#pull the strings to get them there. otherwise he's a bit aimless. he likes being useful. and since influencing others is helpful

[volivolition]

suggestion do you have... any wants? like obviously you do but like? suggestion my guy my ourple boy. both the easiest and hardest to write. you need a skill to say something to move conversation along but it doesn't fit any skill in particular? about 80% of the time you can have suggestion say it and it will make sense. but like actually characterizing him... how do i define you dude... what makes your character tick... urgh. i dont get you yet. im trying to understand but you are difficult.

[sockablock]

Once upon a time, @inkedinserendipity tagged me in a post by @superssonica asking what would happen if Caleb got a bit too used to the Polymorph spell. 

Seren, you monster, this one goes out to you: 

- - -

Beau disappears into the clouds below the branches, trailed—then outpaced—by a second crack of thunder.

After a moment, the massive boughs sway. A few leaves tremble, then fall still.

Caduceus takes a seat in the newly-sprung grass. Yasha joins, sheepish at his side.

“My wings were not made for flying,” she mumbles. “I think I will just stay on the ground.”

Nott tugs on Caleb’s sleeve. “I kind of want to go,” she says. “Do you have a way to get us up?”

He follows her gaze. He considers the tree. He mulls over a mental list of spells, then rummages around in his pouch for silken string.

The tiny cocoon gleams silver in the light.

He gives Nott a smile.

“Ja, sure. Hop on.”

—

Caleb is flying. 

He’s never flown before, only seen and heard through Frumpkin’s eyes, back on the safety and security of the ground. But for a person, for a human, for the child of a farmer and a soldier, long ago, he’d like to think that he’s not doing a bad job.

The skies seem to tug at something deep within his soul, something feral and instinctive, something finally freed, something soaring, something lifting, something wild—alive.

In this euphoria, he tucks his wings close, driven on by a craving he’d never felt before. 

He spins into a barrel-roll, diving through the clouds, Nott on his back, screaming—maybe it’s a cheer—all he really knows is the rush of the wind, the thrill of the ether, the endless expanse.

It is beautiful, so high in the clouds.

His mind lets go. There’s no need for control.

It is empty. It is peaceful. 

Serene.

—

Later on, he turns back into the same bird to ferry Beauregard up to the nest. He lingers in the form a bit longer than needed.

It’s to save spell slots. You never know.

—

They arrive in Bazzoxan well after dusk and fall into the first and only bunks they can find. Jester and Caduceus look well enough tapped, and Fjord still occasionally plucks gravel from his chest. Yasha and Beau are as unfazed as ever, but this is as much of a habit as an act. Nott is fretting somewhere in the background, still searching desperately for her flask.

As far as evenings go, this one is fairly standard. It has been nearly a year since the Mighty Nein assembled, and all of these bustling midnight sounds are just a part of the familiar nightly song.

But when the lamplight fades, Caleb cannot sleep. He lies there, unmoving, eyes open in the dark.

He cannot stop thinking about what he’d done that morning. He cannot forget the way that it had felt.

Of course, he cannot forget anything. He’s never been able to, never known how.

But for that a minute, for that hour, for that daydream in the breeze, it had been so wonderfully easy.

—

He changes a few more times during the trip. Once towards the tomb, once within, once to dive past narrow, winding stairs. He mostly sticks to eagles—he knows them, they’re safe, and a part of him fears the uncertainty of other shapes.

He remembers the story that Jester had told about becoming a moth. She hadn’t been able to control her mind. She hadn’t been able to focus her thoughts. He remembers being a giant ape, and knowing nothing but the adrenaline and the bloody haze.

To a wizard, to a scholar, to a son of the fields who’d crawled his way up through sheer brains alone, this is something that rips at his core. It is horrifying. He must avoid it at all costs.

Still, though, he wonders, at dusk, by the campfire, as he stares alone into the flames:

What would it feel like? How far could he go?

His fingers brush a tiny cocoon. It glimmers faint and gold in the light.

—

They go home. To a home, anyways. They report to the Queen and her stance does not change, but Caleb’s convinced that there’s a new nod of care, maybe fondness, for their motley crew. They have continued to serve the Dynasty well. They have continued to help the Krynn win the war.

And gods, if the reports can be believed, the Krynn are winning this war. 

She allows him to see the Vollstrecker. 

Caleb’s soul is still rattled when finally, he leaves.

—

He goes to bed alone that night, alone in his room on the first floor of their house. 

His mind is a well of isolation and regret, of a churning desire for a wish he’ll never have, of plans and ruminations, more distant by the hour, of dreams, calculations, memories long and past, all flooding, all filling, overflowing, overmuch, much, much too much—

He drags his fingers down the sides of his head, sweat dripping from the tangle of his hair.

He needs air. Breathe. He needs air.

Below the silence of the ever-present moon, his footsteps creak against a polished floor. His palm brushes the smooth wooden banister, and then he reaches the stairs to the roof.

He opens the door.

He inhales, below the tree.

The little globes of daylight are dormant at this hour, still and cold beneath the stars.

Caleb looks up into the branches across the sky. Their tree is not nearly as large, as enormous, but still, it is familiar all the same. It makes him think...it makes him remember...

"But not a bird if it’s night,” he murmurs. “Something else, something...”

Ah, yes.

He reaches into his little leather pouch. He pulls out another silk cocoon.

He’ll have to pick up more, soon. But that is a problem for another time.

Polymorph trips off the curve of his tongue like a dream he’s dreamt a thousand times before.

And then he is nothing but a tiny, squeaking bat, a single lone heartbeat aflutter in the night.

—

The spell lasts an hour. 

—

If you cast it once.

—

That next morning, Caduceus makes breakfast. Caleb trudges down the stairs.

“Hey, what’s up with you?” Beau asks, as he pulls up a chair and collapses against the table. “Did you sleep bad? You look like shit.”

“Thank you, Beauregard,” he mutters, and pulls a mug of...of something, to his face. “Your razor-like honesty is always appreciated.”

“Alright, fuck me for asking,” she scowls, and turns around to harass Fjord instead. 

Nott, seated across the table, is feeding something to Yeza. It is amazing, the change he brings to her.

Caleb’s gaze drifts away. He focuses on a faint spiral in the wood, a little point of difference in a world of smooth grain.

After a while, he is aware of someone calling his name. He jerks up, just in time to see a fried egg slide onto his plate.

“Didn’t sleep well?” Caduceus asks kindly. “You, ah, I hope you don’t mind my saying, but you seem a bit tired, today.”

Caleb gives him a weak smile. “Ja, I stayed up last night. Working on...working on magic,” he adds.

Technically, it is not a lie.

However, Caduceus is hard to talk around. His eyes give a flicker, and though he doesn’t argue, it certainly doesn’t seem like he is fully convinced.

Still, he gives a nod. He moves on to feed the others.

Caleb feels guilty, and he isn’t sure why.

Then again, he muses, stabbing at his plate, there’s a lot for him to be guilty for.

He sinks just a bit lower in his chair.

— 

They decide, unanimously, that despite the uncertainty, they desperately need a break before heading to the north. Another week wouldn’t be too bad, adds Jester, so one more week of downtime is had. Almost immediately afterwards, Beau grabs Fjord to train in the cellar, saying something about—I can’t let Dairon down. Nott and Yeza disappear to the lab, to steal every moment they can before they part ways. Jester and Caduceus opt for some therapeutic shopping, leaving Caleb by himself, alone with his own devices.

Three months ago, that wouldn’t have been so bad.

He drifts around for a bit, idly doing tasks, re-sorting the library and polishing the windows, making his bed and then stopping to make the others’. He even takes a whole hour to scrub their tub, draining out the water and rolling up his sleeves, getting down on both knees and working the basin with a towel.

It is noon by the time he is finished. There are still seven more hours until sundown. 

There are still one hundred and fifty-one until their week-long vacation ends.

Caleb sits down at the edge of the pool. His fingers run aimless across the soapy rag as he tries desperately to think of more to do.

He even briefly debates seeing Essek. 

After a little while, he stands up. 

It is pointless. Nothing is as good.

—

“—and we’ve got a deal on clay, too. Great for Earthquakes, Feeble Mind, Shaping Stone, if that’s something you’re interested in. Only 10 silver for a—no?”

“No, no,” Caleb says quickly, carefully pouring the silk threads into his pouch. “Thank you, but I am well-stocked in that...regard. Er...thank you, madam.”

“Well, if you change your mind,” says the goblin, waving her hand and watching him go. “Come back soon, you know where to find me!”

Caleb does. 

And he is sure that he will.

—

He deliberates only a few minutes more as he stands atop the stone wall along their tower. It is dark in Rhosana, that is the problem, otherwise a bird would be the obvious choice. Then he thinks harder, and laughs at his own foolishness, and smashes the silver cocoon in his hands.

His wings spread wide, don’t make a sound.

His eyes, large, yellow, seeing all, drink in the energy and movement of a city that he—for now—does not entirely understand.

—

He comes home that night feeling mildly rumpled, somewhat wind-swept, all his spells spent. Still he agrees, as he collapses at the dinner table, that was a long afternoon well-spent. Caduceus is cooking again, of course he is, though Nott is assisting and Jester offers advice. 

The food is amazing, once it is complete. Though he eats much, much much more than he usually would, a fact that a number of his friends pick up on.

“Did you and Essek bone or something?” Beau asks. “Dude, chill out, there’s plenty more where that came from.”

Jester snickers as Fjord thumps him on the back, giving him a sympathetic hand.

“I did not,” Caleb says, affronted, and coughs one more time just for good measure. “I can assure you, we did nothing of the sort.”

“So what did you do?” Caduceus asks. His eyes, usually so dazed and relaxed, have focused onto Caleb with an uncomfortable accuracy. Damn the priest, Caleb thinks. What is this? A confession?

“We just reviewed dunamantic basics,” he murmurs, well aware of how it sounds to Jester. “I do not have any spell slots left, but I can certainly show you at a later time.”

“Firing blanks now?” Beau asks with false sympathy. “He must have really worked you hard.”

Caleb groans, and deliberately turns so that he cannot see her. Even Nott is grinning at him widely, seemingly pleased at the idea of...well, of whatever they think that he is doing. 

He wonders, idly, as the conversation shifts to other inane topics, if this is because she is gently, in her own way, trying to let him go. 

After all, she has Yeza now. She has a son she needs to go home to. She has a mission she needs to accomplish.

Caleb is supposed to have one too. But at some point during the months that have passed, he is trying less and less to think about it.

He has a feeling he knows why, but that does not make it any better.

—

That evening, his mind churns again. But he is exhausted, and depleted of his spells. He has to force himself to rest, even a short nap will do. He lies there in bed, undreaming, for hours, until he is finally dormant long enough to tap into his old training and conjure up a burst of magic.

It is just enough for one final spell. Time to make it count.

He closes his eyes.

He curls up against the mattress, and imagines what it would like to be Frumpkin.

—

There is no sunlight in this city, which means no morning gleam through the windows, but the distant hum of activity in the house, the far-off clamor of voices and life, signals to Caleb that the day has now begun.

And Frumpkin is there. Asleep against the covers, but stirs when Caleb starts to shift.

Very quickly, he is up and locking eyes with his wizard, draping across his lap and purring up a storm.

The sleep-muddled curve of Caleb’s mouth forms a smile. He runs his fingers across Frumpkin’s scalp, gently strokes his thumb against his cat’s fur.

“Dir auch einen guten morgen,” he murmurs. “I thought you were out enjoying yourself in the city.”

Frumpkin mrows in response and rolls over onto his back.

There is a moment, and then suddenly, Caleb frowns.

“Was? What are you talking about? Do not be silly, everything is fine.”

He absently scritches the fur on Frumpkin’s chest. But now his rhythm is a little unsteady.

“I am not sure what you mean,” he adds, after another pause for silence. 

Frumpkin purrs. He opens one eye and peers at Caleb.

“I am not,” Caleb says. 

Frumpkin turns over. Caleb scowls.

“I do not see why this is any of your business. And even if I was doing for that reason, it is not a harmful habit. I am just taking advantage of the skills I have learned. There is nothing wrong with that.”

Frumpkin stares until Caleb can no longer stand it. Brow furrowed, he plucks his cat from his lap and drops him onto the bed.

He says:

“I need some time alone. Do not bother me.”

—

Frumpkin is a familiar, bound by an eldritch pact. He cannot allow his master to come to harm, and he cannot disobey Caleb’s commands.

He cannot disobey Caleb’s commands. He cannot allow his master to come to harm.

Frumpkin is a familiar, and they had made a pact.

Then again, Frumpkin is also fey. 

And fey do not take “no” for an answer.

—

“Gods above,” Beau grumbles, leaping to the side, “hey, jeez, calm down, already. What’s gotten into you?”

Frumpkin sits back on his haunches and yowls purposely at her knees. His tail lashes through the air impatiently.

Beau scratches the top of her head.

“Are you trying to tell me something? What’s wrong?”

She can swear that the feline is rolling his eyes. She crouches down and frowns at him.

“Is...oh, shit, is it Caleb? Where is he? Is he alright?”

—

The spell that Jester and Caduceus had woven into the ribbons of daylight on their tree illuminates the top of the tower for a few hours every day. 

It is the closest thing that Rhosana has to sun, to a good and honest warmth. Caleb had decided, just minutes ago, to utilize this to its fullest potential.

He is content, here. He is basking, and at peace.

And then, just at the edge of his hearing, there is a faint disturbance.

“—what, that? Are you sure?”

The voice is familiar. Right now, Caleb can’t seem to remember whose it is, but he is vaguely irritated. It had been so quiet before, it had been so calm—

“You have to be really sure. I’m not gonna kill a random lizard.”

His little reptilian heartbeat leaps. He can sense a shadow looming over him now, all his instincts scream to run—

“Alright, alright, calm down, I’m doin’ it—”

—his muscles bunch, he gets ready to jump—

And a hand descends from the heavens above, the edge colliding with Caleb’s spine, there’s one second of awful, horrible pain, of a bright-yellow smudge staining the rocks, and then he is growing, aching, stretching, tumbling onto two legs, not four, glaring up in a light too bright and snarling at the unmoving face of Beau.

Now the physical is secondary. His mind is back, and it is angry.

“Arschgesicht! I had forty-two minutes on that spell!”

Beau doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t even respond. Instead, in true Cobalt Soul fashion, she stares him down with such a gaze that for but a second, Caleb almost feels sheepish.

Then the furry bubbles right back to the surface.

“Why did you do that?” he demands. “Beauregard, why would you interrupt me?”

“Uh, what exactly did I interrupt?” Her eyebrows are raised, her chin turned up. “Caleb, what the fuck were you doing?”

“I was—I—magic!” he shouts. He gestures wildly to the smooth stones. “I was just practicing my spells! You know you are not supposed to interfere!”

He feels something dull at the back of his skull. It is like a pressure, though rapidly fading, and as he whirls around towards the source, he just sees the tip of a ginger tail vanishing down the tower stairs.

He almost shouts. He does not, but almost. He begins to storm off towards the door, his foot falls once, hard, into the grass, but then comes a grip like iron against his wrist.

Beauregard always says that her hands are her weapons. Even Caleb, in this state, remembers this well.

“Good gods,” she says, eyebrows rising further. “Dude, seriously, what’s up with you? Why’re you pissed? You can cast it again, can’t you?”

“Yes, Beauregard,” he manages, “yes, of course, of course I can. But that is not the point, here. The point is that Frumpkin disobeyed what I said, and, and coerced you to come here. I know you are innocent here, but he—”

“Wow.”

Caleb pauses.

“‘Wow’ what?”

Beau lets go of his wrist. She takes a step back, crosses her arms, looks him over with the sudden terrible stare of understanding. “Damn, dude, I came up here because I thought you were in trouble. That something was attacking you, or something’. But I guess trouble comes in different forms, huh?”

Caleb frowns. “What do you mean?”

She points at the rocks, where he had been resting. “Sometimes it’s a lizard. I’m guessing sometimes it’s a bird? A giant one, with eagle-wings?”

His eyes narrow. “I do not know what you are talking about.”

“Yeah, well, I barely do either, but Frumpkin seems to think there’s something wrong. With you, I mean. And I guess with your spells.”

“There is nothing wrong with me. And there is no reason for you to think that.”

She leans in.

“You and your cat are telepathically linked.”

“And? What of it?”

“If there was something goin’ on in your head, don’t you think he would have noticed?”

“He is overreacting,” Caleb huffs, “there is nothing—”

“Come on, man, this is Frumpkin. He cares about you, he’s just worried. And honestly, based on the way you’re acting, I’m starting to worry too.”

Caleb stops.

He goes still.

His gaze falls to the ground.

“Ja, well,” he murmurs. “Perhaps you should not bother.”

To his amazement, Beau rolls her eyes.

“Aw, come on,” she says, stepping forward. “Don’t play that face with me, alright?” She prods him in the chest. “Alright, spill. What’s up? Are you still pissed about that Scourger that got caught?”

Caleb sighs. “No, no, that is not it. It is…” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “It is just...other things. You know.”

“I don’t.”

He inhales. Then he sags, finally defeated.

“Ja. Ja, I suppose that is true.”

He watches her cross her arms.

“I won’t know unless you tell me,” she says. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

He feels the last of the rage drain away. His stares intently at the dirt.

“It is...I believe it is everything. Everything that has been happening. Everything that has happened.”

He falls quiet.

“I think it may be too much.”

Beau gives him a very level stare.

Eventually, she gestures to the stones. Warm under the glow of light made by a friend.

“Alright,” she says. “Fine. Let’s talk.”

They both sit. It is quiet, for a moment. And then, Caleb sighs one last time, and speaks:

“We are in a very strange place. And we are trying to...we are trying to do some very big things. Things that...as every day goes by, seem more and more impossible to accomplish.”

Beau leans against the bark of the tree.

“Yeah, I…feel you there.”

Caleb raises an eyebrow.

“What did your mentor say, by the way? How much does she know about...about the things we have done?”

Beau meets his gaze, eyes blank and cool.

“Oh, no. We’re doing your problems now. We can talk about all that later.”

Despite everything, this makes Caleb laugh. It’s nothing more than a faint chuckle, but Beau smiles back, gives him a nod.

“C’mon,” she says. “Go on. Keep going.”

Caleb tilts his head up to the boughs of the gnarled tree.

“I am...well, I am not sure. Not really. I do not think I have been, for a long time. And…seeing that V—that Scourger, it made me realize that…that for all of my memory, all my knowledge, for all the things I had swimming in my head, I realize now that I did not really have to think. I just...really, I just had to believe. I had to obey what my Lehrer—teacher, said. Really, I was not expected to think. And everything, for all its complications, everything was so, so simple.”

He glances down at the ground. Tufts of grass lay silent below his feet.

“Today, my friend, today they are not. We are...we are trying to do very big things. And we are trying to help many people. And I think that is good. Really, I do. And I think it has given me...in some ways, a...a goal. Something that seems a bit more feasible, anyway.”

“More realistic then bending reality.”

He gives a faint smile.

“Ja, you could put it that way. But, ah...but as you can likely see, that goal has gotten slightly more...complicated. And trying to stay on the right path...even finding that path itself, is not a straightforward process. It requires thought. It requires so much thought. And now, after everything, after all we have seen and tried to do, I believe...I am sure...that I am just tired of thinking.”

Beau nods sagely as his voice trails away.

“Okay,” she shrugs. “Then you should just stop.”

Caleb blinks.

“Jus—what?”

Beau sighs. “I…I dunno, man. I think, honestly, I think that’s all you need. To stop thinking about all that shit. Not—” she adds hastily, “—not in the way that you’re doing with the lizards. Not like that. But just...I dunno. When you’re being you.”

“But when I am me, I cannot do that,” Caleb says. “I have a perfect memory, Beauregard. There is nothing I can forget.”

“Oh, wow, look at you. Wow. I’m so impressed.”

“Beauregard—”

She grins and raises her hands. “Sorry, sorry, I couldn’t resist. But, uh...yeah. I guess that makes sense. That...that sounds pretty rough, dude. If I had a record of my greatest failures playing all the time in my head, I think I’d go pretty crazy too.”

Caleb raises an eyebrow.

“Now I am confused,” he says. “Is this conversation supposed to help me?”

Beau throws her arms into the air.

“Hell, I dunno,” she says. “I’m not the feelings expert, or whatever. I’ve just seen people do this kind of shit before. You’re supposed to talk things out, right? That’s supposed to...I dunno, fix things, or something?”

“Is it?” Caleb asks, incredulous. “Who told you that?”

She scratches the back of her neck. “Uh...I dunno. Probably Caduceus.”

“That seems like something that he would say.”

They fall silent for a few moments after that, drinking in the sunlight and the distant city sounds.

Then Beau says:

“I wasn’t lying, though. I don’t really know what it’s like to feel like you. I can’t imagine having a brain like yours. But...but I do kind of know what you’re going through.” He glances over, and she nods. “Yeah. I do. I think...I think it’s a pretty common thing. Maybe not in such perfect detail, but...it can be hard to stop thinking about all the times you’ve fucked up. And it can be even harder when you know that, uh...when it feels like the fate of a hundred thousand souls rests on every stupid decision that you make.”

“We have made many stupid decisions, eh?”

“God, you’re telling me?” Beau groans. The back of her head rests against the tree. “I’m amazed Dairon didn’t kill me. And honestly, I’m amazed all of us are still alive. But...I mean...I guess that’s just it, right? We’re still alive. We’re still here. And, most important, we’re still truckin’.”

She tilts one eye towards Caleb.

“We’re still here, and we’re still trying to figure it out. As shitty as it is, sometimes. As much as...as much as it hurts. And as tired as we get. We haven’t given up, and we’re still alive. Seriously, think about it in math. The odds are definitely that we should’ve died by now.”

He can’t help but snort. “Ja, absolut.”

“But we aren’t,” Beau shrugs. “And as shitty as that is, as much as it hurts, as fuckin’ terrible as it can sometimes be...that means we still have a chance. To do...whatever it is that we’re supposed to do. Or not supposed to do. And I always get pissed when people tell that I’m lucky for it, or whatever, but...I dunno. Maybe we are. And maybe it’s rotten luck for the world that it’s us, but...here we are. All of us, here we are. And...and we’ve got each other. And I won’t pretend to know what I’m doing, and I definitely don’t know...not really, how to help, but, uh. I’m here for you. Okay? Whatever...whatever you need. As long as it’s not bullshit—" she raises an eyebrow, Caleb chuckles. 

“—but yeah. Seriously. I’m here. And I’ll always listen, whenever I can.”

She leans back against the bark. She closes her eyes and gives a nod.

“I mean that,” she says. “I really do.”

Caleb feels the sunlight glow against his skin, feels the warmth of its whisper brushing across his face. And there’s another light too, maybe brighter, maybe warmer, coming from either side of his form—it’s the gentle sigh of a shoulder pressed against his own, and the curling, purring softness, of a cat beneath his hands.

He glances down at Frumpkin. Then he turns to look at Beau.

Here we are. All of us, here we are.

Very, very slowly, he closes his eyes.

And it isn’t the cure. Not by a long shot.

But certainly, it’s a start.

[onstarsandiron]

Might As Well Face It, You’re Addicted To Love: Chapter 4

Your fourth installment: We’re still winding up to the real main event, but dw, it’s coming very, very soon

AO3 link here

Chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 [here] / 5 / ?

Robb

Private fencing on Saturdays, Mondays, and Wednesdays. Private contrabass on Sundays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays. Private lessons in the Old Language on Fridays. Private business and accounting lessons on the weekends. Private solitary study on days ending in y. Private dinners by himself taken in his room every night. Robbert Valerio lived a very private life that ticked along like clockwork.

It was enough to make him scream.

As his language instructor packed his things, Robb made himself a timetable. It was 5 now. The show was at 8, but he should get there early to make his plan more believable. That meant leaving by 6:30. He’d stay for the show then text James for a ride. If all went well, he’d be back in his bed by 11 and no one will have missed him.

He’d already changed out of his school uniform into khakis and a loose button up, so he was plenty casual for the show. He supposed he’d just spend the remaining time as if it were a typical afternoon. Robb made his way through the maze of his home, moving through corridors of polished black stone and white walls with gold-trimmed crown molding. Black doors with gold accents lead into the seemingly endless set of rooms and made the halls look even longer than they were. No matter how many guests were invited over for galas or visits the house was never truly full. There were always rooms left untouched, save for the staff who cleaned them needlessly.

Robb opened one of the doors and entered his musical study. Eric’s musical study was towards the center of the house where his mother could keep an eye on and listen to his brother’s playing. She always loved the violin. Robb’s musical study was in the far east wing of the house and well sound proofed. He’s pretty sure his mother didn’t even dislike the contrabass before he started playing it.

Inconvenient as it may have been, Robb actually didn’t mind not being directly under his mother’s eye. If she didn’t want to hear him play, then she wouldn’t much care about what exactly he was playing, now would she? His contrabass sat in its case in its designated corner where one of the staff brought it from the car, but Robb headed for the cushioned bench underneath the room’s window. Pulling the curtain shut, he lifted the seat of the built-in bench to a small pile of old beginner music books. Moving a few books aside, however, revealed a small tab that he pulled on to open a secret compartment in the bench. There he kept his electric bass.

Kept in the padded cloth case that came with it, Robb pulled it out and treated it with care. He’d gotten bored playing only classical music, and in his spare time had fallen down a rabbit hole of modern pieces written for classical instruments. It was only natural to find even more interesting pieces for an electric bass. Plucking at his contrabass’ strings was nice and all, but the more music he listened to the more he wanted badly to have a bass guitar of his own. So, naturally, he did what anyone would do and spent the next few weeks taking out small, unnoticeable amounts of cash until he had enough to go to the store and buy himself one. He got a real beauty, too, jet black with a glossy finish, a maple neck, and a rosewood fingerboard. He kept it well polished and cared for to a religious extent.

If his mother was disappointed in him for playing a contrabass, he can’t imagine she’d be any more enthused about an electric one. He could hear her now, sounding exactly like a character from a Disney Original, “Valerios don’t play rock and roll.” What his mother didn’t know couldn’t hurt him, though.

He was careful, always so careful. The door was always locked, the window’s curtain always drawn, the room was soundproof and he still played with headphones on. He kept his music sheets digitally on a tablet he bought off a kid at school that his mother didn’t know about nor track the use of. The only other person who even knew the bass guitar existed was James, who’d driven him to the store, and he doubted the man kept a small errand from five years ago in mind.

It was exhausting to always be so careful, but he’d been careless enough times in the past to know the price he’d pay. It was either carefulness or being nothing but a puppet with his mother pulling the strings. He didn’t think the world needed a second Eric.

Robb plugged the bass into one port on an amp and his headphones into another. It was a shame the amp wasn’t used properly, but it, along with the other miscellaneous musical equipment in this room, wouldn’t be seeing any action otherwise anyway. Some days he followed sheet music, some days he’d listen to songs or videos and try to recreate them by ear, some days he just messed around trying to recall music by memory or playing whatever came to mind. He felt aimless in his study of the instrument, but it was freeing to play just for the sake of playing. He didn’t play to be heard or judged or measure up to anyone or please anyone. He simply played what he wanted when he wanted how he wanted because he wanted, and it being good or bad had no repercussions either way.

Today he decided to play through a bit of sheet music he had. He played a lot of 80s and 90s rock, really pop rock. It was easy to find, and there were plenty of interesting pieces. He pulled out his tablet from a pocket of the bass’ case, set it on a music stand, and sat himself into the corner of the bench. He began to strum, and the world melted away for just a little while.

Chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 [here] / 5 / ?

[eternalsshipsandfics]

In Cold Blood: Chapter 13

Summary: The illustrious Kuran family is thrown into disarray when the crown princess disappears under suspicious circumstances. Will she ever be found?

The next few months passed by in a blur for Yuuki. The general public unrest that accompanied a sudden political change was demanding both her's and Kaname's attention, and both were often unable to be alone with each other or without. The rare times that Yuuki could spend out of the public eye, she spent with Zero.

She often found herself exhausted, needing to resolve the lesser conflicts between the citizens that Kaname simply didn't have time for, but the exhaustion quickly melted away with Zero's gentle teasing. He was always there in those moments where the reality of her situation knocked the breath from Yuuki's lungs.

Though they had already been laid to rest, a public funeral was held as a proper farewell to the recently deceased family members. It was as though the heavens themselves were mourning their loss, the sky clouding over with a thunderous grey and the rain was falling at an almost painful speed.

The process ripped open anew her healing wounds, and she had never been more grateful for a comforting arm over her shoulders. She was thankful for Kaname's larger presence dwarfing hers. Though she knew that no one would blame her for the tears she was shedding, she still felt as though she was wrongly on display.

Although she had always sought out Kaname to console her when she was younger, she found that he wasn't enough anymore. Not that he wasn't appreciated, he still certainly was, but what she really wanted at that moment was Zero.

She tried to hold herself together until the dour event ended. She muddled her way through her goodbyes, having to stop herself several times to bring herself back under control. Once she had gone through all the motions that she needed to for the sake of their public, she pulled Zero aside. In the privacy of the small side room, she let herself fall to pieces in his arms. Here, she could truly be herself.

Her grief became easier to deal with after the event. She had been given an opportunity to say goodbye to her loved ones; she had even said a few words for Rido. Though she had always been afraid of him, they had had some good times together when she was very young. She was just sorry that things had occurred the way they had.

Simultaneously, the unrest began to show signs of calming down. It wasn't over completely; they would be foolish to believe otherwise, but Yuuki found herself able to escape her adoring public a lot more often. Kaname, however, was still largely unseen in the more relaxed areas of the manor. It wasn't long after this point that she had a full twenty-four hours to herself.

Yuuki stretched, her hands locking together over her head. The sunlight was mild enough not to irritate her eyes, which she was grateful for. She had never much enjoyed being confined to the darker night hours. The day extended out before her. She hadn't had a whole day to use for herself for months, and she had forgotten how she was supposed to spend that time.

She sighed softly to herself, one hand running over something soft in her pocket. She pulled the little toy wolf free. Despite the years, it still looked as though it were brand new. It must be magic, Yuuki thought to herself. She caught a flash of colour similar to the wolf's in her peripheral vision. She made a beeline towards her favourite man.

"Zero!" She called, holding the little plush out towards him. She giggled at the look of mild surprise on his face when it met with the soft pelt of the tiny wolf. He raised an eyebrow, asking her a silent question.

"Isn't he cute? His name is Rei." She saw the corner of his mouth twitch upwards for an instant. "A merchant gave him to me."

"I wouldn't have thought that merchants would want to sell a silver wolf." He mused, running a single slender finger down the fluffy front.

"I suppose that she wasn't one for politics. She's been doing rather well, actually." Yuuki beamed. Her face fell as a thought struck her. "I really want to repay her kindness but she won't accept any money."

"Well, can you think of anything else that she would like?"

She buried her own face in the plush, enjoying the sensation as she wracked her brains.

"Maybe Kaname would let her use our summer home for vacations?" She wondered aloud as she raised her head.

"I'm sure he won't notice. He won't be going there very often anymore."

Yuuki frowned. She couldn't always be around Kaname, but she hoped that he would take time for himself every once in a while. It would do him no good to be working constantly. She was brought back to the present by a warm hand gently patting her head.

"I'm sure he can handle a bit of hard work." There was something in his tone that didn't sit right with Yuuki.

"What are you implying?"

"Nothing at all." Zero looked a bit too innocent for her liking. She considered removing his hand from her head, but then she decided to let his snipe go. He wasn't exactly inaccurate in what he had said.

"Speaking of our summer home, would you like to go with me sometime?" Even though she had been the one to speak them, the words caught her by surprise. He opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off in her embarrassment. "I mean, you don't have to if you don't want to, or if you think it'd be weird, us being alone alone, I just thought it would be nice to get away from it all for a couple of weeks. I mean, it wouldn't have to be weeks if you didn't want to, it could only be a couple of days, or not at all, like I said!"

What was she doing? She was the one making it weird!

Shut up, Yuuki! She thought vainly to herself. Why must you babble like this? Sure, the two of them had a blood swapping arrangement now, and they spent a lot of time together besides; but what if he was just comforting her in her time of need? What if he was only acting on her father's wishes? What if he didn't want to be alone with her somewhere there would be no escape?

What if she didn't mean as much to him as he meant to her?

Though she had heavy access to his blood, she had never once thought to pry. It would be the height of rudeness to poke around his heart without his permission.

She became aware of a low rumble which was coming from Zero's direction, which quickly grew into something more. Had she heard this glorious sound before? She didn't think so. If she had, it had been a mere shadow of what she could hear now.

She pouted thought the silky sound of his laughter warmed her heart. His laugh was the opposite of Rido's; instead of being cold and cruel, it was warm and inviting. She struggled not to join in with him. She wondered briefly if anyone else had witnessed him in a moment like this, or if this was something for her eyes only.

"If you would let me speak, I'd say yes." He told her once he had brought himself back under control. The gorgeous sound still rang in her ears. She would attempt to bring him to that state again. The radiant smile she often wore returned to her face. She greedily drank in the expression she got in return.

"Great! I can't wait!"

"Zero! Yuuki!" The young voice reached their ears a split second before Yuuki was tackled by a familiar ball of energy.

"Yui!" She called in surprise, holding onto him automatically. He was a lot happier now that he could play freely whenever he wanted, and Yuuki in turn was happy that he could just be the child that he was. She knew that Zero shared her sentiments.

"Yui, we haven't been seeing you much." Zero said, giving his head an affectionate pat.

"I've been very busy." He responded solemnly. Zero snorted good naturedly. "What? Playing with the other kids is hard work!"

"I'm sure it is."

"Oh, Yori is here!" Yui stated all of a sudden, causing the two adults to blink at the sudden change of topic. "She's waiting inside for you."

"You're not going to come with us?" Yuuki asked, resting her hands on the boy's shoulders. He still hadn't released her from his grip, holding her tightly around the waist.

"I would, but I promised I'd meet Kei like now."

"Ah."

"Zero?" His gasp gave the impression that he had just remembered something important. He reached into a pocket, a finger sliding easily underneath the string. A particularly strong light glinted off the familiar pendant as it came free.

"I've been meaning to give this back to you." He held the pendant out to Yui, who beamed and slipped it around his neck.

"Thank you so much, Zero!"

"Now, haven't you got a friend to meet?"

"You too!" He waved at the both of them before he sprinted off, calling back over his shoulder. "See you later!"

Yuuki and Zero shared a look that conveyed their shared affection for the boy.

"I suppose we should go and see Yori then."

~Z~

"What did you just say?" Yori asked, trying to control her rage. To an outsider, it looked like she had someone holding her back even though she was alone with the blond vampire.

"I said, leave! I have no use for a human that can't work!" Hanabusa yelled back. He was refusing to meet her eyes, barely looking at her. She saw the flash of a fang before he turned his back on her, denying her the knowledge of his expression.

"Well, if that's all I mean to you, then I'll go!"

"Fine!"

"Fine!" Yori stormed out of the room, leaving him alone in the large room. She wiped her eyes quickly, wondering around in an agitated aimless silence broken only by her occasional angry huffs. She hadn't realised that he would change so much at the change of a law. She'd have thought that he'd be happy to have her free to choose, but instead he had denied her that choice and thrown her out.

She was so distracted by her own thoughts that she didn't notice the body in front of her until she had crashed into it, bringing the two of them down to the ground in a tangled flash.

"I'm so sorry! I wasn't paying attention!" Yori squeaked, trying desperately to disentangle herself and stand.

"What's wrong, Yori? Are you alright?"

"Yuuki?" She looked down into her best friend's concerned eyes, and the angry tears that she had been desperately holding back came flooding to the surface; Yuuki had always been able to tear the dam apart with a single look.

She explained the situation to her through her tears, allowing Yuuki to hold her in a comforting embrace. She was almost like her mother in situations like this, from what Yori could remember of her.

"For a genius, he really is an idiot." Yuuki mused from beside her.

"He is. A real idiot." Yori ground out in response. "I thought he cared about me. I thought he… felt the same way I do."

"He does." Yuuki reassured her. "He always gave you the light duties, after all. He never really wanted you to work in the first place."

"If he does, why did he say those things to me?" Yori knew, in her heart, that he hadn't said those things because he himself believed them. He might be an abrasive moron at times, but he would never say something so callous to her if he didn't think he had a good reason.

"I think he got scared. Scared that you would choose to leave him. He didn't want to hear those words, so he forced your hand."

There was a pause.

"I know." Yori finally mumbled in response.

"You know. He was reading something recently, and there was a quote that stood out to me. 'If you love something, let it go. If it comes back, you know it's meant to be.'" Yori was looking at her in amazement. "What?"

"When did you get so wise? You're usually an airhead." She teased, causing Yuuki to stick her tongue out childishly at her.

"I am not! Anyway, you should go and explain to him that it's your choice to stay. That you want to stay. Make him believe it."

"Yes. Under all that bluster, he is rather insecure about these types of things." Yori giggled. It always amazed her how Yuuki could make her feel better in the blink of an eye. It must have been her superpower. "It looks like Zero came back to you."

"What? Where did that come from?" Yori could see the pink tinge in her cheeks. It was adorable.

"If you're going to help me with my love life, I'm going to help you out too. I'll have to do it now, while we're together." Yori didn't enjoy the guilty look that she got. She understood well that it wasn't Yuuki's fault.

"I'm sorry, Yori. I should make time to see you…"

"You're busy. And in love. I understand." The blush intensified.

"That's no excuse! I've been a bad friend."

"You'll just have to make it up to me when everything calms down." Yuuki nodded eagerly. "You don't have much time. As I said, I don't blame you wanting to spend what little time you have with Zero."

"Speaking of Zero, I don't know if he would come back…" Yori sighed.

"You know exactly what's going on with Hanabusa and me, but when it comes to yourself… he'd definitely come back. You 'let him go' and he didn't even make an effort to leave. Doesn't that tell you something?"

"That he still thinks there's danger?"

"Yuuki!" She rolled her eyes.

"I know, I know. The danger died with my uncle…" Though Yuuki was hiding her mouth behind her arms, Yori could see that she was smiling. "Oh, but you should go back to Hanabusa. He's probably really upset with himself right now."

"Good luck to us both, then!" Yori responded, giving her friend a grateful hug. She would go back and make him understand that she wanted to be with him. Maybe Yuuki would do the same with Zero. The idea of double dates was a lot more appealing to her now than it had ever been before.

She found the hapless blond where she had left him, albeit he was now pacing frantically back and forth. She could almost see the scorch marks where he had burnt out the carpet with his meandering.

"Hanabusa Aido, you listen to me!"

"Yori!" He sounded surprised. His pacing stopped abruptly and he fixed his eyes on her. She could see him trying to put back the angry expression he had worn earlier. "Why did you come back?"

"Because I wanted to, and I know that you want me to stay too!"

He spluttered in protest. A part of her was relieved that he wasn't able to form a proper rebuttal. That meant that he didn't have one.

"I know that you were scared to hear the words if I had wanted to leave, but really, you should have given me the choice!"

"You want to stay with me?"

"Yes."

"But you have the freedom to go anywhere that you want now. You've never had a choice but to be with me."

"Are you trying to tell me that I should have fallen in love with someone else?" He was silent. "You were always kind to me. You worried that I'd hurt myself at the slightest thing, even if you claimed it was because you needed me to be able to work efficiently. You always took the time to talk to me if you could, even when no one else would. You protected me from those who would take advantage of me. I may not have had the choice to stay then, but I do now. And I want to stay with you. Because I love you, Hanabusa."

There was a moment of stunned silence from the blond, before he reddened and coughed into his hand.

"I love you, too." He said simply in response. He was once again unable to meet her eyes, but she could take it if it was due to embarrassment.

"So will you let me stay?"

"Of course." He turned to her, allowing a smile to grace his face. "I'd be happy for you to stay."

~Z~

Yuuki caught a flash of movement that she realised was Hanabusa removing his arm from around Yori's shoulders as she and Zero entered the living room. They must have made up after their little talk in the hallway. She was smiling brightly even before Yuuki gave her their customary greeting hug.

"It's good to see you!" She exclaimed, glancing over at Hanabusa. He looked happy too, though he was doing his best not to show it. Freedom was suiting her. Whereas before, Yori had had a self-imposed dress code of drab colours and loose fitting clothes, she now wore much more bright and attractive array of clothes. Hanabusa could barely keep his eyes off her, judging from the frequent small movements of his eyes.

"It's good to see you too. And you, Zero." He nodded in acknowledgement, before greeting Hanabusa in a friendlier than expected manner. Yuuki raised an eyebrow.

"When did you two become friends?"

"It was a tale of mystery and intrigue." Zero responded.

"A tale of mystery that couldn't be solved without my genius."

"Sure, if you say so." Zero responded pityingly, patting his shoulder.

"Is this tale of mystery and intrigue related to an actual crime, or…?" Yuuki asked.

"Mhm. Turned out it was anti-human vampires." Zero responded.

"We neutralised them." Hanabusa said proudly. Yori was looking more confused than Yuuki felt.

"When did you do this?"

"Remember when I went away for a couple of weeks?"

"Oh."

"Anyway!" Yuuki clapped her hands together. She would get the full details of this from Zero later, and she was sure that Yori would do the same with the blond. "You two are actually together now?"

"Yes!" Yori replied happily. "It was easier than expected."

Hanabusa simply coughed into his hand awkwardly. Yori smiled up at him, moving herself subtly closer to him. The result was an automatic placing of his arm around her. She winked at her best friend, who giggled quietly back.

"Are you two together yet?" Yori asked innocently, one hand playing gently with Hanabusa's fingers. She embarrassed herself by spluttering in response while Zero remained unruffled by the question.

Before a response could be made, a face that she hadn't seen in months came into her vision.

"Kaname!"

"Lord Kaname!"

"Yuuki, Aido." He greeted the two who had spoken. "Good morning to you too, Sayori. Kiryuu. I hope you two don't mind if I speak with Yuuki and Kiryuu for a moment?"

"Not at all, Lord Kaname!" Kaname gave him a small smile.

"Thank you. I'll return them as soon as possible." He left the room, confident that his chosen two would follow.

"I'll see you in a minute, Yori." Yuuki said apologetically, grabbing Zero's hand as though he would run away. She knew that there was a certain level of animosity between the two men, so she wouldn't put it past Zero to ignore her brother's summons if he really felt like it.

Within a couple of minutes, the pair were perched neatly on the edge of Yuuki's bed. Of all the rooms that he could have picked, Yuuki hadn't been expecting her bedroom to be the one. It did make sense when she thought of it; no one was allowed in her room without her express permission. She couldn't help but think that her beloved older brother was trying to imply something with his choice of location.

"Is something wrong, Kaname?" She asked, worrying thoughts whirling about in her mind. Were talks with his councilmen breaking down? Were they about to be attacked over his decision to grant freedom to humanity?

"No, it's nothing like that."

Zero seemed much more relaxed than she was, though even she could see that he was still fairly alert. She doubted that he would notice such small things as the fact that Kaname hadn't smiled once since they entered her bedroom, or that he hadn't moved to hug her as he would always do if they hadn't seen each other for a long time.

"Then what is it about?" She asked, confused. Kaname leant himself against the wall, taking some of the weight off his feet.

"I know that Kiryuu intends to move on soon." He said matter-of-factly. Yuuki started a little. He hadn't said anything to her. Now that she thought about it, she had tasted the restlessness in his blood. She thought he'd at least talk to her though.

"I wouldn't have left without telling you, Yuuki." He stated flatly in response to her accusing stare.

"You haven't told me anything."

"There was nothing to tell." Zero turned his gaze from hers. "As it happens, I have had my fill of this place."

"You're restless here too, Yuuki." Kaname added, drawing her attention back to him.

"Well, I—" She started before Kaname cut her off with the wave of a hand.

"There's no need to explain anything. You perform your duties admirably, but this gilded cage isn't for you. I know that you'd rather spread your wings."

She remained silent, wondering where he was going with this. She felt Zero's fingers subtly grasp hers, as though to comfort her. She must have been allowing her agitation to show more than she had thought.

"With the current state of turmoil in the land between vampires and humans, however, I cannot allow you complete freedom. But I do have a compromise."

"A compromise?" Yuuki asked, her eyebrows pinching together in confusion. She could sense that Kaname had Zero's full attention too.

"This is something only the two of you can do." She felt the question that wasn't asked as a physical presence hanging over her and Zero.

"I'd like you to become my emissaries. I want you to bring together vampires and humans. The two of you together will be the perfect example of coexistence." His gaze found its way pointedly to their joined hands. Yuuki flushed and pulled her hand away. "So, will you do it?"

"If you really think I can help, then of course I'll do it!" Yuuki replied enthusiastically, the conjoined thoughts of being able to help and freely travelling making her giddy.

"Excellent. And Kiryuu?"

Zero simply nodded in reply. He would never turn down the opportunity to protect those in need. Yuuki had a suspicion that he had still been active in that regard despite his lengthy stay in the mansion.

"Lord Kaname, you are needed in the drawing room!" A harassed looking servant called breathlessly. Kaname sighed in annoyance at having been interrupted.

"I'll be right there." He dismissed the servant before addressing Yuuki once more. "I expect you to give me detailed reports of your business. Come and find me when you are ready to leave."

She nodded as Kaname left the two of them alone.

"Emissaries, huh…" Zero mused.

"We get to go wherever we want! Isn't it exciting, Zero?" Her excited expression changed to one of suspicion at her partner's expression. "What's that face for?"

"It's not like I haven't travelled before, you know."

"Don't be such a spoilsport!" She said sternly. His amused expression only grew.

"Are you really ready to travel the world with me?" He added, a mischievous glint in his eye. Yuuki felt her heart pounding in response.

"Of course I am!" She scolded, before adding under her breath. "I wouldn't want to do it with anyone else."

Zero left the silence lingering long enough for Yuuki to feel the onslaught of panic before he spoke.

"I wouldn't want to travel with anyone else either." He took both her hands in his, a magnetic pull drawing her eyes to his. She tried not to lose herself once more in those lilac depths. "I love you, Yuuki Kuran."

"I love you, too." Yuuki wasn't sure who initiated the following kiss; all she knew was that she never wanted it to end.

~Z~

"We were beginning to wonder if you were ever going to come back." Yori quipped, causing Yuuki to flush red. Zero, as usual, remained stoic.

"What did Lord Kaname have to tell you?" Hanabusa asked curiously. Yuuki couldn't think of any way to ease herself into the answer, so she allowed it to come forth untarnished by introductions.

"He gave me permission to leave here with Zero."

"Oh. I didn't think he would." Yori replied simply. Of course she knew that Zero had plans to move away from the Kuran estate, Yuuki thought. Everyone except her seemed to know.

"He said he'll be fine. He has Hanabusa, after all." Said man puffed up in pride at her words. If Kaname had found him difficult to deal with before, he would find it impossible know. Her brother would get her back for this somehow, she just knew it.

"You can't spend all your time with Kaname just because he's lonely." Yori informed him. "I am nipping this bud right now."

"Remember that Yori is your girlfriend, not Kuran." Zero added. Yuuki snorted inelegantly.

"I know that!" He retorted, folding his arms over his chest childishly. Yori placed her fingers gently on his elbow, causing him to shift it just enough for her to slip her arm through his.

"But you're not leaving right now, are you?" She asked, cuddling up to the still pouting Hanabusa.

"Not just yet." Zero answered.

"Then let's get out of this stuffy house and hit the town!" She said excitedly, her bright smile forcing Hanabusa to drop his pout and smile in return. Yuuki idly wondered if Hanabusa's father had accepted their relationship. She understood that there was a stigma, given how recently Yori's status had risen. She knew that his father loved him too much to risk isolating him, however.

"Mhm." Yuuki nodded enthusiastically, letting Hanabusa and Yori lead the way. She toyed with the idea of linking her arm with Zero's as Yori had done with Hanabusa before she followed along behind them.

~Z~

Telling Yui that they would be leaving the estate was much harder than either of them had been expecting. He frequently acted much more maturely than one of his years should need to, and Yuuki was forcefully reminded of just how few years he had actually lived.

"No! I want to go with you!" He screamed, his lip wobbling as he held back the tears that threatened to fall.

"That's not a good idea, Yui." Zero chided gently, dropping to Yui's eye level with the use of his knee.

"Why? I lived with you before!" He said angrily, wiping his eyes. Zero placed a comforting but firm hand on his shoulder.

"Look at me, Yui." He ordered gently, waiting for the boy to follow his command before he continued. Yuuki found herself wondering if Zero would be like this with their own children, before she cut off her presumptuous mind. "It's not a good idea to unsettle a child your age. We didn't have the option before, but you have a home here now. You're well fed, well rested and you have friends your own age here. It'd be possible that you wouldn't be able to see them for months at a time. Is that something you want?"

"No." The child muttered grudgingly. Zero gave him a reassuring smile.

"We're not abandoning you. We'll come back and see you often. We promise."

"But!"

"No buts. You can have a real childhood here. I can't provide you with that. I know it doesn't seem like it now, but you'll thank me for this when you're older."

There was a short pause.

"You better come back." He replied, giving up.

"Oh Yui, of course we'll come back. I'll drag Zero back here kicking and screaming if I have to." Yuuki joined in, joining the two on the ground. She got a smile from the boy before she pulled him into a hug.

"And you're gonna bring me back lots of presents." He demanded into her shoulder, drawing laughter from the older pair.

"You'll get something from every town we visit, okay?" Zero conceded in his own hug.

"Okay. I'll let you go." Yui said, his bright demeanour quickly replacing his upset. Yuuki was glad that he bounced back so quickly. That would help him in the long run.

"So, what shall we do today to make up for the time we won't have later?" She asked, getting several excited responses from the child. Her mind wandered back to thoughts of their own hypothetical child.

~Z~

Yuuki heaved a sigh, breaking the tranquil silence that had descended between them. The goodbyes to her family and friends had been a tougher ordeal than she had been expecting, even knowing that she would be back often enough. She wondered if Kaname would really be alright without her. But then, her mind would tell her, Hanabusa and Yori weren't going anywhere.

"Are you regretting your decision?" There was a playful edge to Zero's dulcet voice, bringing her back to the present. She shook her head decisively.

"No, that's not it…" Rather, something had been niggling at her since they had left, an irritating insect crawling across her mind and telling her that something was wrong. That they had left too early and something had been left unfinished. The only way she could describe it, if she had to put it into words, was that there was a gap in her knowledge, and that it felt important.

"Then what's troubling you?" She hadn't realised that she had been staring vacantly at her feet until she heard Zero come to a stop in front of her rather than seeing him. Therefore, she found it only fitting that she was blinded by the remaining light spilling out from behind Zero's sturdy frame, giving him an angelic look. When her vision returned, the concern in Zero's ensured that she would tell him.

"I feel like we've forgotten something…" She mumbled, "Like we've left something… unfinished."

"Me too." Zero responded after a minute, "but nothing is springing to mind. Do you want to go back?"

She shook her head.

"No. I'm sure Kaname can handle it, whatever it is."

Zero nodded in approval. Yuuki could tell that he hadn't wanted to go back to the opulent mansion that he had felt so stifled in, but she was grateful that he would have done if she had asked. He extended a hand to her, an offering for her to take it.

The gesture filled her with warmth. She eagerly slipped her hand into his, entwining their fingers in a lovers embrace. As she took in Zero's handsome features once more, she decided that she would never look back again.

[wakraya]

Hiveswap: The Theorizening

Having finished Hiveswap, there’s a lot of different things going through my head at once, thoughts, theories, characters, so I’ll try to not mix things together! That being said, as theories tend to be, Spoiler Warning under the cut! Also sadly I won’t be able to post images in it quite yet since they’re not too easily available around right now, will probably have to wait until some Youtube Video pops up with the gameplay/cutscenes. Without further ado!

Grandpa Harley - There’s a lot that has been revealed about Grandpa in the first half of Act 1, before moving to Alternia. He’s an absent father, and his absence obviously affects Joey a lot. She doesn’t like to blame herself for him not being there, and thus channels this as well deserved anger towards him, specially as she cannot relate to him in the slightest with his disdain for animal life. However, I noticed a few things Joey mentions. He’s been coming back home less and less ever since his wife died, and having ‘vacations to the Pacific Ocean’. I don’t know what’s going through that moustached head of his, but Jake didn’t come across the Frog Temple by mere chance, he actively seeked it for years before bumping into it. Where did he learn about it? What’s going on? Also the basement is full of Crockercorp Tools, old, but still present there. Is there some mind control and manipulation going on perhaps? Jane had to bear with the Baroness for a long while before she straight up faded, but Jake just ‘left her’, perhaps Crockercorp things reminded him of his departed sister? For all the hoarding and aimless adventuring we always thought he did, it seems like he does have a goal. That being said, the obsession doesn’t excuse his neglect for his family or being a shitty parent and being absolutely crazy but, yeah. There’s something deeper going on with him, and I’ll be glad to explore this facet of him on Hauntswitch.

A. Claire - She’s dead. From the very first moment you start the game, in the very first room, you get heavy clues that she’s already dead. However, while I thought A. Claire was nothing more than ‘Joey’s Mom’ before, after playing through the game I can’t help but feel there’s something more to it. She had the Key. The Key was a ‘Heirloom’ she stored in her jewelry box? Or did it appear there afterwards? Joey heavily associates it to her, and with Grandpa’s obsession of tracking down the Frog Temple growing stronger after she died, I have to wonder if there’s something more going on with her. How did she die, exactly? What was she hiding? Again, something really interesting to have in mind for Hauntswitch.

Tetrarch Dammek - Wow. I don’t think any of us expected him to be such a dick. Look at that name, too- Tetrarch Dammek. Tetrarch is basically ‘one of four rulers’, and I believe Xefros alludes to there being another 3 Tetrarchs within the resistance. With him gone, the power structure of the Rebellion is shaking, and now Trizza will make her move- They have to make do, and they’re very likely going to have to get Joey to help them. Back to Dammek himself though, Tetrarch is ALSO an 8-Letter title, like Adults on Alternia seem to use. The Tetrarch. Along with his ideals and how he treats Xefros, it seems that he’s living a sort of Highblood Power Fantasy of Leadership and Control to bring Trizza down. If we’re supposed to care about him, Jude/Roxy are very likely going to shove him in the right direction. Maybe without his guns and in an alien planet, he shows his true colors, scared, defenceless, with no one backing him up- And he learns to be a better person before going back to Alternia. I sure hope so.

Xefros Tritoh - Sweet cinnamon roll, too good for this world, too PURE. I fell in love the moment Joey started to talk with him, poor thing has been pretty much brainwashed. It puts in perspective just how shitty Rustbloods REALLY have it on Alternia, and makes me wonder if Aradia’s complacency comes from this too. Like... It’s not just that it’s her thing, she was ‘0kay’ with things, but rather just a... Grim outlook on not being able to do anything about her situation. “That’s fine. It’s how things are.” That being said, Joey came to the rescue quite unexpectedly, I didn’t think she’d lash out against Dammek like that and I’m VERY glad she did! I still think Dammek has a chance of redemption on Earth, but what he’s done to Xefros is intolerable, and I’ll be glad to see his confidence AND his psychic skills develop over time as he journeys with Joey through Alternia to bring down the Empress!

Doc Scratch - We have little information about him so far. There was the delivery to Xefros but that’s about it. That was incredibly creepy. Someone also mentioned the Hint System sounded a bit like Scratch- But I’m not quite sure since I never clicked the ? Button, I might check it at a later date. For now, his involvement seems to be pretty tame, but if he’s pulling the strings behind Trizza, it’s been a nice little cameo so far.

Trizza Tethis - What a bitch. I love her. We didn’t see much about her, but we heard more about how awful she is, and got that one last image at the end. “Wish you were here”, what a piece of shit. Who was she saying it to? The other members of the resistance perhaps?

Axolotl - We actually did get a little bit teased about that! The painting in the hallway had what, to me, looked like Aztec representations of the Grimalkin, the Sloth and the Axolotl, which is very interesting. Foreshadowing? Or perhaps something more? There was also a weird tapestry in the Trophy Room I can’t quite remember, but it could be something really interesting to analyse at a later date.

Biggest Fan - I’m assuming Xefros and Joey are going to see Cridea at the end of the game. Maybe? The only other option I can think of is the Rebel Marshall. I believe they said their biggest fan was a ‘she’, unless I’m thinking wrong, otherwise it could be Fiamet too! (Wait is Fiamet a guy? I actually think I just assumed he was a guy because the Axolotl from Animal Crossing is a guy. God dammit, it could really be anyone huh? What a mess). Whoever it is, given he mentioned it’s a ‘Fan’, I doubt it’ll be another Tetrarch.

Tetrarchs - The leaders of the Rebellion. Dammek was one of them. I wonder if Cridea or Fiamet are Tetrarchs too. Who knows, maybe the Canon Fantrolls are Tetrarchs! That would be an interesting plot twist wouldn’t it? I’m assuming Fiamet IS one, merely based on the fact he has the power of the Green Sun on his side. Too valuable and powerful of an asset to NOT be a leader.

Alternia - We’ve gotten a few glimpses at life in Alternia! Lo and behold, it just so happens that Hellworld is EVEN WORSE than I thought from the canon! Even with Trizza being excessive in her killings, it just feels like absolutely no one cares about Rustbloods and lives of the lower bloods can be taken for like, anything at all. Seems like there are contests that can change people’s lives however, like the music one Xefros and Dammek seemed to want to attend, that would either give them a life of ‘luxury’, or death. There was a comment on how it took SWEEPS for Scythian to deliver something to Rustbloods, which means that apparently you MUST register your caste on literally EVERYTHING online. Another interesting fact, aside from the Stickball sports which seems a mixture of Rugby, Quidditch and Pool, Xefros mentions Rustblood Dead Communion, and also Blueblood posh attitude and crushing strength, making it canon that, yeah, those kind of powers aren’t actually genetic oddities but are commonplace among castes! Of course comparing Aradia’s telekinesis with Xefros’, it’s obvious some Trolls may be better gifted than others, and I wouldn’t be surprised if some outright lack them. Still, interesting.

Jude - He’s still convinced that the figures are behind this, but something the previews and trailers didn’t mention is that he believes the figures are after the portal. In the same vein, on Alternia, the interviews said that Trizza wants to get her hands on the portal too, which after driving Joey and Xefros away is incredibly easy. Seems like the villains of both games are after this thing, whatever it is. I thought Jude would be nervous and shaky and scared, but NOPE, he’s fucking ready, he’s been ready all his life to take those things down, and I think that’s kind of impressive. Still a dork though.

Joey - Poor thing knows nothing about Alternia, and it’s hilarious to see how confused and grossed out she is through the game. I wonder if she’ll have to eat bugs at some point. I hope she has to eat bugs at some point. She’s so pure too. I like how at the end, Xefros blushed grabbing at her, but she just flashed a little, comfortable smile. I ship Xefros <> Joey already, and feel like, given how her orientation has been leaning so far with the paintings and statues in the Harley Household, she’s totally gonna fall in love with some blueblood lady. Watch her blush when Cridea enters the scene.

The Portal - God this fucking THING. Up in the attic I tried to see if I could see the God Tier’s symbol next to the portal, but it was too difficult. I think it was somewhat round? It might’ve been Mind? But I might’ve just imagined things too, who even knows. The portal itself though, I did NOT expect it to be artificial. It’s not just a structure someone found. Jude has Blueprints. And on Alternia, the more futuristic looking version is also built and has Blueprints. Xefros calls it a ‘weapon’ but he also obviously has no idea what it does, meaning Dammek likely has some more idea about it, just like Joey does. Did they build it? was it some attempt to contact both words? Can a built structure actually be a Juju? I have so, so many questions about that thing and I hope the game solves all of them eventually. But for now, there’s just not enough information to determine anything. It’s soooo weird.

Those are my thoughts on the lore the game added upon so far. We’ll see how things go as more things about Hiveswap and Act 2 start to pop up!

[hannahsspotlight]

Hannah’s Spotlight

2019 by Jacob Hagedorn

Awake all night, now Asking Saint Chris in the morning about the weather shows how up-for-chaos an agender, asexual is when there is a party happening downstairs, already chaotic, as the alarm alarms and I rub my eyes - my sister’s graduation party. 

You may come to know of my worries in a flaming context that proves that I am centered some; mornings I feel the pain so. The worrisome functions are still snowballing - and even if I hold out my hand, Saint Chris shakes it, even tho I was just needy of solutions and was unsurprised he decided to leave the day as a surprise. 

Ignoring the noise from downstairs, and circling the present moment, I am sitting on the side of the bed and gazing plainly out the window, the dreams of the night - this time, a lot like other times, was of the demon in my closet that will be left discrete, that is certainly not blood and that makes me cry even if it is a dream now…not crying now - although it was quite real then, and it made me sick to be reminded, or made out to be some sort of Event that was uncanny considering I was mostly content and happy and did not have all that many dark ideas or concepts hovering over me or inside me - it is anxiety and it will be examined but not made of the entirety of my mood. And that is what is funny, a different version is in fact inside me and it is not beautiful. It is what made me how I am way back when. 

The schizo affective muttering (addition) slips from my tongue as I turned on collaborative paraphrasing, ergo modern indie rock, and also pulling out strings of hair of figuring out what color of shirt I was going to where - hmm, not a crop top or leggings today, and definitely no magical robe. It is not Sunday, yet this event there will be people of somewhat or definite promising futures or a presence of presents and giving presents. The thought occurred to me about how I am going to probably miss my morning coffee, so I chose a white polo and settled for a bottle of water on my desk. My sister will be beginning a masters study at The University of Texas in Austin. 

There will be all sorts of personal cringing for not being adamant about the latest political buzz, or cameras, or philosophy, and even wanting to run back upstairs to take the one bullet from my closet for the one, personal use because my scholarly voice is not of par or being a whole failure - god damn it, being dramatic; I smirk then cringe. The aura from downstairs ignored, *shiver*.

There is no toleration, only anxiety - an outcast feeling, in my home too due to said party. The way to feel alright is to know not only is the person themselves doing alright, it is if we are alright together - mutual concern. Otherwise we are not picking each other’s brain or learning but we are just filling time and air. I am not apt to showing upright confidence, and also I am too experienced to act defeated..usually coming off precisely sarcastic or nonchalant but I am rather just worked up in some way - and hopefully it is not painful for them although it is for me and I fight to survive in this world. 

Asking questions is a bit easier than developing something interesting as a response, so this will not be too difficult - the people will not seem familiar mostly; just my parents and sister of course. I will find a seat and sit for about one whole hour, than escape back upstairs to avoid being killed, to be safe, and most likely to read a comedy book meaning drama and not all that funny in modern context - that can be funny in it’s own way to me at least. Okay I will wear the white polo, blue jeans, and just socks. Books are my escape, and I usually get something out of them that was not intended, which indeed makes me frantic about it; frantic about most anything but the breathing is still manageable and I can smile about random things.

Outside there are cars parked and the front door opening and closing to people making loud exclamations towards one another. Imagination brings me to the idea that if, when downstairs, they are all in fact monkeys swinging from the chandelier or turtles stacking on top of each other to reach heights to balance the monkeys swinging and than - possibly - a huge rhino (resembling chaotic power) plows them all over to all truly exceed my expectations and giving me a reason to take out my video camera, taping the rupture to finally being close to have an interesting scenario to show besides being a character in someone else’s figment. Participating is worrisome at times. Having control of a concept helps me sleep at night; make it healthy and good for all the right reasons, I hope. 

Yeah, I do not get out much. The college schoolwork is homeschool and I have never been on a date - 22 years old, and the most interesting thing about me is that I am a filmmaker against the odds of popular aspirations, which does not bother me because I am easily inspired. The most interesting film style, personally, is music videos - one can match sound with physical - double the emotion, and that is the only pleasure I get considering the small amount of emotion I muster up on average - not much, and my personal musical scores live in a way together with the visual depictions. 

There are no friends downstairs or outside, or anywhere - there are none at all in this life. There is not a map to find me, a trace online or a voice of hints; no use, there is no point in making connections, there must be more wrong with me…I am a bit taken aback at any social point. Making short films or music videos for the simple, acoustic piano songs I make for practice occupies me and I do it for myself completely, I say. To study music theory, or video editing techniques, or new gear knowledge is what I will study on my own - listen, celebrate truth not success (the difference is slim). The truth is I am asexual/agender and this is not the problem, it is just how I am, and yet my parents would like me to get married and there is an obvious raincheck for that. Karen, the eldest of us two and my older sister does not currently have a boyfriend, so she is far from family building as I am, although her chances of success is higher in my eyes - but I probably just will not find a success in that ever; cats, or rhinos. 

Muttering my name over and over eyes to eyes: ‘Adam, Adam, Adam, Adam…’.The mirror reflects the body flailing to the music now, vocal paraphrasing, gusts of strums, and strikes of keys - precisely pumping myself up for the bussing job downstairs; cleaning is somewhat a priority but I do have delusions on how often things should be helped when there is a public setting; guessing it is a random obsession act. If the obsessing grows and there is not a dialogue happening at any rate, maybe there is an escape to the neighborhood park. It is only partly true to myself; am not against the human race at all. 

The rhythm of aimlessness is a settled spiral till the end where it shoots out in every which way that refuses to be gathered; so you need someone else to pick a point for you, and I have been waiting for that. The loneliness coming naturally ergo this sense of sexuality, although it is really a lack of sexuality, teaches me to start points logically before they spiral and match them with some other logic as an arrow headed somewhere. If it is going to be chaotic soon, there must be a theme and most of the time the idea is of loneliness, being introverted and having no interest in most emotions. So, dancing for a short duration, or going downstairs is actually a huge risk because the voice in my head thinks it an apt time to mock myself and feel small; worthless, and when I do shrivel back into my reality…I feel ashamed. 

Sing along for myself, make my bed for myself, and make any effort for myself - this is why the days are long and frantic; there is no one to speak with or of, and for awhile now. My phone does not buzz, no one is ringing the door bell for me, and there are nobody checking in. If I mixed it up and wore a dress, that would be for myself but it ruins all chance for myself and others, even though I know that is not true - more or less to be included but I wish I was just already in the midst of it all. People pretend they want to get away, like they do not rely on gratification at all - and maybe there conversations are not a good-heavy, but at least something is going on in general for them; surely there is good tho. 

Now not a completely aimless morning, running back some personal favorites of my musical creations; sketching out visual scenes that probably will not make sense to anyone, including myself. A mood, or even a title, is more powerful than trying to depict meaning - and there is no feedback in my life but I sure enjoy it anyhow, even if beauty is misunderstood or short of cohesiveness. The lack of emotion, the lack of interesting subject, the lack of genuine message: all leaves me sulking, but only in the context of if anyone sees it - what will they think? I know my life has meaning, and the results I am fine archiving or even releasing to be found years from now by one person that may be inspired; best scenario, and absolutely worth the effort whenever it was started. And if not, it satisfied me for a moment while personally interacted with.

Most of my college credits are things that interest me, and there is not a day set for a known completion - there is a chance college will never be completed on my behalf, and I guess that is okay; music, German, fiction, history - it all is great and would not be possible to go in person, although missing society and seeing a smile on a face in reality would be healthy for me, and would create a new sense of how to integrate myself into society, help it grow in some small way, and inspire me to smile myself too. 

Then I shift to be in the midst of other music, other videos - it reminds me of meth back a year ago when the nightmares began; crippling, lonesome experience: the most risky endeavor of my life, and I have done my share of rehabs and mental hospitals - combining heroin does not work, of course. Mold, enjoying mold?… *Shiver*, relax and refocus. The mere sound or visual intake of what inspires me: does so freely, and I am washed away in a tide of bliss and love because they are so much accompanied by endearment; there comes tears and something magical to identify with, and the only time emotion is uncontrollable - it could go on forever, but then I get back to myself: nothing; nothing great at all - I will go take a shower. Their magic is not my magic, unfortunately - yet I can take a next step which is always good. 

Standing there, through the hallway, by the stairs, I could hear the roar of the crowd and sudden laughter, or indecipherable exclamations. The anxiety in me grew. What is my name? Part of controlling the chaos within is realizing that most people are much like you; different, but living in the same time. Maybe I just feel challenged a lot - by myself, and uncontrollably by others; being fixed on a craft or just having a clear mind makes you a bore unless situationally. I turn on the water. 

The future imagined is far from soon receiving disability, or staying at home much longer - ugh- ; it is actually not a defeated mindset, it is finding love in the impossible way meaning romance is so foreign. In the shower I look at the Blue Bed tattoo on my leg, the color fading - maybe the bed is where I belong and may also be the negative influence of my imagination: it is emotionless yet powerful in it being so necessary - although my bed is white. Being aware of having a version of laziness is far from humorous - it makes me sick even though I know a lot can be done or discovered in a bed. I get out of the shower, towel off, skip brushing my teeth, and look in the mirror all ready: boy.

There could be a whole lifetime wasted on depicting reality and worrying about it - and to think I can turn it into art even if it will never be seen is an impossibility and is a part of my delusional thinking - the stuff is important, but I cannot communicate any contrast at all of anything. I am happy mostly, because I intake and study at moments - it is all so beautiful indeed. A boost of confidence is needed, and the reason appearing downstairs is frightening is because hope has only let me down over the course of my life - and being happy is separate than that I believe. Being optimistic, and resetting that optimism is mostly quite simple in retrospect; we mainly defeat ourselves.

No matter the song, no matter the image - there will be a break of ego and the mutual, yet confusing (for me) interest will be kicked around and it will kill me slowly even if it is only two minutes at each go - and there is a bad habit ingrained to just walk away to somewhere else; me, awkward and rude. Do not get me wrong, I am capable of admiring and developing of just about any topic - the emotion they feel though, and what they are trying to relay for some reason does not register. I just say, ‘Oh yeah!…’ and feel defeated and death-near.   

Mother said the party will go on till about 2 o’clock. I pretend to look for clothing when I see my closet is cracked; shivering and cold - there is no demon here now, though there probably is but I am sober or not in a dream to be in that sort of realm, and that is terrifying of itself. When it happened then, the creature thew up black mold onto my floor, and was gracefully-but-weirdly accompanied by beautiful, blissful string music; what I heard before and after seeing the most terrifying visual. That song, that I could identify still to this day, is in my hopes that there was also an actual angel soothing me against terror, but what a small closet! There is no way to be an entity with such demonic attire but also mustering up the sound of heaven; I heard heaven and now the closet is closed.

Some tears came as the chair by my desk spun around with me in it - stopping, put palms to face and bending over to my knees; this is my aesthetic, and this will not get easier. A bit of nausea as well, with sweaty palms which makes the whole Manly concept a joke in my shoes. My voice, when speaking anywhere or with anyone, sound like someone is pinching my face and demanding I talk sweeter - like immediate and organic sincerity, but the mocking voice in my head often makes me sound drastically uninterested - and that is just not true. 

If the thought of ‘The One’ appears in the brain, it is known that the concept is of the bullet or even the demon - not a real person that is of a hoping mind, or a golden opportunity. The violence is too drastic and the occasion is not on this course of this now though; just a thought and the gun is in the attic - I’d blow holes in my soul for it to rain and come down on the people; the chandelier falling and the creatures in panic as I am in panic in a way but different. Cheers to the few. The white walls in the room are getting higher - and the shadow still lurks in some way - this is the haunting aura and it has just begun. Maybe that experience will be chased endlessly in a way throughout my life - because the music could not have come from evil, jest-like cruelty that was in my face; running out of the room then to my parents was a feeling I have not felt since I was a young child - all the times avoiding nightmares. 

Haunted is right; cynical things have happened and even if Hopeless is more daily than anything else,  I sometimes think there are no pros only cons in this experience. My friends left me from high school, my parents do not accept me fully, have been shown no grace by society it seems, although I try to get included, and it goes roughly - even if that somehow seems like I am showing grace and easing myself the apparent defeated attitude; I do not want that, this is just what is known by me for the last year or so: more than ever before. There is nothing gained from these ego deaths besides never having to feel this emotion newly again; old and new now, but when it is new it stings above all and I teach myself to minimize the old into a secondary worrisome-process. Maybe I will shed this perspective - good things have happened and will happen I now admit. This tends to happen: it is about latching on to something hopeful and good in the end of a segment, starting a new. There are pros, so let me work this out. 

My parents will be smiling, my sister too - that makes it easier; seemingly friendly and inviting: this comes natural for them, and I will busy myself with dishes or offering organic smiles for a millisecond then break away and look down. If the people think I am selfish, they are probably right. When I snuck away and eased with drugs, that was easy - although there was never a point to rely on it completely. This is doable, this is manageable and my sweaty hands are just my sweaty hands - the spiraling and chaotic arrows of unsettling anxiety will not kill me. One foot after the other; conversation and interaction is healthy - that is known but not practiced personally. Following sentences and coming to realize the purpose of them always wants me to practice more - keep asking questions until you find out a unique point and than feel satisfied that they have managed a sincere smile; something like an accomplishment, and making them feel okay mutually - no lies at all, and a mutual firework will gleam around the room back and forth until that night when someone smiles in bed, thinking: ‘That was a good day.’ That is what I hope altogether, and it makes the uncomfortable feeling less dramatic - the pressure shortens. 

I am smiling - wow. The mania is drifting towards a light indeed, and it is fait that works in my favor sometimes - and also, of course, feeling giddy about the light. Is this a dream? - gleaming again. If the day started again I would have began it with this song - rolling down a hill, momentum gaining, love or joy possible. There is satisfaction now that the day is coming together - or falling specifically in a happy array of flowers; a new perspective I suppose. Caught on, holding on - near the stairs; deep breathe. Ok, Adam. 

-

Glaring to my left and right with softish eyes, mostly an excited stance, things are lively but not as quick and random as I had imagined. Some see me and give a little smile, in meaning that they recognize me, or a general arrow towards me of pure addition; one more in the room, and even though that did not hold up to my usual satisfaction - that ideology - but knowing there were all sorts of personalities, like the thirty-five or so human figures and voices, that opened up all sort of possibilities for a better chance at a satisfying exchange. My stomach started to hurt; feel a little light headed and my heart kind of is fluttering. I can make out words from people, like: ‘Yes!’, ‘Right.’, ‘Well..’, ‘How did you..’, ‘Ya know..’, etc. 

Making way for the caffeine and to find my family one by one to locate for a secure feeling. My sister had her hands on her waist and then raising them as she proudly embraces an old friend - she is just as enthusiastic about mutuals. Right now, a feeling of contentment and satisfaction overtake me because of how much she has accomplished and how much she will too; she is just getting started making a positive impact. A wide smile, a Texan tan, and freshly highlighted hair: people use to identify us as twins, but I stand mildly random about my appearance and hardly prepare - this in fact is not my big day, but it is so for a lot of other reasons. 

My mother wearing a flowery dress - big smile, next to my dad, talking to a couple that I know is from church that knew us kids since we were born. Mom is the same person that comforted me when things were low: friends lost, feelings damaged, or a lack of hope in any way. My dad has expressed that he has similar social anxieties or a worried mind no matter the situation - he handles everything just fine, and participates for the sake of loving his family and being proud of everyone. For me, there is an indescribable love for my family - but the fact that there is a house full of people is more potent of a state currently; no matter the original motive. 

The first person that talks to me is my dad’s best-friend’s wife, who is the mother of two boys that were some of my best friends when I was very young. Where are they? Your husband too! They were such a great family, and I have not seen any of them in about five or so years. She told me the youngest was working at a camp in Oklahoma, and the eldest was with his father seeing a baseball game in Michigan; where my dad and his friend were from, and the Tigers to always root for. Although a newish, spare-time occupation, writing scores for videos, she heard that that is how I spend my life instead of leaving the house; she knew that too from just the look of me and how I talk seemingly. *Blush*, I asked about the boy’s college experiences and that conversation vanished when the first exit appeared, somehow and it was awkward; I do not know how it was carried but damn it… 0/1. 

When arriving at the back patio to find a seat around a table, I was able to recollect and be reflective on how it was going: planning how my tone and mood would contrast with anyone. Breathing, dressed boyish but when talking to any woman here my voice goes up and my pronunciation is more upright and feminine - there are people looking when this happens, but it is when I am the most myself, and the more I ask questions with a more giddy yet wholesome aura, the more people actually hug me or say Adam with some playfulness. The women have strings of potent emotions, and the men seem to scale on productivity or focused on how the present will effect the future; to express intricate stories that may not be but for the purpose of striking a meaning of the subject - to laugh and identify something of value, versus concrete, masculine ideations. 

Today, right now, does not remind me of anything here, like a video I have seen; there is no music either happening and the thought of either music or visual captions is appealing due to a boredom, or a genuine idea to process something so foreign to me - the company at the house. The loud crowd and the people hustling around could in fact be cut/arranged into a romantic piece of a sort - the people on the patio could look interesting from across the street, my mom decorates pretty well indeed, and the music would have no beat - but a major key piano that is medium paced, ergo soothing and inviting to showcase gleeful gatherings with hyper zoomed out or in with a Karen voiceover. I do not know; to me it is fun to think about - although it maybe shows how amateur and unfocused I am in actuality. *Yawn*.

Sweat on my body, and shaking hands - my mother comes over and asks if I recently got up from bed: yes, and is Karen enjoying herself amongst friends? She said yes, in fact, she may have found a roommate for Austin or at least a complex to consider. If I made friends that easy, there would be a different future. If it is zoomed out, like the cinema, it would be a ballroom of ants. They come as they come, some dressed as they are or other. How I feel is that I should crawl away back upstairs to where the big red dragon reigns. Now I turn left or right; not going to wait. Pick one of the ants, a new priority but mouth dry - drink tea. Would it be too much to ask if I was wearing a terrifying bird mask? Sipping tea sparingly via slightly taking off the mask; they probably would still ask how my life is and it would not feel any different to me, but they would ask to go off to sit somewhere with my vote and hearty permission, it is so. Been waiting for the urge to run inside to turn on Peter Pan in the living room for the room. Why am I waiting? Or why is my guilty conscience racing my identity? 

Looking at my fingernails, somewhat in tune with the feelings of the movements, yet all the reasons they are laughing are contradicting the electric jest of the real psychotic charity I am holding a white flag for - no one is helping and this is why I quit drugs. Speaking any tongue to me is a way I feel like the victim of all this: frightened; yes? Do tell me about the looming elegance of interaction that I have for years avoided; developing a horrific laziness, but I am editing colors in my head calmly at the moment. I get up to go for the coffee, seemingly pressing on with more anxiety coming with the caffeine; maybe just two cups and some tea later.

In the process of giving up being so young and difficult, ready to change partly; an adult, that looks familiar, heads towards the couch I am sitting on - sipping hot coffee, and my soul completely dropped. Uh, uh, uh, uh. A tunnel brought her closer, and she was growing radiantly, now towering over me, in complete surprise. 

‘Don’t you remember me, Adam?’ With both hands around her back, and a teeth-smile that broke my eye contact immediately after. Fucking emotion, I remember her - she glances at the space between us, and I say, 

‘Sleep…Sorry, I felt asleep.’ Yet my legs were shaking, oh heaven. 

‘Do you feel lonely over here all by yourself?’ It is Hannah. Hannah was mormon some time ago, she sometimes hangs out with my old high school buddies ,which those friendships dissolved, and her older brother took Karen to Homecoming her junior year. 

‘Hannah. How are you? Your hair is short and purple. I like that! And your voice has changed.’

‘How so?’

‘I do not know, you have changed.’ One. Definite nice one, Adam…

‘Oh, well it is so nice seeing, it has been years! So, film?’ 

We were in film club together sophomore year in high school and she was just as attentive and passionate about it. She was the fashion hand, which now makes sense - her yellow, unicorn shirt is intriguing. Butterfly earrings and very well done, minimal makeup, eyeliner, and light blue fingernail polish. It is just a genuine breathe-take seeing her - this makes me very happy, and now my voice gets higher but normalizing. I feel comfortable as she sits right next to me on the couch with our drinks. 

-

Impossible to resign when faced with the uttermost sincerity; struck by a calm, white cloud, it feels. When she touched my shoulder after an accidental Lonesome reveal, all the voices hushed in the rooms it seemed as she grinned with contentment. There is no rush for me: bright blue eyes. Hannah has changed a lot indeed - she has grown to be magnificent and she proves that when I say ‘I am not sure…’ and she makes me think it is known in fact, whatever it is; a needed grasp on the self that she seemingly promotes and delicately practices. Go on and ask her:

‘How are your friends?…my old pals?’ Smirking minimally in naiveness actually, because she did not feel challenged - not one bit. 

‘They talk about you! Everyone worries about you of course. Ya know, you had some pretty daring obstacles: the drug season maybe, that is so incredible that you have conquered!’ 

Hannah paints for fun, she showed me a waterfall from her phone, and also works at a gallery now across town, plus a breakfast place on weekends. She is getting more exact on the spectrum of relation - I am dark; everywhere that has been explored for satisfaction was in a false mindset: people, or just maybe her now makes me realize that what has been going on inside is definitely affecting the outcome of my reality. It is the experience she has had, and a knack for keeping it genuine, and this all astonishes me. Now I see that maybe my friends moved on because they needed room to grow: that is a sad thought, but she is proof of evolution in any case of more growth. At school, Hannah was quiet, and stuck mostly around her church friends yet still sweet as can be when speaking out in film club.

‘Did Alex ever tell you… oh, never mind.’ I stopped, being stupid and knocking down the fortress of purity, or the floating adoration bubble she herself brought over and freely included me. Alex was like me in some ways: feeling explorer, and we grew so close it felt like the only thing romance is grouped with in my life in context. 

She laughed smartly at words we were saying and the emotion they proclaimed and we, together, were intertwined in a function of progress.

‘Tell me what?’

‘Never mind that. My realm is just a little dark…’

There was a point where there was self-inflicted, heavy tension for me, but not between us. Hannah’s beam was not fading, but I am realizing that this is taking a lot of work for her considering the unhealthy preoccupation that possesses my mind regularly and is seeping out, and with no beam of my own at all. Obviously far from any sensual ideations, and she seems way bigger than me and the attempt to equalize shows me like out-of-options and struck dumb and numb. 

-

We did not go on a walk and I could not find the words to pursue more questions in her direction; how selfish indeed, yet she gave me her number and she told me to update her on my work and I told her the same - me, beyond perplexed and unspeakably inspired. Today, Hannah is my blessing. As the people left, and my sister was happy, I asked Karen about her and she says they have talked before - only a couple months ago too. That night, instead of wondering when there would be another opportunity to redeem myself, or wondering when there would be another event in satisfaction in general in my life: I closed my bedroom door, danced as the sun went down, and Hannah’s everlasting spotlight cleansed my soul and guided the demons away. And I thought: You learn to dance when you fall in with nothing to do, like the universe; my own hell diminished by bliss and the one that saved my day - I fell asleep smiling knowing influence is soft, and a chance for a beautiful state to be accessible is at any moment if I try and acknowledge the eternal beauty of the human race; till tomorrow, and all I will need is a smile.

jhagwrites@protonmail.com

[impishnature]

The Light Keeper (Part 4)

AO3

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Rating: T

Summary: A beast lurks in the waters. Stan loses Ford to the waves, the lighthouse his only point of contact and hope of ever getting him back. …He used to love the sea, now it’s taken everything from him.

Lighthouse Keeper AU. 

Series of One-shots.

AN: Commission and story collab with @garrulousgibberish​ based on their Lighthouse Keeper AU (link above) ^o^ Some of Ran’s art is included! ♥ ITS AMAZING ALL OF IT. So this was all meant to be one but it got huge so this one shot got split into three... it’ll make sense later! (Warnings for panic attacks and allusions to drowning)

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Part 4: Navigating The Void - Lost

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Where am I?

The man frowned, a struggle of a motion, his body refusing to co-operate, eyelids far too heavy to open. In fact, everything felt… heavy, lethargic, draining him with the smallest of movements. Even thinking was hard, his head full of dense fog that refused to budge as his synapses tried to fire.

Am I falling? Floating?

If he had had enough energy he might have panicked, might have wondered what had happened to him that his brain wasn’t working as it should be. As it was, he didn’t have the strength, didn’t have the willpower to more that push half-heartedly against the impenetrable barriers inside his head that rose whenever he tried to question anything.

It was as if something had sapped all the bad from him and left him in this peaceful daze, floating on air, devoid of anything but the blissful black void.

There’s definitely no ground… I don’t even know which way is up or down… does it matter though?

It really was much easier to just drift aimlessly than to worry.

He smiled softly. Something seemed to push towards him, just a small motion, teasing and light as if someone was running a hand through his hair, an undertow of sorts fluttering by him. The questioning thoughts pulled away with it, leaving him hollow but serene.

No, I guess it doesn’t matter…

He didn’t know how long he drifted in that state, time had no meaning as he slipped in and out of consciousness. Though there really wasn’t all that much difference between the two states, other than a sudden thought crossing his mind that reminded him that he was real, that he could move, albeit however slightly.

Wait. How did I get here? Where was I before this?

But then the weird cold sensation would overtake him again. Bubbles would fizzle at his fingertips as if something circled him though he couldn’t open his eyes to check. The swirling movements would catch him off guard, drag him out of his head as his body got caught in it and scattered the questions along with the current.

“Shhhh, you’re safe. He’ll come get both of us soon.”

Ye..s… everything is fine…

He didn’t know who this ‘he’ was or what was even talking to him, if anything was talking to him at all. All he knew was that any worry, any concern fled with it, a soft warmth emanating instead from his core to counteract the cold flow still spinning around him.

“You just have to wait. Wait and see.”

Yes, he’ll be here soon…

And with that the darkness came again, lukewarm and insipid but oh so welcoming.

Nothing could hurt him here.

And with just another cold undertow, the thoughts of even the voice and the mysterious ‘he’ were once again taken far out of his reach.

There was nothing in the void to remind him that this world was not his own.

Who… am I?

The question came like a punch to the gut. The omnipresent being seemed to have left him for a moment, his head clearing enough for the question to trickle through the lingering fog.

The fear of that particular unknown broke down the walls that had been put up in his head as if they were only paper, the fog becoming ice littering the floor of his head as everything shattered into panic.

He opened his eyes, his heart stuttering in his chest as it did nothing, reality as dark and empty as the space behind his eyelids that blinking was meaningless.

Who am I? Where am I? What is this place? I haven’t always been here, have I?

It was suddenly difficult to breathe. Loneliness seeped in, dread and anxiety at the sheer nothingness of it all clawed at his throat, yet he couldn’t scream, the sound bubbling into a similar nothingness when he opened his mouth.

He could feel liquid about him, feel the closeness of it all, that he struggled to move against as solid weights in wet unyielding clothing.

And yet he was fine, undamaged, just unable to move, unable to scream, unable to breathe as water poured into his open mouth.

Unable to do anything he desperately needed to do.

This was a prison cell.

Why am I here? What did I do?

Nothing answered him.

Please- please, I need to- I need something. Is any of this even real? Just show me- please-

A light flickered above his head. Tiny and distance but something in the darkness.

It swirled as if caught in an eddy, mesmerising and clear, a beacon that burned away the fog that resided, burned away the fear and the doubt.

Someone- or something had answered him, leaving him warm and hopeful, his arm reaching out towards it, cupping the tiny spark between his fingers as his mouth twitched into a smile.

The light vanished. His movements ceased as the darkness surrounded him once more.

“See? What was all that fuss about?”

The cold came again, quiet and unassuming. It drifted over him like a mask that sapped the warmth that the light had given him. His arm fell to his side again, heavy and unyielding, even as his heart hammered and his eyes widened, trying to see through the gloom.

A different light fell onto him, yellow and glowing it seemed to hold him in its grasp, aloft and unmoving, caught in its snare. Wherever it moved, his head followed, the smile dropping to a blank expression as his eyes glazed over.

“That’s much better. I told you, didn’t I? That you had nothing to worry about.”

Told… me…?

“Yes. I called out and you answered. Now we just have to wait until the time comes. But don’t worry, you’re nice and safe here.”

Safe… yes, of course…

He felt his eyelids drooping as the light swayed before him, the fog drifting back through his skull to take up residence again amongst his dwindling thoughts.

“It’s not like any of this is real anyway. You’re just dreaming.”

Just a dream…

He nodded along, or an much as he could when his head and body felt like lead and it was just so much easier to give in, to give up and accept the calming words being spoken.

A soft laugh echoed around him, the ice shards in each small sound slipping through the cracks in the peaceful shell that was being wound around him.

Wait- I still don’t know. Who am I?

The darkness didn’t wait for him to welcome it, as it drove back into his skull. Eclipsed the thoughts and the questions and the small almost spark of something vaguely human that he had mustered up again.

No! No- Please! I was so close. So close- don’t make me forget again, please- I don’t want to forget again-

The inky water drove it all away, stole his thoughts and his words, stole the scattered remnants of his being that fell away like sand to the bottom of the ocean floor, until he was just confused and relaxed again, a puppet on a string, waiting unperturbed and aimless.

“That’s it. Rest. Don’t worry, you’ve got a part to play in all this too.”

The laugh sounded again though this time the ice bounced off of him, swayed him in his small bubble but otherwise left his mind drifting away.

“You’re the key.”

A key…?

The soft words faded as soon as they had been uttered, in one ear and out the other with little comprehension.

Something changed with the light though.

He remembered the light next time he awoke.

He didn’t know how long it was until the light flickered on again.

He didn’t know how it reached him in his cocoon of solitude, buried far far below.

All he knew was that it did and that when it did, it felt like he could breathe again, a weigh vanishing from his chest. The world came into focus, his fingers twitched and the darkness seemed just that little bit less all consuming.

All he needed was the light.

He stared upwards at it, head lolling side to side as it moved above him until he started to realise it was getting closer. He felt light as a feather, no longer a solid statue that had sunk to the bottom of the abyss, now he was floating higher and higher as the light grew bigger.

Looks like I know which way is up now.

A bubble of airy giggles streamed out of him at the sudden realisation, the light catching each glistening bauble as it escaped his throat and mesmerised him more. His fingers twitched to touch them, reaching out to swirl them further, small mystifying light sources that felt warm to the touch and swum further and further out from him as he created waves with his movements.

Fascinating.

He may not know his name, who he had been or where he had come from, but his brain still stuttered into life as he continued his ascent. He could feel the grey matter making up for its time consumed by viscous fog, asking a million questions a second, sparking up odd theories behind his eyes, though nothing seemed quite as important as letting the light continue to drag him from the darkness. He let his mind ponder as his eyes stayed locked on the light, as his body was pulled upwards without any help from himself.

For some reason he felt like he would only hinder the upwards momentum if he moved.

The light split above him, a beacon that seemed to bend and sway with smaller droplets of light bleeding out around it. But the fragmentation didn’t really worry him, only intrigued, kept him coherent, lucid. Kept him thinking, wondering on its origins and patterns.

His mind trailed to the other light, the yellow, soft glow that calmed him down whenever he struggled against the hold the darkness had on him.

But it was difficult to keep hold of that trail, sand dribbling out of his hands as his mind speculated on whether he had imagined it, maybe he’d caught a reflection of this light instead. It was so easy to believe, his eyebrows furrowing as he pushed the image away. It can’t have been real, it didn’t feel real, not like this light did.

That small light would never have pierced the darkness, not like this white light did, it didn’t have the power.

But the voice…

A cold shiver swept through him, a sensation that felt oddly familiar and yet disturbingly foreign against the warmth wrapping around him like a blanket as the light bathed him. It was like a word on the tip of his tongue, a sudden sense of foreboding with no cause in sight. He had heard something in the darkness, a shape blacker than black moving behind the odd yellow luminescence as soothing cold swept away his distressing thoughts…

But then the image slipped away, evaporating with the last dregs of the mist, behind his eyelids.

Must have been me, trying to make sense of where I was. The brain does that, doesn’t it? Makes up things to make situations seem more conceivable…

Before he could ponder it much more, he felt the dragging motion grow faster, like there was a hook lodged into the back of his coat and he was being reeled in, up and up. The light above him was growing bigger and more distorted with every second, spreading out and rippling. The darkness around him suddenly wasn’t all that dark anymore, the ink shifting to royal blue interspersed with flecks of light that made patches brighter than others.

And just as swiftly, he hit the light, felt it shatter around him in a moment of dazzling white.

He flinched, hands going up to cover his face as his head and arms seemed to burst through something. It didn’t feel cold or warm on the other side, much the same as the darkness and yet he could feel a significant difference to his surroundings.

He chanced a peek through his fingers, disappointment welling up as the bright flickering light seemed gone from his immediate vision but curiosity soon crushed it, his eyes widening to take in everything around him as he still seemed to drift upwards.

I was in… water…?

His feet skimmed the surface, which rippled as drops cascaded off of him. The dragging motion had ceased in its persistent tugging, leaving him hovering a few inches above the waterline. The myriad of sparkling lights he had seen from the other side now made sense as the water flowed and crashed beneath his feet even though they no longer held the brilliant light that had been there only moments before. The foam was light, the moon dusting it all in a silver sheen but it wasn’t the moonlight that had shone strikingly down on him, cutting sharply through the gloom to wake him from his slumber.

He watched the waves until they hit the shoreline, listened to them crash against the beach before following the tiny pinprick glows through windows up to the night sky full of stars above them, but not one seemed like the light that had dragged him from the depths.

Part of him questioned how a light could even do that, how he didn’t feel cold or seem to need to breathe, nor coughing up water that should have choked him long ago. But the much larger portion of his brain was too busy thinking, too busy exploring all the nooks and crannies to figure out how much he knew before he started to focus on the very large portion of things he didn’t.

That and the last time he had gotten panicked, he’d seized up. It had all gone cold and his thoughts had slipped away from him until his body hummed at the bliss of ignorance. He remembered that much at least, even if he didn’t know what had suddenly sent him into the spiralling dread.

Stay calm, stay analytical, don’t want to shut down again.

And if he was complete honest with himself, this was far better than the perpetual darkness that sapped his strength and mind, no matter how tranquil and safe it appeared.

No, he really did want to explore far more than he was willing to let his mind race ahead into overthinking.

He shivered, not exactly cold but the warmth the light had bestowed on him when it drew him upwards was slowly leaving him hollow once more. He shuddered more violently, feeling himself drop slightly, his body growing ever so perceivably heavier. He looked about him again, this time more frantically, casting for a sign, a sudden thought to help him out of his predicament.

Please! I’m not ready yet. Don’t make me go back!

The light pulsed back to life, bright and blinding.

He raised his hand to his face, shielding his eyes from the welcome onslaught. The action felt oddly familiar, an unexpected flood of confusion overwhelming him as memories tried to flit before his eyes. Not much of it made sense, the emotions in discordance with those he felt at that moment as his body started to hover again, pulled upwards into the wind’s currents.

Relief coursed through him as the sea was left far below, warmth spreading to his fingertips, his core even, as he was blinded, unable to adjust quite yet.

So why was there a sudden lurching feeling from his memories? As if the light heralded something else… something far worse that waited in the darkness.

Can’t be this light. Must be another, something I don’t remember yet…

The thought could wait, that was for sure. He had a lot of things to figure out, why he was here at all being one of them, and all of which he didn’t think could be answered without his continued ascent.

So he let the worry vanish, took back hold of the childish curiosity that had sparked up. He pulled his hands up, cupping the light between his fingers. It had grown less dazzling within seconds, still tugging him up and facing directly at him but it was dim, as if something was missing. Or perhaps it was the building giving him that opinion. The lighthouse gleamed, imposing and robust against the cliff edge but as he looked down below at the distant waves, he was sure that the glimmering glow only seemed to be directed at the tiniest portion.

I’m sure that’s not how a lighthouse is supposed to work…

The glass was suddenly ahead of him before he thought much more, drawing him straight into the bulb and popping him back out into a vaguely recognisable room. The bulb gleamed back at him, a static drone filling the air even as it glowed fainter and fainter with every passing second. He stayed inside its small circle, arms raised towards it as he absorbed what warmth he could before it escaped him again.

I’ve been here before… it looks different though.

“What was that?”

There was a shuffling sound nearby that made him spin, a quite dizzying feat he hadn’t known he’d be able to do and he almost continued the rotation more than he had intended from his hovering state. A young man stood outside of the light, cast in thick shadows behind the bulb. All he could see really was the glint of his eyes reflecting the glow, which were narrowed suspiciously as he cast his gaze about him.

He waited, holding his breath even though he had no need to breathe until the man shook his head, going back to his work behind the bulb.

“Whatever, you don’t have time to be hearing things, remember? Last time you stopped working, the bulb went out as soon as you ran to the balcony. Gotta figure out how to keep it lit this time.”

Yes! Please do!

He beamed, excitement thrumming through him as the man worked. He tried to crouch down, irritation looming as he found it hard to navigate but he was able to fumble around enough to see what the man was working on. There were two books beside him, both pushed forward so they caught enough of the glow and filled with scrawling minute notes that caught his attention. One was left open, a reference that the man paused to look to every so often, filled to the brim with symbols and questionable meanings beside them, more plausible ones underscored repeatedly. There was a small jolt of recognition as he glanced down at his hands, remembering drawing out those sigils one by one in precise detail in a sudden moment of clarity.

Is that mine? It looks like it’s mine.

He went to pick it up, his hand slipping through its entirety disconcertingly, the pages not even fluttering at his approach. He gulped, pulling his hand back to grip his wrist nervously as it hit him just how little he could affect his surroundings, how his sense of touch was inadequate and lacking.

The light flickered, the man cursed and all thoughts vanished as he turned back to it with worry.

He gave a sigh of relief as it soldiered on, righting itself. He banished the sudden wave of panic to the pit of his stomach as he turned to the man’s other book in the hopes it gave some answers.

He frowned, perplexed but intrigued by the pages the man flipped through. The symbols had been copied hastily and marked against where they lay along the flooring of the bulb. There were tables upon tables, row upon row of each symbol with crosses against each one as if he was going trial and error through every possible sequence. The page turned again and the tables changed, now filled with sea levels and moon phases, weather charts and barometer readings.

His eyes widened as he took in the extent of the task the man had laid out before him. Not a day had been missed on the readings and not only that, but it seemed that from the ticks beside each one he had tested out every sequence of symbols on every day that he could see. He didn’t know exactly what the man was trying to do but whatever it was must be important for him to put that much effort into it.

Whoever you are, you must be a hard worker. Do you ever take a break?

The man’s head snapped up again, jumping from his spot to his feet in one swift movement, his arms and legs shifting into a fighting stance with little preamble. “Alright, that’s enough. Whatever you are-”

The light died abruptly seconds later, leaving them both in darkness. His heart thudded as the warmth slowly began to loosen again, his fingertips and toes starting to numb. The young man cursed loudly, he could no longer see him but he could hear him rifling around.

There was a sudden clunk that made him wince, an intake of breath before an explosion. “Son of a-”

Please be careful!

The scolding tsk left him before he could stop it. All movement and sound ceased for just a moment, as if time stood still. He could feel the numbness spreading up his arms, a tingle of fear slipping through his spine as there was a soft downwards tug that he tried to ignore.

There was the shuffling noise again, his minds spiral snapping back to attention as he squinted through the gloom.

A match crackled to life, a small lamp lighting as the man got back to his feet and raised it aloft, face once again suspicious but now brightly lit against the rest of the room.

His heart thudded in his chest as recognition, pure and unconstrained, raced through his skull.

The man continued to glare, rubbing at the side of his head with a pained grimace but he couldn’t bring himself to care about the sour expression. He looked older, different maybe, but there was something there that he knew conclusively, a name on the tip of his tongue that couldn’t help bursting forth.

Stanley!

He preened as Stan blinked, the glare slackening, his mouth falling open. He raised the lamp above his head, turning this way and that as he looked for the source of the noise.

Or that’s what he hoped anyway. He could feel himself starting to sink again, the warmth starting to leave his chest. He glanced at his feet, watching them hit the metal even if he felt nothing, before snapping back to Stan, part gleeful and part urgent. He didn’t have much time and he really wasn’t ready yet to forget when the world was so tantalisingly close again.

Stanley! Stan? Can you hear me?

Stan’s face shut down, the light left his eyes in a way that made him gasp. Somehow the look bit into him, cold and sharp, in a way that nothing so far had been able to. Stan stared out to sea for a moment, looking through him, his teeth biting down painfully on his lip as if lost in some horrible thoughts that made his heart stutter and his hand reach out to help him. Before he could move though, Stan had forced his eyes away, back to the bulb and the books as if nothing had happened, a heavy sigh leaving him. It was like the breath in his non-existent lungs had suddenly been forced out of him, ghosting out in a trail that Stan shuddered in, his hand coming up to rub at his arm doubtfully.

“God damn wind, I’m not falling for it this time.”

Oh.

There wasn’t much warmth left in him now, the water was calling to him again, pulling him down. But it didn’t matter as much as the fact that Stan couldn’t hear him.

He’d been so hopeful that he could be heard from Stan’s actions but perhaps it had all been wishful thinking, hoping that someone would be able to answer all his questions.

Of course it couldn’t be that easy.

It was just the wind that had made Stan jump.

Just the wind that had made him shudder and draw into himself.

He glanced back up as Stan moved once more, another bone weary sigh echoing through the room as he walked past him to the door onto the balcony. His hand slowly crawled up to the glass as he whispered words meant for no one but himself.

And yet he heard them, and they resonated through the muffling hollow cold to burrow into his heart and spark up new exciting potentials.

“Sorry, Ford, looks like it’s not tonight… but I promise, I’ll get you home safe and sound soon.”

Is that me? Am I Ford?

His head vanished below the metal floor as Stan spun around again, the small motion bringing with it a new nugget of hope. His descent became faster. His arms fell to his sides, his legs hanging limply as he became listless once more, solid and heavy as he plummeted towards the roaring waves.

His mind however was still coherent, running through everything it could as if it knew that soon enough it wouldn’t be able to, that soon he would be lost yet again, scattered foam cresting the waters. But he had to hold on to the kernels of knowledge he had been given, wrap each one safe and securely away.

Ford? Stan…Ford?

He’d remembered the light the first time, it wasn’t a surprise when he’d seen it again, perhaps if he was careful he could do the same with these memories. Keep them buried where the light could reach them, where the darkness couldn’t touch.

Stanford. Ford. Yes, that sounds right.

He smiled as the fog returned, the cold ebbing over him and wrapping him up into his silent, serene cocoon once more.

I know who I am.

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AN: I HAVE GUSHED SO MUCH ABOUT THE ANGLER DRAWING AND NOW I GET TO USE IT DO YOU KNOW HOW ECSTATIC I AM. *coughs* I’m just going to melt in a puddle. tired ill but very happy little puddle. Also very very happy that people found the nightmare fic vivid ♥ that made my day xx

[ragecandyfics]

The Beat of Your Heart: ZeLink Week Day 1

ZeLink Week Day 1: “The Beat of Your Heart” Summary: Impa had warned her not to get attached. But how could she stop herself when the Goddesses' hero was both incredibly cute and incredibly danger-prone? Pairing: Shink (Sheik/Link), but in a ZeLink vein Game: Ocarina of Time Word Count: 4K Notes: sH IT IT’S ALMOST MIDNIGHT,, NO PROOFREADING WE DIE LIKE MEN.

The Beat of Your Heart

Keep away from Link, she had been told. Guide him, but don’t get too close. Don’t let him get attached. And, whatever you do, don’t get attached yourself.

It was hard sometimes.

Maybe it would have been easier if Link was some arrogant, holier-than-thou, pompous rich kid. After all, most of the future suitors she’d been introduced to as a child were convinced that they were worthy of the Triforce’s power. Why couldn’t the Goddesses have chosen one of them? It would be so much easier to keep her emotions in check if she couldn’t stand their chosen hero.

But… that wasn’t Link. He wasn’t prideful in any sense of the word. If anything, he could stand to be a bit more sure of himself. When it really came down to it, he never hesitated―he was no coward―but she could see the skepticism in his face every time someone told him that he was the hero; that he was the chosen one; that he was worthy of wielding the Master Sword.

And it was endearing. Even though she should have been critical of it, she couldn’t help herself from smiling a bit under her mask whenever he blushed bright red and demurred from a well-earned compliment, rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment. After all, she’d grown up surrounded by massive egos that constantly yearned to be stroked, so Link’s awkwardness was refreshing, in a way.

It shouldn’t have been, because she was supposed to be staying distant and detached and objective.

But it was hard sometimes.

And now was one of those times.

Sure, Link was often injured. It wasn’t exactly an uncommon occurrence. Especially when he was coming from temples; rigorous tests of his mettle filled with deadly traps and monsters. It was only natural that he’d get some scrapes and bruises along the way. Usually, all it would take to heal them would be a fairy or some Red Potion, so it was no use worrying about him.

So, when a familiar green speck began to emerge from the depths of the Shadow Temple, her first thought wasn’t to survey him for injuries. Her first thought was to leap across the graveyard and find a perch where she could observe without being seen, just as Impa had taught her (Guide him, but don’t get too close. Don’t get attached). She wasn’t going to teach him the Requiem of Spirit just yet, but she wanted to at least congratulate him for a job well done. That much, Impa surely couldn’t be mad at her for.

(‘Impa’s gone, now,’ she reminded herself. ‘Impa is the Sage of Shadow. You won’t be seeing her again.’)

(‘Oh, yeah,’ she responded, as if there was actually another person there, and she pretended that her heart didn’t sink.)

As usual, she heard his fairy before she heard him. The bright periwinkle ball of light―Navi, if she wasn’t mistaken, although the two rarely spoke to each other―was flying in frantic circles around his head, chattering. Her voice sounded like the shrill ringing of jingle bells from a distance, and it was impossible to make out the words.

Link, for once, didn’t seem to be listening, though. Gaze fixed on the ground, he shuffled along wordlessly, whereas he usually glanced up at his fairy to reassure her that he was listening. Now that she was looking, he also looked more weary in general, his shoulders slumped and his back hunched. Something was definitely wrong.

Frowning, Zelda―no, no, Sheik―leaped down from her hiding place and landed behind him with nary a rustle of cloth.

Navi was the first to notice her, which was new. As silent as she had learned to be during her training with Impa, Link wasn’t a chosen hero for nothing; he was usually able to detect her presence after a moment, at which point he’d pause, then whirl around, grabbing the hilt of his sword. Not this time, though.

She tried not to be too worried about that.

“Link!” Navi cried when he didn’t notice Sheik’s arrival. “Come on! Aren’t you paying attention? Turn around! Turn around!”

That struck Zelda as unfair—it was literally her job to not be noticed; Link was not in the wrong—but Sheik didn’t say a word. She merely lifted her chin and strode forward, confident as ever, until she was several paces away from them. Close enough to speak without raising her voice, but far enough to provide an easy getaway if necessary (he had been getting more persistent when he pursued her at the end of their meetings. Don’t let him get attached, Impa whispered in the back of her mind).

Link still hadn’t turned around.

Sheik’s frown deepened, and she could feel her brow crease. Vaguely, she wondered if the concern showed through her mask. “Link,” she said after a moment. Her voice came out deep, smooth, and androgynous; Impa’s disguise spell was thorough. “You have done well. The Temple has been cleansed. Now, you have only one more Medallion to collect.”

This one would hardly be easy to get—she somewhat doubted Nabooru the Gerudo would be very cooperative—but he didn’t need to know that yet.

Finally, he responded, but it was a slow thing. His aimless shambling ceased, and, sluggishly, he turned around, not bothering to reach for his sword.

Sheik froze.

Link was usually injured. Link was wounded more often than not. The last time she’d seen him in perfect condition had been seven years ago, when he’d been standing outside the castle gates, and she’d barely seen him from atop a charging horse, clinging to Impa and tossing the Ocarina of Time blindly over her shoulder.

But… this was a whole other level.

The entire left side of his face was one big bruise, puffy and swollen. His lip was split, and a long gash cut its way from his right temple to the bridge of his nose, bleeding profusely. Although it was unnoticeable from the back, most of his green tunic was practically in tatters, the bloodstained shreds that remained hanging loosely off his gaunt frame. As she stared in horror, he slowly looked up, meeting her gaze with lifeless, unseeing eyes.

He looked like he could drop dead at any minute.

“Sheik!” Navi screeched, and this time it wasn’t hard to detect the note of desperation in her voice. “Tell this moron he needs to use a fairy!”

Finally, Link’s eyes came into focus. A hint of recognition flashed through his otherwise vacant expression, although it didn’t seem like he’d heard Navi at all. “Sh-Sheik?” His voice sounded almost as weak as he looked; wavering and pitching like a boat in a violent tide.

Sheik opened her mouth, but no words came out. Some distant part of her was aware that her eyes were wide and horrified, her entire body tense and radiating worry. But Link didn’t seem bothered, because his scrunched-up expression smoothed out ever-so-slightly when he saw her. “Sheik,” he repeated faintly, taking a single step forward, starting to stretch out his hand―

―and collapsing onto the ground like a puppet with its strings cut, letting out only a soft wheeze to betray his pain. Navi shrieked, immediately following him down to careen in quick circles around his head. “Link! Link!”

Don’t get too close. Don’t let him get attached. Don’t get attached yourself.

Sheik surged forward, already reaching for the bright blue vial resting at her hip.

By the time she reached him, he was already trying to right himself, pushing his beaten body off the ground with trembling hands. It occurred to Sheik that she should scold him for overexerting himself when he was clearly injured, but it also occurred to her that lying face-down in the dirt was a good way to get all of his wounds infected at once, so she let it slide.

He didn’t react when she flipped him onto his back, sliding her legs under him to keep his open wounds away from the dirt. Instead, he allowed himself to be manhandled into her lap, squinting up at her. She could tell that the sun was starting to rise behind her head, because he immediately groaned and turned away, raising one hand in an aborted attempt to shield his eyes from the light.

(It was probably dark in the Shadow Temple, she thought.)

(She swore in her head, and then she swore out loud.)

“Link, hold still,” Sheik said; he barely acknowledged her, but obediently dropped his arms back down to his sides. “Navi, stay back and don’t get in the way.” The fairy made a very indignant ding like that of a church bell, but reluctantly acquiesced. Taking a deep breath, Sheik steadied herself, hastily scanning Link’s limp form.

Alright. Alright.

This, she could do.

Stripping off his tunic and undershirt, she prodded his chest to check for broken ribs, trying to ignore the blood for now. The results were less than pleasing. It was a miracle none of those ribs had punctured a lung, although he would be dead by now if it had. “Dammit, Link,” she muttered as she pulled the blue vial off her hip. Emergencies only, Impa had instructed her, and this was an emergency if there ever was one. “How did you even make it this far?”

Popping off the cork, she swirled it in her fingers a moment, letting the thick, gelatinous liquid inside sloosh about. It sounded fresh enough to still be potent. Reaching up to brush his matted bangs out of his face, she lifted Link’s head and put the edge of the vial to his lips.

Automatically, his jaw fell open, and she made a vague noise of approval deep within her chest. The second he saw the vial, though, he grunted in protest, turning his head aside. “Can’ drink,” he muttered, then coughed harshly, his entire body seizing.

Sheik scowled. “Why not?”

Link’s eyes closed, but she could still see the embarrassment in his face. “S’yours.”

Exhaling harshly through her nose, she reached down and grabbed his chin, jerking his face back into place. “Now is not the time for good manners, Link,” she snapped, fist clenching around the vial. “You’re going to die.”

Link hummed softly, casually, and she wasn’t sure if it was agreement or denial, but, either way, it made her chest ache. “M’fine.” His eyelids fluttered shut and he smiled a little, although it was weak. “Doesn’ hurt,” he slurred, blood dribbling out from the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t.” Sheik snapped, rare anger clouding her voice. By now, her hands were shaking, but she didn’t know and didn’t care whether it was from the adrenaline or the fear. “Don’t act tough.”

Link frowned. “M’not,” he murmured, cracking his eyes open; he looked genuinely hurt by the harsh accusation, and Sheik choked back a humorless laugh. “Really doesn’ hurt. Can’ feel it.” His eyes drifted shut, and his head flopped to the side, as if his neck simply couldn’t support it anymore. “Can’ feel nothin’,” he breathed, and it was probably meant to reassure her, but Sheik only grew more panicked.

With a sharp jerk of her arms, Link’s head was propped up again. This time, his lips parted without his consent in a quiet groan, but she took the opportunity to tip back the vial and shake it into his mouth. With a wet squelch, the Chu jelly plopped onto his tongue, and she quickly tilted his chin back slightly, holding it in place. “Don’t swallow,” she instructed sharply, and she could see his throat muscles relax as he complied. “Just let it go down on its own.”

Easier said than done. When the jelly began sliding down his throat, he choked momentarily, and she quickly pinched his nose shut and pressed her palm over his mouth, pressing the back of his head against her knee to hold him still. For a moment, he flailed in a blind panic, but his body was weak and his limbs heavy, and soon the fit was over. As soon as he stopped choking and let the jelly go down, Sheik released his nose and he sucked in a much-needed breath, but she kept her other hand plastered over his mouth.

High-quality, purified Blue Chu Jelly was much stronger than a regular Blue Potion, but also much slower-acting. The potions derived from Chu jelly were diluted, but the added water helped them move through the body almost instantaneously. Pure jelly did no such thing. With that in mind, Sheik quickly pulled out some bandages from her own store and began to wrap the worst of Link’s wounds. It wouldn’t do to have him bleed out before the jelly could even take effect.

(Hyrule couldn’t afford to lose him.)

(She couldn’t stand to lose him.)

She could pinpoint the exact moment the jelly began to work, because Link immediately moaned in sudden pain, trying to fold in on himself. Biting her cheek, Sheik pressed her forearm carefully to his chest and stretched him back out, keeping his mouth covered. “What are you doing?” Navi demanded, zipping closer and hovering over Link’s furrowed brow. “You’re hurting him! Stop!”

“It’s just the medicine.” In any other situation, she might have been irritated, but now she was too drained to feel anything other than exhaustion and pity for the boy in her arms.

(Because that was what he was; a boy, only 11 years old; snatched without warning from his old life and shoved into a new, large body and told that it was his destiny to save the world.)

(At least she had been given training.)

Luckily, she didn’t have to worry about cleaning the wounds. Not all healing substances could boast the same, but Blue Chu Jelly would destroy any infections like they were nothing. Anything short of fatal poison in Link’s wounds would be cleared within minutes.

That was when Link’s first rib shot back into place with a snap and he shouted into her hand, writhing under her am.

Navi cried out loudly, rushing forward as if to comfort him, but Sheik only winced and pushed him down tighter, holding him still before he could make the pain worse. Another rib snapped back into place, and Link screamed again, this one louder, muscles spasming. Sheik’s lips pressed tightly together behind her mask.

The unfortunate side effect of using pure jelly instead of a potion.

“It’ll be over soon,” she said as Link squirmed weakly, letting out a muffled yelp every time another wound fixed itself in an instant. She wasn’t sure whether she was trying to reassure Navi, who was ringing angrily in her ear, or Link himself.

Sure enough, within maybe five minutes, the ordeal was over. The last thing to heal was his face, and Sheik stared intently as the skin along his forehead stitched itself back together and the bruise turned from purple to green, then vanished altogether. Even the small scab on his lip vanished, and, unless she was mistaken, his nose looked a bit less crooked than it had before. As the last scrape vanished from his jaw, he whimpered once, then went slack entirely, all his energy gone.

(She couldn’t blame him.)

(Blue Chu Jelly had that effect on people.)

(Pain had that effect on people.)

Navi quickly landed on his forehead, nudging his cheek. “Link?” she squeaked fearfully, her voice even higher than usual. “Link?!”

“He’s probably passed out from the blood loss,” Sheik muttered, pressing two fingers to the crook of his neck. His pulse was a bit weaker than she would have liked, but steady and calm. “He should be fine now, though.”

With some doing, she managed to hoist Link into her arms, although it was rather unruly. Luckily, Impa’s disguise spell left her taller than Link, making things much easier, and the seven years of Sheikah training certainly didn’t hurt. Navi hovered uncertainly by her ear as she walked, talking non-stop; after about fifty “thank you”s and twice as many demands for an apology, she tuned the matronly fairy out, letting her ringing voice become background noise.

Fortunately, most people were in bed at this time in the morning. Unfortunately, Kakariko Village had a disproportionate amount of carpenters, farmers, and other workers who got up at the crack of dawn, so Sheik was forced to stick to the rooftops, making her way across town with Link in her arms and trying not to jostle him in the process, which was no small task. She couldn’t exactly be spotted carrying a shirtless man covered in bloody bandages into Impa’s house, though. People would ask questions.

In a stroke of luck, there was no one guarding Impa’s house for once. She locked the door once inside and carefully sat down on the bed, laying Link down in her lap again.

Luckily, he seemed completely unharmed now. The jelly had done its job. Letting out a breath (how long had she been holding it?), Sheik settled back against the wall before she could think to stop herself, her eyes drooping shut.

He was okay.

He was going to be fine.

Everything was going to be fine.

Now all she had to do was stay with him until he was conscious again, give him the scolding of his life for making her worry so much, and then leave before she got too close.

(Ha!)

(Pretty sure you’re already there, kid.)

(Oh, shut up.)

(How ironic that she was disobeying Impa’s orders on the very day she disappeared, and in her own house.)

Grumbling, Navi alighted on Link’s forehead again and lay down for a nap. Sheik couldn’t help but smile a bit at the sight. Although she may claim otherwise, Navi clearly cared about Link more than she let on most of the time, and not just because he was the Goddesses’ hero. Sheik could certainly understand how one might accidentally start caring about him as a person, no matter how hard they tried to view him as a warrior and nothing more.

She looked down at his face, smiling―

―and jumped when she saw Link staring right back up at her, his eyes a bit groggy but much more alert now. Navi was already asleep on his forehead.

“Link,” she said hastily after a moment when she realized that she was just staring dumbly, and only partially because of the surprise. Honestly, it was mostly because Link’s eyes were cute. He really had become handsome over the past seven years, she supposed. “I’m glad to see you��re awake.” In the back of her mind, she knew she was supposed to be chewing him out, but she looked into his tired eyes and couldn’t bear to. “How are you feeling?” she asked instead.

A minute passed. Link slowly raised an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side in amusement. Sheik’s own brow furrowed, and he smiled; she knew because she could feel his lips moving.

Only then did she realize that her palm was still pressed firmly over his mouth, preventing him from answering her question if he wanted to.

Wincing―‘Smooth, O Great Princess Zelda; your charms are truly irresistible.’―she hastily released him, and his smile widened. “M’fine,” he muttered, and, although he still sounded bone-tired, she was a bit more inclined to believe him this time. His eyes closed again, and he shifted. “Thanks,” he added after a second. “You saved me.”

Seven years ago, she might have taken a page out of Link’s book and blushed bright red, hastening to assure him that she hadn’t done anything, really; it was fine; he needn’t thank her. But, now, she just nodded in acceptance, taking it for the gratitude and half-apology it was. “Be more careful next time,” she tacked on as a side note, and he hummed quietly in agreement.

Sheik looked down at him as he turned onto his side, nuzzling into the quilt under his head―Navi tumbled off her perch and grumbled before immediately falling back to sleep―and was suddenly acutely aware that he was shirtless and laying across her lap. Somehow, it took her longer to realize that his hand was set gently on top of hers―and that she was lightly gripping it back.

Her pulse was racing; she could feel it in her neck. Swallowing thickly, she carefully extracted her hand from his; he gave a little plaintive murmur, but didn’t stir.

Don’t get too close. Don’t let him get attached. Don’t get attached yourself.

Guide, but don’t get too close.

She should go. She should wait until he’s asleep and then slip away, leaving him to wake up without her in the morning. She should make her way to the Gerudo Desert to wait for him; she should practice the Requiem of Spirit a few times to make sure she was ready to teach it to him when the time came.

She should really go.

But, even as Impa’s voice echoed in her brain, reminding her to guide, guide, guide, but don’t get too close, Sheik lay back on Impa’s bed and tugged Link the rest of the way into her arms, hugging him gently to her chest.

(It was a little too late to keep from getting attached, anyway.)

(Impa could probably forgive her this time.)

Link hummed again, shifting to wrap his arms around her, and Princess Zelda, the picture of propriety, probably would have been embarrassed, but Sheik just closed her eyes and accepted the affection, almost sinking into it. After being in the heat of battle; after her too-passionate speech about friendship after teaching him the Bolero of Fire; after dragging him back from the brink of death… she honestly didn’t have it in herself to be ashamed of their embrace, no matter how taboo.

“...I can hear it.”

She startled a bit at Link’s voice, eyes snapping back open. He sounded completely lucid, this time, as if he wasn’t two seconds from falling asleep. Even when he hadn’t just been on the brink of death, his voice was usually raspy from underuse, but somehow that scratchy edge was gone, now.

Something about this moment felt… sacred, in a way she couldn’t quite describe. Maybe it was the silence of the house. Maybe it was the sleeping fairy that would surely force them to break apart if she woke up. Maybe it was just the fact that Link still felt fragile, even though he was muscle-bound and fully healed; still felt like he was a breath or two away from fainting. Whatever the case, Sheik scarcely dared to breathe for fear of breaking the feeling that was hanging heavily around them, thick enough to cut with a knife.

“You can hear what?” she breathed when no clarification seemed forthcoming, tightening her grip on him subconsciously.

A soft chuckle. Link glanced up at her, eyes half-lidded and heavy with sleep, but not quite flickering.

“Your heartbeat.” He was just as quiet, but the words roared in her ears. Her face heated up, and, in that moment, she was infinitely thankful that she only blushed in her cheeks, which were covered by her mask. “I can hear it.”

His eyes closed again, and only then did she realize that his ear was, indeed, pressed to her chest directly over her heart. With a soft hum, he shifted to settle more comfortably in her arms, but made no move to take his ear off of her chest.

“It’s nice,” he whispered slowly, his voice trailing off as he drifted into sleep.

Sheik couldn’t help it. Even as her own heartbeat sped up, and her face reddenned, and she wondered again if she should really be cuddling the Goddesses’ hero, she closed her eyes, slid down to lay her head at the base of Link’s neck, and listened.

It was to the slow, steady thump, thump, thump of Link’s heartbeat that she slowly fell asleep.

(For the first time in a while, she didn’t have nightmares.)

(She just dreamed about a slow, steady thump, thump, thump.)