top of the pile. “They’re for you.”

Heather glanced from him to the garments. “For me?”

He inclined his head. “I made them for when you passed your test, so you’d have clothes that suited you.”

Heat rushed to her cheeks. “Thanks, Sparkles.” She picked up the clothes. “Lets try them on, I guess.” She scuttled away with the bundle, leaving Aaravos standing in the room on his own. He reached for his sewing things, finishing a piece of embroidery.

When Heather returned, a figure-hugging black and purple tunic-length vest hung on her body. A small window was cut out for her star to shine through, and its core held an overlapping pointed design. Her leggings ended at her foot, allowing her feet to touch the ground. She presumed it was for her mimicking.

Heather spun around. “I love it!” she hissed. She then reached for the last piece of clothing. A cloak. It was the same black design as Aaravos’ with a silver accent to match her eyes. On the pointed hood were the symbols of the sun and sky arcana. She threw it on, liking that it ended above the knee for swift movement. She squealed again. “we’ll be a matching master and apprentice duo.” She grinned.

Aaravos chuckled, turning around. “That we can. But I have one more thing for you, Heather.” He drew a rune, something long and silver appearing in his hands. As he turned around, Heather got a better look at the long object. It was a slender pole with a large silver ring at one end. Between the ring and the tip of the pole, a large stone was embedded. In the ring were five other stones. Each one shone a different colour; one yellow, one teal, another deep blue, one emerald green, another pale blue, and the centre one was a shimmering lilac.

“I present to you the Apprentice Archmage’s staff.” He held it out to her. “For my apprentice.”

Heather smiled, taking the staff from him gently, getting used to its feel. “Thank you, Master.”

~The End~

There was supposed to be an epilogue, but it had no real purpose in the story and unfortunately I’m rather stuck for time. Thank you for sticking around and seeing the end of the book. If you would like to see the continuation, its first chapter is up, titled His Home. it won’t revolve very much about any of the canon Dragon Prince characters, it’s just set in the Dragon Prince universe. Thank you all so much for getting me 2,000 reads on this story. I will edit it sometime later this year or mid next year, depending on how life goes for me. Thanks again!

EmmaPRIME

[shootybangbang]

[Talking Bird] Ch 16: In which the plot finally makes an appearance

[Ao3 Link]

[Content Warning]: suicidal ideation, mild gore

[Note]: this fic has gone through some serious revisions — mostly expanded scenes/dialogue. The chapters most heavily affected are 1, 2, 3, and 7, but I’ve added a changelog to the end notes of each previous chapter detailing the edits that have been made. To save you some time though, here are the three main things to note:

The reader character does not have the bonds

The reader character refers to Arthur by his last name due to unfamiliarity

The horniness from last chapter has been moved to a future chapter. sorry!

This chapter is also pretty long in comparison to the others. From here on out, the chapters will probably be 2000+ words.

———

You look out into the plains, at the last pale band of light disappearing beneath a horizon of prairie grass and dark, looming buttes. The shadows of the scant trees stretch long and thin, their branches like a thousand spindly fingers grasping, searching. The landscape is dimmed to a tableau of reds and blacks, anything not illuminated by the fire slowly sinking into the featureless canvas of night. All of it blurred and indistinct behind a curtain of rain.

It’s a prettier sight by far than any you’ve had in St Denis. Or San Francisco. Or anywhere else you’ve lived, really.

And yet it hangs like featureless gauze behind the endless reel playing out over and over behind your eyes, spinning round like the printed images on a zoetrope.

The O’Driscoll’s hands wet with blood and mud. His eyes wide and uncomprehending. Trying to put himself back together the way one might a broken toy, sieving his viscera between his fingers and scooping it into the cavity of his chest. That initial, stunned bemusement giving way at last to the dawning horror of his own end.

And accompanying it, the numb realization that what bothered you more was the bare abstraction of the act. The burden of this sin weighing heavy with all the others, its addition tipping some moral scale, and —

“Hey.”

Morgan’s voice, jarringly brusque against the murmurings of your own private judge and jury, is almost mercifully irritating.

“What do you want?” you snap.

“Get up,” he says. “Start strippin’ the wet bark off the firewood.”

“For chrissakes, at least give me a second to catch my breath.”

“Why, so you can keep sittin’ there feeling sorry for yourself?” He leans one hand against the stone wall of the outcrop and drags himself back to his feet. The barest shadow of a grimace flits across his face as he straightens his back. “C’mon. Sooner we get set up proper, the sooner we can get back to ignorin’ each other. Then you can sulk all night in peace.”

The cottonwood branches are covered in cracked, ash brown bark that scrapes rough against your palms and fingers, rasping the skin raw as you hold the wood firm for carving. One of the downsides of living easy for so many years, you suppose — all the protective calluses atrophy to nothing, and what remains becomes susceptible to old and familiar hurts. But habits run deeper than skin, and what the mind forgets the body keeps.

As you work your way through the firewood, Boadicea nickers and paws impatiently at the dirt.

“I’m sorry girl,” you hear Morgan say. “Been a hard day for us both.”

You snort contemptuously. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as he unhooks the horse’s bridle and lifts away the saddle, then starts grooming her with a battered looking brush, brushing with quick, circular motions, going against the grain and fluffing up her coat to dry out her fur with a solicitous measure of care that seems wholly unfitting of a man of his temperament and occupation.

Boadicea makes a low, rumbly noise in the back of her throat that sounds almost like a purr. She dips her head down and chomps at the yellowed prairie grass lining the floor of the outcrop, tearing up mouthfuls with a sedate contentedness that makes you sorely wish you could share in her circumstances.

A sense of fatigue more complete than any you’ve ever felt before settles over you like heavy snow. For the moment, you feel blank and washed out, stripped bare of all pretense.

“Morgan,” you admit. “I don’t have the bonds.”

“Yeah,” he replies. “I know.” He unpacks his canvas roll and yanks free from it the saddle blanket of coarse, undyed wool, then unfurls it over the horse’s back, pulling it over her flank and adjusting the fit. “Figured as much before we left Strawberry.”

“Oh.” At this point, you haven’t even the energy to be surprised. “Huh.”

For a long while, the only sound is that of the knife scraping against bark and the intensifying patter of rain, fat droplets coming down hard and fast.

In a small voice, you ask him, “You’re not really gonna sell me to a brothel, are you?”

He scoffs. “What makes y’think that ?”

“Thought you seemed too… too decent to do something like that.”

“Me? Decent?” Morgan lets out a low, disbelieving whistle. “Thought you’d know better by now.”

He turns partway to face you. In the dim light of the fire only half of him is lit bright enough to see, the rest tapering sharp into dark silhouette. For the lapse of a heartbeat it’s as if all the irreverence and bravado has been ripped away like a sheet of paper, and underneath a viciousness, a suppressed violence that you’ve been too blind to see.

This whole time you’ve been treating him like a dog, when the teeth at your throat are those of a wolf.

Your mouth goes dry and your fingers tighten around the knife in your hand. You stare up at him like a deer caught in his sights — blind panic rising up in your chest and throat like cold water. You swallow hard and try to force it down so you can maintain at least a semblance of control.

“Mr. Morgan…?”

“You ain’t been half as scared of me as you should be,” he says. “holed up with a wanted man, nobody around for miles. Some of the men I’ve run with, they…”

He lets the sentence trail off, the implications clear enough without him saying so. Then he shakes his head, and there is a weariness in him, a kind of cynical exhaustion that ages him far beyond his years. “Girl,” he says. “You keep at this line of work, I guarantee you’ll be dead in a year.”

Morgan slicks his fingers through his wet hair to keep rainwater from dripping into his eyes, and you can see that the hangdog look is back on his face, all his suggested cruelty vanished like smoke. He shifts his attention back to the saddlebags. “No, I ain’t decent,” he continues. He pulls out a tin cup and the individual components of what looks to be a collapsible grill. “But I ain’t so far gone that I’d hurt a woman. Or sell one.”

“But you’d ransom one.”

“Figured it out, did you?” he says. “Thought you might.”

He sits back beside the fire and pieces the grill together, twists its winch tight and positions it over the fire. Then he fills the tin cup with water from the canteen and sets it atop to heat.

“If you don’t hurt women,” you say slowly, your right hand still holding the knife tight as a vise. “Then what’re you going to do to me when you find out I’m not worth ransoming?”

“Doubt that’s gonna be a problem.”

“Why not?”

“Had a brand new Mauser on ya. You know how much those things cost?”

Mentally, you kick yourself. Looks like begging the gunsmith to lend you the best pistol he had in stock has come back to bite you in the ass.

“The gun’s not mine,” you say quickly. “It’s a loan.”

“Those bloomers in your room were real silk. You gonna tell me those were a loan too?”

“You — my bloomers?! Why were you going through my bloomers, you fucking degen—”

Of all the things you’ve accused him of today, somehow this is the one that actually rankles him. “You think I like rummaging through women’s underwear? Had to go through ‘em to get to your billfold.”

You flush hard enough that even the tips of your ears feel hot. “I… I saved up for those bloomers. Not that I’d expect you to understand the importance of—

“That shirt’s custom tailored, ain’t it? Those boots, too. And that’s good leather right there. Far too good for your typical drug mule. Either you come from money, or you got rich friends.”

There’s not much you can rebut here. All you can manage is a lame, “You don’t even know who I am .”

“Got a friend not too far from here who’s plenty familiar with St Denis. He’ll know.” Morgan holds his hand out towards you. “Gimme that knife a second.”

The knife is the only scrap of protection you’ve managed to grab hold of through this entire ordeal. You squeeze its handle tight.

He lets out a short, impatient sigh. “If I wanted to hurt you, I’d have done it by now. So c’mere and hand it over.”

You’ve known men who take a certain vicious pleasure in abusing women. Merchants with cringing wives. Clients with kind faces who’d leave working girls battered and bruised. There’s usually a certain mien about them that sets you on edge and that Morgan, brusque as he is, thoroughly lacks.

You brush the wood shavings off your lap and approach him. When you reach his place beside the fire, he tilts his head upwards to meet your eyes, the look on his face calm and expectant. A self-assured confidence that you’ve seen many times before, in the guises of many different men. It sends a familiar shiver of resentment down your spine.

You could cut out his eye right now. You could sink the blade into the thick cord of his neck. And he’d shoot you dead just for trying it — oh, you’ve no doubt of that — but it’d be quick and it’d be painless, and here comes that pathetic urge again, that little whisper coaxing you deeper, deeper towards the welcoming dark —

But equally pathetic is the nagging insistence that always stays your hand, that strident, desperate plea born from bodily instinct. The shared fear of all life from the inevitable. Cowardice — that’s what it is. A cowardice you’ve never been able to shake, a resentful, stubborn tether that you’ve bitten and clawed at over the years, but that still stays looped firm around your neck.

( And what about Mei? What about her son? )

You hand him the knife, and he receives it without incident.

The water in the tin cup is boiling. Morgan slips the point of the knife through the cup’s metal handle, and delicately removes it from the grate to cool. As you stand there, wet and cold and resentful, but not sure what else to do, he saws the top off a can of beans and sets it on the grill to warm, then pulls something out of his satchel and tosses it in your direction.

Somehow, you manage to not fumble the catch. It’s a can of peaches.

“Don’t eat ‘em yet,” he says. “I wanna take a look at your arm first. Roll up your sleeve for me.”

You grimace. One of the pros of tailored shirts is having sleeves that actually fit. “It doesn’t roll up that far.”

“Then I’ll cut it off for you,” he says, putting the knife to the shoulder seam.

“Like hell you will. This is my last decent shirt.”

Morgan shrugs. “No way around it, unless you wanna take it off.”

A shirt nice enough to present a veneer of respectability costs at least $4. Your usual tailor’s fee runs about $2, plus tip. That’s $6 total: the equivalent of two week’s worth of food for Mei and her son. Good food — white rice and cabbage, maybe even a bit of pork belly. Not the bits of offal scrounged from the butcher and wilted produce she’d resort to otherwise.

You hold out your hand and say, “Give me something to cover myself with.”

Your time spent reading Ovid in college would have probably been better served learning to dress like him, you think to yourself as you try and try again to wrap Morgan’s blanket around yourself like a toga.

“I said I’d give you a minute to yourself,” he says. “It’s been more than three now. I’m gonna turn around.”

“Just ten more seconds,” you respond, hastily tucking the corner of the blanket into the horizontal swathe pulled taut across your torso.

The sheer amount of irritation he manages to convey in the sigh he lets out is really quite impressive. In it, you can somehow hear him rolling his eyes.

When you finally let him know you’re ready, he takes one look at you and has to stifle a laugh. “You could’ve just wrapped it around your chest. Woulda been more practical.”

“Oh, excuse me for wanting to preserve what’s left of my dignity,” you snap, keeping one arm pressed against your chest to keep the whole improvised garment from falling apart.

“Alright Caesar, c’mere. Let me see.”

The cut looks like an angry red furrow ploughed through the field of your skin. Its edges are ragged and torn, separated like poorly cut cloth. In between, the wound itself gleams red and raw, with particles and fibers mixed in with blood and indeterminate tissue.

Earlier, when you’d gingerly untied the makeshift bandage and taken off your shirt, you’d taken a silent moment to survey the damage, wondering with horrified fascination if it was perhaps your own muscle you were glimpsing, that particular facet of your body surfacing through its dermal barrier for the first time.

“I’m gonna hold your arm,” Morgan says. “That ok with you?”

You nod, a little dumbfounded that he of all people would have the foresight to ask for permission.

He lifts your arm towards the firelight so he can better examine the wound, and in doing so handles you with more care than you can remember any lover ever giving you. You tell yourself that it’s a rebuke of your own terrible taste than an indication of any extraordinary kindness on his part, then forcibly dredge up the memory of his gun at your back for good measure.

“You’re gonna have a hell of a scar after this,” he says, running his thumb along the unbroken skin below the cut. “No inflammation, which is good. I’ll patch you up the best I can, but we’re still gonna want to check on it every couple hours to make sure it doesn’t get infected.”

He gets up to rummage through his saddlebags and returns holding a roll of gauze and a bottle of clear liquid. “You’ll be wanting this,” he says, handing over the latter. “This’ll hurt.”

You take a swig and nearly choke on it. “What the hell is this?”

“Grain alcohol.”

Grimacing, you bring it to your lips again and take in two more mouthfuls of the stuff before handing it back, gulping it down quick to get the burn of it down your throat and off of your tongue.

Morgan hovers his hand over the tin cup to test its temperature. “This needs to cool down first. Gives you some time for that liquor to set in too.”

“I think it’s going to my head already,” you admit.

Heat is spreading from the warm pit of your stomach to your neck and face, branching through your veins as sure as blood. The thud of your heart, previously an imperceptible thing, now asserts itself like a metronome.

He glances over at you and whistles low. “Not much of a drinker, are you?”

“Not usually.” You press your palm against your cheek. “Am I turning red?”

“Gettin’ there.”

It’s strange, settling into this oddly comfortable limbo between cordiality and aggression. Your sustained caution of him is beginning to wane so steadily that you have to consciously remind yourself the only reason he hasn’t shot you dead or at least seriously injured you is due to the fact that you’re worth more intact than otherwise.

“So,” Morgan says. “What’s someone with silk bloomers doin’ all the way out here runnin’ opium to Strawberry?”

“It’s a very long and stupid story.”

“Then give me the short version.”

You stare at the ground as though it’ll offer you some way to condense the sordid affair of your life into a couple easy sentences. He’d asked the question with what sounded like genuine curiosity instead of interrogation, and for once you feel inclined to blurt out the whole of it, like a girl in confession.

You want to tell him about how small the missionaries had seemed when you’d waved at them through the train’s grime-smudged window, not knowing it’d be the last time. The tweed jacket tossed carelessly onto the floor, and the cool, smooth sheen of mahogany against your skin. Feng fishing you out from the dark water lapping at the docks. The money, the opium, the blood.

The sight of the Heartlands for the first time, its blue horizon impossibly vast.

“I owe someone a lot of money,” you say finally, fiddling with a piece of grass between your fingers, tearing into halves and halves and halves. “He said it was either this or the brothel.”

“And you chose this. Runnin’ dope to those poor bastards working the railroads.”

It’s not the first time you’ve heard this particular tone of voice. The kind that implies its speaker’s higher moral ground as it categorically condemns you. But coming from him makes its sting especially hard.

“I don’t force them to buy it,” you say hotly. “It’s not just me that’s at fault here.”

“You ever seen a dope addict? They ain’t got a goddamn choice —”

“Well, d’you know what the average lifespan of a Chinatown whore is?” You don’t bother waiting for a response before plummeting to the answer. “Two years. After that she’s either dead from syphilis or suicide. At least with the opium I’ll die out here in the open and not in some squalid closet of a room that smells like piss and men.”

The liquor is starting to hit hard , and a part of you is fiercely grateful for it. It’s been a long time since you’ve been given an excuse to scream out the inequities of your life to someone, and a man who’s holding you for ransom seems as good a target for your vitriol as any.

“You think that just ‘cause it’d be better for the greater good or some shit, they should get to fuck me over? Is that what you think?”

Morgan seems a little taken aback. “I didn’t say th—”

“I don’t give a shit about the addicts. I don’t give a shit who’s life I’m ruining, as long as it isn’t mine. I don’t… I don’t care about anyone else because I’m a terrible excuse for a human being. That’s what you want to hear me say, right?” At this point, you realize that you’ve transitioned into a hysterical rant, that you don’t properly mean half the things you’re saying, but saying it out loud feels good nonetheless, like sucking venom from a festering wound. “But people like you don’t get to tell me so. Because at least I don’t hold people at fucking gunpoint . I don’t rob banks or kidnap women or beat debtors. I’m not a fucking murderer like you—”

The last statement barely clears the air before the image of the dead O’Driscoll, sprawled across the ground with his belly torn open, flashes through your head. You immediately clap your hand over your mouth, as if doing so will let you swallow back your words.

“No,” Morgan says, “You ain’t a murderer. And that’s why you won’t last long.”

“Good,” you seethe. The hot sting of tears begins prickling again at the corners of your eyes. “I don’t want to.”

He raises his eyebrows and regards you with a vague, detached kind of pity that makes you almost wish he’d just outright condemn you instead, then touches his fingers to the tin cup. “Water’s cool enough now, I think.”

You feel like a petulant child who’s just thrown an ineffectual tantrum. Rendered self-conscious and obedient for the time being, you allow him to secure your elbow with his hand and begin irrigating the wound with warm water.

“Jesus fucking god,” you hiss. You reflexively try and jerk away, but he holds you still and tells you to stop squirming, his grip firm as iron.

It’s the worst pain you’ve felt in years. Like a lick of flame passing over your skin, echoing its progenitor again and again as he washes the cut with a series of short, measured trickles of water, flushing away the combined grime of dried blood, dust, and lint.

“You think this is bad,” he says, unscrewing the bottle of grain alcohol. “Wait’ll I sterilize it.”

If the water was flame, then the alcohol is a streak of molten lava, wet fire soaking through the wound in a rush of white-hot burning pain. You don’t scream — you let out a weak, choking sob so pathetic that you cover your mouth again in an attempt to stifle it.

But you’re a little drunk and your subconscious recognizes this as an excellent excuse to cry, and so it lets flood the tears you’ve kept stoppered up for hours now. You whimper, meet his eyes briefly, then start bawling.

Your crying before hadn’t seemed to bother him, but now he looks almost comically alarmed. He must think it’s the physical pain sending you into hysterics, because he starts trying to comfort you the same way he did Boadicea when he’d led her into the river.

“You’re doin’ good,” he says, cajoling you in a soft, affectionate voice. He sets the bottle of alcohol on the ground and pats you awkwardly on the shoulder. “Just a little more to go, and we’ll be done.”

Another agonizing, scorching splash of fire. He doesn’t chide you this time when you try to pull away.

“Shhhh… I know, I know. Hurts like a bitch, don’t it? I’m gonna give it one more rinse, and — yeah, there we go. You’re alright.”

Morgan wraps the bandage over your arm with deft, practiced fingers, and you wonder briefly how many times he’s had to do this for himself, with no one to soothe him. Though better that than the shoddy job you’d done on him six weeks ago, frantically patching him up with just the barest idea of what you were doing.

He ties off the bandage, then picks the can of peaches off the ground, pops open its metal lid with the tip of his knife and proffers it to you like a peace offering. “Here. You’re hungry, right?”

It’s very hard to cry and eat at the same time. You decide to concentrate on the latter.

After tapering your sobs down to a series of quiet, resentful sniffles, you begin gulping down mouthful after messy mouthful of sliced peach. It’s the first morsel of food you’ve had in over ten hours, and you wolf it down so quickly you hardly taste it. Just an impression of cloying sweetness mixed with something faintly aromatic (cinnamon, you think) lingering as an aftertaste.

The old instincts of hunger are hard to shake off. All decorum thoroughly discarded, you raise the can to your lips and drink down what syrup remains, tilting it nearly perpendicular to the ground to get at the last few drops.

“My god,” Morgan says. “I seen dogs with better manners.”

“If you’d fed me earlier, then I— what’re you doing.”

“What’s it look like I’m doing?” he asks. He holds his bandolier in one hand. The other is working at his shirtcollar. “I’m gettin’ the hell outta these wet clothes.”

You clutch at the empty can of peaches as his union suit reveals itself in a revelation of blue. A blue which, you admit to yourself with an uncomfortable surge of appreciation, suits the shade of his eyes extremely well. But when he begins unbuckling his belt, you quickly avert your eyes. “Really?” you ask. The scandalization you probably ought to have felt from the very moment he’d begun undressing finally begins to surface. “Your pants, too?”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist. I’m keepin’ the union suit on.”

“Are you usually this brazen with the women you kidnap?”

“D’you usually sit around half-naked with the men who kidnap you?” he asks, jabbing his thumb towards your own discarded shirt, which you’d spread out neatly beside the fire to dry.

“That’s different,” you hiss, knowing very well that it isn’t. “I had a medical reason.”

“Yeah, and so do I. I don’t wanna get pneumonia.”

He has a point. You look down at your own sodden trousers, which cling to your skin in a cold, wet embrace, and your internal scale of comfort versus propriety tips decidedly towards the former.

“Turn your back again,” you tell him.

“What for?”

“I’m gonna take my pants off too, and I don’t want you trying to sneak a peek at my bloomers.”

He laughs, then winces and gingerly splays his fingers across his ribs. It’s the first sign of real levity you’ve seen from him. “Oh, that is the last thing on my mind right now, girl.” There’s a tired grin on his face, and were it not for the events of the day, you might have almost found it endearing. “Besides, you ain’t hardly my type.”

“Well that’s good to hear,” you reply, a little offended. “Because I’m not interested in men with terrible taste.”

But he does as he’s told, and when you’re satisfied with the oblique angle of his range of sight, you let the borrowed blanket fall from your shoulders and pull the ribbon securing your braid free. You rake your fingers through your hair until it hangs loose, then gather the ends of it in one hand and twist it tight to wring out the rainwater. Only then do you pull the blanket back over your shoulders and begin to undress.

First, your boots. Then the knee-length woolen socks, which have left their cable-knit weave as an imprint on your skin. After glancing at him one more time to make sure his face is turned discreetly away, you unbuckle your belt and wriggle your way out of your trousers. It takes some maneuvering, and some thoroughly indecent posturing, to finally get them off. You leave your cotton bloomers on, figuring that the warmth of the fire will dry the thin material soon enough.

When you look back at Morgan, you find that he’s since turned back towards you. Not to gawk, but to get a better look at his own wounds in the firelight.

His union suit is half-unbuttoned. Most of his bare chest is visible, and along with it, the bruises from the ricocheted bullet. A mottle of blue and violet, like a spill of ink that radiates from the negative imprint of the flask that took the impact in his place. And right below it, a glimpse of your own handiwork.

When you’d first found him, the cut had spanned diagonal across his torso, trailing shallow from his chest and biting deep near the ridge of his hip. Most of it’s healed over since, but the edges are angry and inflamed still, and you can see the fading marks of your inexpert stitches laid like railroad tracks over the land of his skin.

“Don’t worry, I ain’t looked at you,” Morgan says. He probes gently at an indigo patch and inhales sharply. “Too busy lickin’ my own wounds.”

If you look closer, you can see the remnants of multiple scuffs and scratches. A history of violence storied across his body, told in the pale lettering of scars, many of them recent. An unwelcome pang of guilt settles itself low in your belly. It looks like he’s been on the road for a while, healing sporadically through long stretches of hard journeying. Hard journeying made worse, no doubt, by your theft of his bonds.

“You… uh. You want me to keep carving off wet bark?”

“Nah,” he says distractedly, still trying to determine the depth of the damage left behind. “Should be fine leavin’ the rest of it to dry out by the fire.”

You draw the blanket tighter around your shoulders, then root around your head for something, anything to talk about. Anything to get this burgeoning sympathy for Arthur Morgan out of your head.

“Your friend in St Denis,” you say finally. “He’s not gonna know much about me if he doesn’t speak Chinese.”

Morgan absentmindedly scratches his chin as he begins buttoning his union suit back up. “Wouldn’t put it past him. I know he’s had dealings with ‘em in the past.”

Something clicks in the back of your head. Long overdue recognition like puzzle pieces fitting together. “What’s his name?”

“Josiah,” he says.

“Josiah,” you echo. The spark of some fit of emotion is beginning to rise in your throat. “Josiah… Trelawney?”

His bewildered face is enough to confirm your suspicions. Relief, anger, confusion — all of them flood you at once with such intensity that you have to take a moment to squeeze your eyes shut. When you open them, you take a deep breath and swallow hard. “Josiah Trelawney’s the son of a bitch I sold your bonds to.”

———

Massive thanks to @reddeaddufus for editing not only this chapter, but the entirety of this fic. This whole thing would be a lot more disjointed if it weren't for her.

Definitely give her fic Red Dead Pursuit a look. The main character is extremely compelling, the plot is fast-paced, and the porn is A+. Her writing style is also a delight to read.