#quite frankly i think that wanderer would be very interested in the temple of silence

[stardust-falling]

Ok but Nahida setting Wanderer and Sethos up on "dates" because Sethos seems like a nice young man and Wanderer still needs to be socialized, plus they didn't immediately despise each other on sight.

[letaliabane]

To Be With You

anon request: You are Javi’s partner and have feelings for him, but he doesn’t seem to have feelings for you. One day, a CIA agent that you work with sometimes, and know a little but not well, asks you out for drinks after work. Javi overhears, and is jealous and also worried because he has heard that the guy is a creep. Javi follows you to the bar to ensure you are safe, and sees the guy slip something in your drink. Javi saves you and is so scared that the confesses his feelings.

warnings: drugs, small moment of violence

next: To Protect You | To Love You

Your stomach grumbled loudly as you read through the new intel that had arrived on your desk that morning. 

Javier couldn’t help but chuckle from across the office, glancing towards you, ‘You a bit hungry over there, Y/N?’

‘Piss off Javi, you know I am,’ You muttered without looking up at him. Javier and Steve chuckled, the blond nodding back towards you. 

‘She’s probably looking over those notes that CIA agent keeps leaving her. David wasn’t it, Y/N?’

‘Oye, vete a la mierda!’ You flipped off Steve who smirked, giving you a friendly wink. You didn’t notice how Javier had fallen silent at the mention of the agent as you threw a scrunched ball of paper at your partners head. 

You had been partners with Javier and Steve for a while now. And though at first he hated the idea of “babysitting” two gringos, Javier warmed up to you quite quickly, making you very good friends. 

The way you both talked to each other made people think you hated one another, but you both knew it was just friendly banter. 

There were moments, however, where you thought there was something more. More often that not, when it was just the two of you, you saw the softer side of Javier. 

Knowing you were an early bird he would bring you a coffee and sandwich when he would arrive at the embassy. He’d refuse to let you walk after dark and give you a lift back to the apartments. And after a raid or even just a stressful, long day at the embassy, he’d sit with you on your couch, sometimes making small talk, sometimes holding you close in silence. 

You were grateful he didn’t just look at you like he would at the other female agents and informants he would visit on occasion. But you couldn’t help but wander if he felt something more, just like you did. 

It was no secret, to Steve at least, how you cared for Javier. However you were afraid he just saw you as nothing but a colleague. 

‘You mean that creep?’ 

'Oh he’s not that bad Javi!’ Steve exclaimed, ‘He’s just got a crush on her! You’ve gotta remember when you were also into a girl and wanting her attention.’ 

‘I think I know better ways to convince a girl I like her than stupid little notes.’ 

You and Steve looked towards one another before bursting out laughing, Javier just rolling his eyes as he got to his feet.

‘Lunch break?’ He suggested, and you and Steve instantly pushed aside the large files, grabbing your wallets without a moments hesitation. 

The three of you were just on your way out that you noticed David hovering around the common area, smiling widely at the sight of you. 

‘Go on, I’ll catch up with you guys,’ You say to your partners before making your way to David. He was quite handsome, brown hair slicked back with baby blue eyes. A true heartbreaker look. 

‘Hey Y/N! Glad I could catch you. I’m not stopping you from anything right?’

‘No no-well I’m just about to head out for lunch with Javi and Murphy.’ 

He chuckled, casting a glance towards the retreating figures of your partners before stepping closer, ‘I won’t keep you too long then, I was wondering if you’d like to grab a couple of drinks with me after work?’

You looked up from your purse, eyes widening. You knew, and frankly everyone in the office knew, that David was keen on you for months now, but not to the point of him actually asking you out. 

‘Oh, just us two?’ 

‘Just the two of us, it’ll be a good time, I promise.’ 

For a moment, you hesitated. You hadn’t really spoken to David a lot due to the fact he was part of the CIA faction. It wasn’t just that that made you hesitate though. 

It was the thought of a certain dark haired, brown eyed handsome partner of yours. But you couldn’t sit around for Javier when you didn’t even have the courage to tell him your feelings, why not take a chance with David?

‘Yes, I think it will too, meet after work?’ You said with a smile, his own widening instantly. 

‘Sounds perfect!’ 

You pulled away into the corridor to find Javier leaning against the wall, arms crossed as he tapped his foot against the carpeted floor. He looked up when you shook your head towards him, ‘I told you to go ahead with Murphy.’

‘And I waited anyway,’ he said with a smile, habitually pressing a hand to your back, and as he guided you towards the entrance, ignoring the chills that ran down your spine. 

As promised, David met you at the end of the day and drove further into the city of Medellín to a small club. It wasn’t as packed as it probably was on a weekend, but there was still quite a big crowd for an average weekday. 

You sat yourselves at the bar, David waving over the bartender almost immediately for a beer and you ordering a gin and whiskey for yourself. 

It wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be. Sure, he talked about himself and how much progress he and his team were making on the Escobar case, but he did at times have the sense to ask you some questions too. 

Suddenly a loud crash echoed throughout the club, you instinctively reaching for the gun in your purse, however sighing at the sight of a retreating group of young girls shepherding what you presumed to be a good friend who was stumbling and giggling loudly. 

You couldn’t help but smile. It reminded you of your very dear friendship with Connie and how many a time either Steve or Javier, or even both, had to lead you out of a bar after one too many. 

The very thought of the DEA agent made you sigh. In all honesty, you wished that it had been Javier sitting beside you instead of David, wanting to hear the soothing baritone of his voice—

‘Y/N?’ 

Blinking rapidly, you looked back quickly towards David who shook his head, ‘Where the hell were you? You were gone just then!’ 

You just gave him a small smile, shrugging, ‘Just lost in thought, that’s all.’

Just when you reached for your drink once more, you jumped as a hand pressed against the small of your back, the familiar scent of cigarettes and cologne surrounding you. 

‘Please don’t drink that Y/N.’

You turned to look up at Javier who stood beside you, donning his leather jacket, hair a mess, but his usual relatively relaxed features were tense, eyebrows furrowed and lips drawn in a thin line. 

David chuckled, opening his arms in a welcoming manner with a smile. ‘Javier! Didn’t expect to see you around these parts! How are you?’

‘Oh I’m not usually around here David. But luckily I overheard your plans for drinks and decided to look out for her. Because it looks like you hoped to get Y/N here alone, get her drunk, or as I saw, drug her.’

You looked to David in horror as he continued to smile, shaking his head, ‘What the fuck are you old man? Are you jealous someone is interested in your partner? Why don’t you run along and find one of your sluts to give you some attention.’ 

You felt your anger boil within you, but while he was busy being a dick head, you glanced towards your glass. You gulped heavily, gripping the bar. After all these years, you’d recognise the white dust that dotted the rim anywhere.

‘Were done here,’ You muttered, not even bothering to look at him as you picked up your purse, grabbing Javier’s hand, ‘Come on let’s go.’

Just when you brushed past him, you gasped as David snatched your wrist, his grip hard and painful, raising his voice, ‘What? Got tired of me and now running to the old man?! Going back to be his puta?!’

Before you could react, Javier punched him across the jaw, sending him face first int the bar. The music screeched to a halt as many of the patrons screamed at the sight of the blood that painted his face. 

You gripped Javier’s arm, whispering into his ear gently, ‘Please just leave him, let’s go!’

The desperation in your voice made the anger evaporate from him, wrapping his arm around your waist and leading you through the crowd that had gathered, glaring towards those who stared at you. 

You gasped as the fresh air hit you, leaning against the wall just outside of the club. The reality of the situation fell upon you in that moment. 

Javier was right, what would’ve happened if he had turned up? Would David had just left you there? Set you up for failure at the embassy? Or worse … raped you?

You flinched at Javier’s sudden touch to your shoulder, instantly regretting it as the hurt flashed across his face. 

‘I-I’m sorry—I just—’ A sob fell from your lips, the tears spilling suddenly down your cheeks.

Carefully and without hesitation, Javier embraced you, pressing you close to his chest. You clung to him, tears wetting his jacket but didn’t care, running his fingertips through your hair quietly. 

‘It’s okay,’ He whispered softly against your temple, pressing a kiss there, ‘I have you, your safe.‘

You raised your head from his shoulder, barely making eye contact with him as you whispered, ‘Please take me home.’

You had been silent on the ride back to your apartment, and Javier was completely understanding. He guided you inside your home, taking your jacket and purse from you. While he put your things in their place you collapsed against the couch. 

You heard Javier rummaging through the fridge, probably grabbing a bear. You didn’t mind though, it literally was his home at times. When he lowered himself beside you, it was then you saw the ice pack he was struggling to hold over the darkening bruises that swelled over his knuckles. 

‘Oh God-I’m so sorry,’ you muttered, taking the ice pack from him. 

‘Y/N you don’t have to.’ Javier’s voice wavered, as he watched you, but you shook your head, ‘I want to.’ 

When he nodded, you carefully held his hand while pressing the pack to his swollen skin, apologising softly whenever he hissed and flinched away from the piercing cold against the split skin.

As silence resumed between the both of you in that moment, you couldn’t help but hang your head and sigh, squeezing his hand gently. 

‘Thank you Javier for what you did, I really mean it. Without you I-I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t showed up and seen what he had done.’

You kept your eyes towards the ice pack, avoiding his watchful eyes, and he noticed it. He placed his hand over yours, his warmth seeping into your skin, stroking his thumb against your skin. He tilted his head to look at you, trying to catch your eye, ‘Of course, I didn’t want him to hurt you.’

Slowly, you glanced up towards him as he spoke, ‘In truth, I’ve been meaning to tell you this, but I’ve just chickened out of it. And trust me I know right now might not be the greatest timing but-’

‘Javier,’ You called him quietly, and he looked up at you again away from where he had been fiddling with your fingertips distractedly, ‘It’s okay, you can tell me.‘

He sighed heavily, closing his eyes briefly before he gripping your hand, ‘I-uh, I’ve realised that I have feelings towards you for awhile. I’ve wanted to be with you, protect you … to love you.’

Tears welled in your eyes as he pressed a hand to your cheek, leaning into his touch. He smiled, ‘I don’t wanna rush what we have. And if you’ll let me, in time, I’ll show you just how much I care for you.’

Without hesitation, you turned your head, pressing your lips to his palm, nodding. He didn’t even need to hear a verbal confirmation, and couldn’t help but smile as you nuzzled against his warmth. 

Just as you turned your eyes back towards him, you sighed as he pressed his lips to your cheek, giggling as his moustache tickling your cheek. Javier chuckled, pushing your hair out of your face. 

You both fall quiet as you take each other in, foreheads resting against one another. His dark brown eyes conveyed nothing but affection, and you couldn’t help but caress your nose against his, shutting your eyes in the calmness that settled over the both of you. 

Masterlist | Pedro Pascal Masterlist

Tagged: @pascalisthepunkest​

A/N: Working on two more parts for this, so keep an eye out! Feedback is always appreciated! 

Remember requests are still open for Pedro Pascal characters! Check it out and request whatever you like! I have this week free to write as much as I can so please get them in while you can! 

NOTE - Prompts are available for requests! Remember to include the prompt list and number, ESPECIALLY if it’s multiple lists

[allofthesins]

Under a Violet Moon

They had always had an on again off again tumultuous relationship. Sherlock both craved and bemoaned Mycroft's attention and as they grew up nothing changed. Except the feelings of one brother. Once again; Sherlock now in his third year of university, the two rarely spoke and when they did it was usually very short, very curt, addresses of the other when Mycroft would come to the campus to speak with the professors.

Having no interest in other people, Sherlock spent all of his time in the library. Today found him here as well, a stack of books partially obscuring his face from Mycroft when he sat across from him. Sherlock didn't look up from his book and Mycroft said nothing, reading the book in Sherlock's hand in the reflection of his reading glasses before the silence got to the younger Holmes.

"You know if you wanted to read it you could ask me to borrow it?"

He chuckled at this and folded his hands in front of his mouth to lean on the table. Sherlock was growing agitated and uncomfortable.

"What have you come for Mycroft? Stop staring like that, people will talk."

Finally with a breathy snort he spoke.

"To invite you to a party, brother mine..."

Sherlock put his book down with a huff.

"I don't do parties, you know that."

"Ah but this is a special party."

"I don't care if it's special. If it's one you're attending it will be lifeless high society snobs who will pretend I'm not even in the room."

Mycroft gave him a look with a heavy sigh. In most circumstances he would be correct, but he disliked having Sherlock at those functions anyway because he always found a way to get into trouble.

"No. This time it's for charity. There's a masked fundraising ball and it promises a murder mystery for guests to solve."

"Oh please, I'd ruin it for everyone in under thirty seconds."

"I thought you liked using your skills to undermine the upperclass. Everyone who's anyone is invited. Six hundred euros a head. I've already paid for you. "

Sherlock scowled at him.

"Fine, but there's something i want from you in return."

"Sherlock for the last time i will not supply your habbit. Certainly not in front of such important people. "

Sherlock huffed and looked away.

"I will not participate in any activities. I will not speak to anyone. I will stand against the wall and hack into everyone's phones for sport."

"Please stop being a belligerent child Sherlock, there's a reason I want you there and you'll thank me later, I promise. "

"So when is this snore market happening? I must take my good suit to the cleaners."

"Tomorrow at seven. I'll pick you up."

"You make it sound like a date...is there a woman involved? I told you I'm not interested in anything but my grades. There's plenty of time if i don't choose to be a bachelor the rest of my life."

Mycroft stood with a smile.

"No Sherlock, there is no woman. Be ready at six thirty and please be presentable, the royal family will be in attendance and i don't want them to think the Holmes family are slobs."

"Right, messy hair and an undone bowtie it is, see you at six forty five."

Wordlessly he went back to his book and Mycroft left.

As he suspected, Sherlock was bored out of his mind waiting for something to happen of interest. Mycroft had disappeared, leaving him to his own devices. He wandered around, annoyed at the itchy mask he had chosen, wishing it would already be midnight so he could take it off.

Finally he retreated to a balcony. The sun was just setting, giving the sky a vibrant purple hue as the full moon rose over the estate. For just a moment he let his guard down and never heard the footsteps behind him and he barely registered the needle enter his arm before everything went black.

He woke with a pounding headache and the distant sound of screaming from above him. He started to try to get up but heard the click of a pistol as the cold metal was placed to his head. The room was dark and he was tied to a chair. hot breath came across his cheek and he recoiled at the smell.

   “You’re not going anywhere until it’s safe.” Sherlock frowned.     “For you or your boyfriend? Really murder is not the best way to start a relationship.” The shock could be felt in the uncomfortable silence.     “How would you know?” Sherlock took a deep breath.    “i recognized the two of you upstairs earlier. the longing glances between you from across the room, your body language bespoke of a very deep attachment. I know it was you because i felt nauseous when i bumped into you. your breath smells of cheap denture cream and even cheaper whiskey. Something you drink a lot of based on your complexion and the way you stand slightly off kilter.” He grunted as the gun was pressed harder into his temple.   “Stop it!” But Sherlock continued.    “if you were going to shoot me you’d have done so by now. you don’t know how to properly use a gun after all, which is why you sought out your lover to kill your wife for you. you planed this entire function to disguise the death of your wife, but you didn’t realize Mycroft was already onto you.”    “I SAID SHUT UP!” Sherlock chuckled.    “no, you said stop it, but i already told you i know you won’t shoot me because you haven't got the balls frankly. it’s okay because i’m going to clue you in on a little secret. you invited all these people to a fun raiser for your wife’s favorite charity and tried to disguise her death as a mystery. you’d have an air tight alibi and you and your secret lover could run off together to, where was it? Argentina? Ah yes, a beautiful place, wonderful area to start a new life together. on your retirement you could live like kings. You made the mistake of leaving the tickets in the drawer in your study. at first i didn’t think much of it, as i was simply bored, but then my brother and your boyfriend disappeared, likely upstairs. the gunshot was barely audible over the din of the crowd.” The man angrily kicked Sherlock.     “you don’t know anything! you have no idea what you’re talking about!”  Sherlock looked up as the door opened and Mycroft entered.    “See, wasn’t this a fun party Sherlock? you got to solve an attempted murder.”    “Attempted?!” Sherlock pulled his hands free and the ropes fell away. he untied his legs and stood as Mycroft put the man in cuffs.   “yes brother, you win this time, it ended up being quite entertaining. you see Mycroft and I may not always get along but we compliment each other quite well in our honing of different skills. I can deduce someones recent history, activity, and habits simply by observing them. your wife knew you were going to have her killed and that is why she invited Myscroft. in turn, invited me as a distraction. you’re as terrible at knot tyeing as you are shooting a gun. i was out of that before you had that gun to my head. it wasn’t loaded by the way.”  He looked up at Mycroft.    “go on, tell us the rest.” Mycroft gave a soft chuckle and nodded.     “I knew my brother would be able to deduce important information. it was a test of his skills. i also needed him to be a distraction from you following me upstairs. i only wounded him, but it was i who shot your lover, saving your wife from her fate. the screaming was the shock of him running into the ballroom trying to escape me. Lestrade is waiting for you upstairs. are you okay Sherlock?”  Sherlock nodded and followed Mycroft. 

   Mycroft took him back to his dorm and closed the door behind them. it was now or never. Sherlock was in a good mood. He always tried to get Sherlock to smile. his entire body lit up when he was happy. the clocked chimed midnight and Sherlock chuckled.    “goodness, i was so wrapped up in that drama that i forgot about this damned thing.” he looked up to see Mycroft staring.    “Brother mine...” The whisper was soft as he removed his mask and tossed it onto Sherlocks bed with the other. Sherlock immediately caught his body language as the older Holmes stepped closer.     “Mycroft? what is this...?!” his eyes widened as he was cut off, Mycrofts lips tenderly caressing his own. instantly he was confused. he was in part repulsed. This was his brother. But this kiss made him feel things he’d never felt for anyone else and he found himself closing the gap further, grabbing Mycroft’s hand. Mycroft wrapped his other arm around Sherlock’s waist and  deepened the kiss until they both had to break for air. Without another word he turned and left, leaving Sherlock stunned and confused.

[joshlistens]

I wrote fiction for the first time in forever.

This one’s for you, @bace-jeleren.

Characters featured include Bace’s fanwalkers Megumi and Grii, as well as the debut of my fanwalker, Gozha. Megumi and Grii appear with permission. Thanks to Bace for being an inspiring figure in the M:tG Tumblr community.

TW: physical violence (not on Megumi). Grii gets a little bit of her Grii on when she meets Gozha.

Duets

Gozha smiled in a way that he hoped was reassuring. “Look, I know my request seems ridiculous—”

“It is dramatically unsafe, sir—”

“—and it may seem like a rather prosaic, proletarian, possibly even precocious use of your pyromantic prowess—”

“We don’t want to choose how people worship, sir, but this is just—”

“—but I came all this way—”

“The distance you’ve travelled is immaterial, sir—”

“—and I would really quite like to eat these deliciously spicy peppers while they are infused with elemental flame.”

The Regathan monk stared at him.

“And stuffed with this cheese I acquired from a terrific little town near Jhessia.”

The monk still stared.

“Pyromantic peppers. It’s the obvious next step in hot food. You could make it a business." 

Silence.

"I’m prepared to make a very large donation to your temple if you allow this hagiography to heat.”

The monk thought for a moment, then stepped back. "Please, come in. I suppose if nothing else, the Abbess may be entertained by your request.”

“Thank you so much!” Gozha beamed, and proceeded into the hall. Good. There was always a chance the holy types would see his horns, red eyes, lavender skin, and generally demonic countenance and take it as an opportunity for some smiting. He hated that. He’d spent more than thirty years as a fencer and duelist in Valor’s Reach before becoming a commentator and journalist on the sport, while his clerical opponents had usually spent about two or three years across the piste from a training dummy. It’s never fun when the “demon” wins. 

“Sir, are you alright? You keep scratching at those scars.”

“No, I’m fine. You’ve got quite the calm countenance, though. I usually unnerve people.”

"We are… used to strangers here at Keral Keep. In fact, there is another visitor who you might be able to help us with. You are azra, yes? From a place called Kylem?”

Gozha’s eyebrows shot up.

“Did it hurt when you lost most of that one horn? I’ve never known someone with horns, or who’d lost one, to ask.”

He paused. “If my mouth still moves after I pop those pyro-peppers, I’ll tell you the tale." 

"Fair enough.” The monk folded his hands within his robes. “I ask because our visitor comes from Kylem, and you might be able to assist her. She is quite young, and in distress.”

“… Are you alright? I look like several people fought me for their souls and won. I’m not the type to have cherished children in my charge.”

"Well, if I may—you have traveled across many different realms solely for the experience of putting peppers infused with literal, actual fire in your mouth. You have more dueling scars than I have summers, you have more gray hair than I have hair, you are clearly far too busy to shave, and if the way you move is any indication you are either a swordsman or a dancer of some skill.”

“What if I’m both?” Gozha grinned.

“Then I will begin developing my powers of prophecy as well as pyromancy. Regardless. You remind me of the Abbess in many ways. You’ve got a reassuring way about you, despite,” he waved at Gozha, “all this." 

Before he could ask what that meant, the monk continued. "Anyway, our charge is here in the mess hall, and hopefully calm. I’ll leave you to her and go ask after the Abbess.”

“What’s your name, by the by? I’m Gozha.”

The monk smiled beatifically. “I’ve learned not to give my name to your type. Your enemies tend to follow you, and I don’t need more ruckus.” He moved off down the hall.

The duelist watched the monk proceed through shaft after shaft of light from the windows, finally at a loss. 

“Excuse me mister, are you from Ky—GOZHA!”

A tiny soratami cannonball launched itself into his legs. Gozha was nearly bowled over by the impact.

“Hey… you!” he grinned, as he desperately tried to recognize the child he found himself hugging. “It’s great to greet you! How’ve you been?”

He had misjudged—she wasn’t happy, she was sniffling and crying. That wasn’t a happiness cannonball, that was a comfort-me cannonball. “I can’t go home,” she said. “Can you help me get home?”

“Maybe!” No duets, now. This was serious. He kneeled, brushing her tears away. Black eyes. Where had he seen a soratami child with black eyes before? “Where’s home?”

“You were there! You were there for two whole days one time with Daddy and three other people! You never left the bedroom, though. And there were lots of bottles. And noises. I heard—”

“You heard us having fun, yes, the way consenting adults do,” he hastily interrupted her. “And there were many bottles. I remember now, Megumi. I didn’t know you could planeswalk!" 

She nodded. "Mommy and Daddy took me on lots of trips. But then the one-eyed lady came and almost killed me with her sword… a-and I had to get out.” She twisted the bottom hem of her shirt between her hands. It was stained with tears. “I can’t go home, though. I need to go home. Can you help me?" 

"Well, maybe. I’ll try. Come over here.” He took her hand and led her to one of the mess hall benches. A half-eaten meal sat on a plate nearby.

“Listen carefully, Megumi. When you planeswalk, you have to sort of… aim yourself for where you’re going. It’s not an exact science. Can you do that? Can you aim yourself at home?”

She shook her head. “I’m trying! But every time I try it doesn’t work. And I don’t wanna try again because it’s safe here.” Those big black eyes squinted at him. “You need to shave.”

“… Yeah, you’re Wren’s kid alright.” He rested his chin in his palm and looked at her. “Which means you’re Kuro’s kid. Which means you’ve probably got a plan all worked out, am I right?” He winked.

She nodded happily. “Yup! I’m going to wait here. It’s safe here. And they know what planeswalking is, which means other planeswalkers might come here and help me go home. Like you!" 

"Like me, yes.” He smiled. An awful feeling was brewing in the pit of his stomach. “You’re sure you can’t, kind of… ” He made several small, useless gestures. “… aim yourself? If you think really hard about home, does that work?”

“No.” She scrunched her face up like she was concentrating. “No. She might still be there with her sword. It's too much. I'm too scared.” She looked up at him. “Can you hold my hand?" 

He swallowed hard. "No, Megumi, I’m sorry, I can’t. It doesn’t work that way for me." 

She started crying, as he knew she would. Poor thing. 

"Hey, hey now,” he said, out of his element. “It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay. Here,” he pulled the plate of half-eaten food over, “have some dinner. Food always makes me feel better.” He tried to smile. 

She pushed it away. “I tried that. I don’t like it.” She sniffed. “It’s too spicy." 

He pushed his sudden spark of joy aside. "What does make you feel better?" 

"I like when you do duets,” she murmured, looking up at him. “They’re so clever.”

“Well, what a wonderful wish we have here!” he grinned, his mind racing. “Whereupon a wee wayward wanderer waits and wants for what? A wild wyrd of weird words and wanton whimsy! What fun!”

Megumi giggled. “So many! Aren’t there just supposed to be two at a time?”

He winked again. “Can a blarney bairn blame me for boosting her beautiful bunny-ears with the best benificence my booming baritone can blast?”

She giggled again. “No, she can’t!” Despite himself, he began to understand Wren’s choices a little more.

“I can!”

Gozha spun, which put his jaw in perfect position for the incoming punch. He saw stars and darkness. He heard Megumi scream, but it was cut short by a rush of warm air. 

Someone grabbed his collar, pulled him off the bench, and threw him up against a stone wall. He could feel a foreign fear start to steal through his chest. Terror magic.

“You know, there’s one thing I never understood about you, Gozha,” a snarling female voice said. “Why do you always alliterate?”

“Like that?”

“Shut up.” A single, huge hand gripped his lapels and lifted him several feet in the air. The fear magic was making his vision tunnel – all he could see was one enormous, furious eye and some cheekbones. “Why do you do those irritating ‘duets’? Call and response. Everything’s an alliteration. Like you don’t have anything interesting to say.”

He tried to muscle down on the cold fingers of terror magic working their way through his heart, but they gripped harder, paralyzing him. “Maybe I just don’t want to tell you all the tantalizing tidbits. ,” he said, desperate. “Maybe I save all my curious curios and glorious gossip for when you’re gone." 

"Filthy azra,” she growled, letting go. He collapsed to the ground. He barely felt her enormous boot as it crunched into his ribcage. "Where did she go?”

“The wee wanderer? Whither and whence.” He forced out a tremulous laugh and spat blood. “If you try, I’m sure you’ll trip over her. But I’d rather hinder than help, frankly.”

“I know,” the huge, muscular woman said, crouching down. “You’re Gozha. Washed-up old fencer. A coward. Eking out money writing about the games at Valor’s Reach. Probably living on a pittance in some tenement somewhere. So much for the old glory, huh?” Her voice took on a taunting, terrifying, childish lilt. “Aren’t all planeswalkers supposed to be great wizards? Where’s your magic, huh? What’s your special talent?”

“Swordsmanship and shit-disturbing.” He smiled through the blood starting to cloud his vision and the icy hand on his heart. He could barely see. “You’re wasting time. The wee wanderer’s ‘walked three or four more times by now. Better go catch her. And pray her parents and I don’t fetch you first.”

“Excuse me, did you require the services of Keral Keep in some fashion, or did you wish to continue abusing our guest here?”

The huge woman snarled and stood. “I will kill you!” she growled. “I will kill you in a way that makes your brothers weep to hear your name." Seeing that she was three full heads taller than the monk, she advanced on him. Her smile was a terrifying thing. "What is your—”

She was interrupted by a slim lance of flame that pushed itself through her sternum in the blink of an eye. Gozha hadn’t even seen the monk make a gesture with his hands. The cyclops woman screamed and vanished, with other, fainter screams chasing after her. The icy hand around his heart let go. The lance of flame became smoke. In its place, the air seemed to grow colder, almost biting. 

“I don’t give you people my name,” said the monk. He looked at Gozha. “Are you alright?”

Gozha grunted.“Yes.” He stood. “I spoke with your… guest, before we were interrupted. She left, but she’ll be okay, hopefully soon.”

The monk helped Gozha over to a bench. “That is good to hear." 

"That’s a good trick, with the flame, there. Very quick. I’m impressed.”

“It has proven useful,” said the monk. “It’s easy to get rid of your kind. The first lick of flame, the first hint of true danger, and you vanish, off to somewhere safe.” He eyed Gozha. “But you stayed. Why did you stay?”

"Had to give the little one time,” said Gozha carefully. Cracked ribs ground against his lungs. “I’d never met the big one before, but I know her type. She likes pain and she’s easy to provoke. Keep her talking, give her something to punch or kick, and she’ll take all the time in the world to do it.”

The monk regarded him for a long moment. “I see I was right to compare you to the Abbess.” He stood up. “I’ll make sure a room is prepared for you and a healer ready. The Abbess isn’t here today, but she’ll likely return soon. And by then, we’ll have mastered the proper techniques for imbuing your peppers with Regathan flame.”

Gozha grinned around the blood. “So you won’t refuse my request.”

“It is a ridiculous request.”

“And 'dramatically unsafe’, if I recall.”

“Which means the Abbess should enjoy it a great deal,” said the monk. “Goodnight, Gozha. Meditations begin at six bells tomorrow. I will see you then.”

“Goodnight… ” said Gozha, trailing off. He still didn’t know the monk’s name. Nor, for that matter, where Megumi went.

But he did a good thing today, and he was going to taste those delicious peppers soon. And that would have to be enough for now.

[jimlingss]

Brass & Strings [17]

Episode 16 - Episode 17 - Episode 17.5 OR Episode 18 Words: 4.4k Genre: The cutest Fluff ever, Humour (?), Slice of Life, Implied smut, Music!Au, College!Au Summary: Have you ever wondered what happens to the mean girl after high school? Where do they go, where do they end up? More importantly, what happens when they get mixed up with the classic nerd that is always too nervous to answer no? Things become a lot more complicated when Kim Namjoon encounters you. They dub you as bat-shit insane and you’re not ashamed.

Cr.

“I love you.”

Namjoon gazing at you without a smile. The taupe duffle coat you gifted him is wrapped around his body, his glasses left back at home on his desk with the rest of his school papers that are due soon and his usual ruffled hair is instead gelled in a near style. You were suspicious when you saw how good he looked. Namjoon insisted on taking you out on a date tonight, having a nice meal and wandering around the town hand-in-hand. It’s a usual date, a simple yet warm one that you love to pieces. But when you ran through your mind to try to recall if this was a special occasion or anniversary, you found that it’s the one year mark since you’ve met him.

One year. An entire three hundred sixty five days with him.

You hope there are many more to come.

“Pardon?”

You frown, dipping your head slightly and speculating if you misheard. Underneath the bus station glass shelter and with the incandescent light bulbs of street lamps spouting it’s glow on your hair, your hand tightens around his; fingers that are laced together without sparing a single gap in between. There's no one besides you and him, the streets empty with the moon hung high in the sky with the stars. It's a peaceful night. But your heart is roaring, deafeningly loud.

Namjoon’s eyes hold a sweet and unwavering sincerity, watching your expression in an unadulterated carefulness that only spikes your anxiety.

“I'm in love with you, Y/N.”

There's a long moment of silence. One where you hold your breath in your lungs and you tilt your head to one side and your brows furrow deeper.

“Cool.” It's the first thing that comes out of your mouth. And you don't know how to fix the mess that's happening in front of you. It's uncontrollable and your brain is screaming for you to do something, say anything. “That's awesome.”

Fuck. Shit.

As your boyfriend pulls his brown irises away from your face to stare at the sewage water flowing in the gutter, reflecting the luminescence of the milky way galaxy above you both…

You know you fucked up.

//

Life in the frat house isn’t as luxurious as someone might expect. In the movies and books, it’s all about the parties and alcohol, living on top of the world and getting wasted, competing against brothers to see who could sleep with more people and pick up more chicks.

In reality, it’s much less than that and more monotonous.

Sure, there are parties but they don’t take place most days and the cleanup process never fails to leave Jungkook wondering if it was worth it at all. There’s also a prestigious, righteous aura around his acappella group but no one knows about the brutalities or back stabbings, the lies and deceit that surround the highly competitive activity. Jungkook’s life consists of waking up and heading to class, being told that he needs to work on his vocals by the club head and then having to deal with his dofus roommate before going to bed. Occasionally, there might be a girl in the mix to help him relieve stress. Rinse and repeat.

Hence, you could imagine his surprise and delight when you called him out, breaking his mundane routine that was about to drive the frat kid up the wall.

“Are you going to give me my ten dollars back?” His eyes gleam, observing you taking a seat across the table. Jungkook sips on his frappuccino, wondering if he should mention that you’re late to the appointed time and he’s been waiting for twenty minutes.

“What? No.” You sigh, rubbing your temples to alleviate the strain. He muses how exhausted you look, hair strands escaping from your ponytail, your fur coat that’s not even worn properly around your shoulders. “Shut up for a second.”

Jungkook isn’t the type of person to meet up with someone simply because they called him and asked him to. He’s not a big fan of commitment when he knows he could be dropped like a hot potato the next second - he’s done it before to others, what’s stopping people from doing that to him?

But he was much too curious to refuse you. You’ve always been hostile towards him. To call him and want to meet up, the brown doe-eyed boy’s interest is piqued.

“I need your help.”

You had thought about it for a long time. If there was anyone who would give you a clear cut answer without beating around the bush or trying to pry for more information from you, it was this dude. He has a lot of background experience with this anyways, considering his popularity around campus and you wouldn’t feel embarrassed asking him. You frankly don’t care how Jungkook perceives you.

“You need my help?” His mouth opens, questioning if you’re the same person who stepped on his foot and told him to ‘fuck off’ on orientation day two years ago when he tried to hit on you.

You let out another long exhale, looking him in his bewilderment. “What do you do when one of your girls tells you that they love you?”

“I cut them off.”

The answer is obvious to Jungkook. He shrugs. It’s instinctual for him.

But you don’t want to cut Namjoon off. You like him very much. The thought of even breaking up kind of makes you want to cry.

“Well, what happens if you want them to stay?”

“What?” He raises his brows, twisting his face in disgust. “Then, they’d expect me to get into a relationship with them.”

“Okay.” You nod your head. “If you’re dating, what do you do when they tell you that?”

“How the fuck am I supposed to know?!” Jungkook practically screams and he doesn’t care that people turn their heads to glare at him. “What the hell? I don’t get into relationships!”

There’s an extended moment of quietness, lengthened enough for the ice in his drink to float around and clank against his plastic cup.

Your expression is blank and impassive. But your pupils are boring into his skin. Jungkook shifts uncomfortably and you finally speak up, “you’re really useless, you know.”

He makes a pained, sarcastic smile in response to your venomous tone. “Thanks.”

The acapella student wonders how the hell you managed to get a boyfriend. Or rather, if Namjoon was an absolute masochist - it’s the only plausible reason how anyone could ever stand being with you.

(...if only he knew).

//

Jimin takes a long sip of his hot coffee at the kitchen counter, his ‘Strategy and Global Management’ textbook is abandoned beside him. He’s watching his roommate pace back and forth, the dimpled boy scrubbing his glasses with a tiny cloth and becoming visibly upset when there’s still smudges on the lenses.

Namjoon grunts out angrily, stomps about and then slams his bedroom door shut but not before bumping into furniture.

“Is everything alright?” Jimin tries not to be too invasive but would much rather use this excuse to not study for an upcoming midterm. He hasn’t seen you around in the apartment in the past few days and decided giving you a call wouldn’t hurt. “Y/N?”

“Everything’s fine,” you reply in a colder tone across the other line.

“Oh, I was just wondering since Namjoon looks down and all…”

“He….does?”

The small conversation with Jimin only makes you feel worse. The guilt has piled on your shoulders, bearing a weight that feels as if you’re holding the sky up for the rest of the world.

You haven’t spoken to your boyfriend since ‘The Incident’. It’s quite obvious that you’ve been avoiding him, running in the opposite direction when he gets in a fifty meter radius from you. During practice, you dart your head the other way, staring at the conductor like the old man’s your lover and not the harpist that sulks openly. You also know that recently you haven’t been playing to your best abilities and you haven’t been sleeping all that well either, considering the bed is too large and cold by yourself. Music’s an extremely competitive industry; being the only tubist in the orchestra doesn’t mean you get to slack off. You should be busting your ass off with practicing like you usually do but you can’t.

Your mind is preoccupied.

“Noona?” There’s only one person in this world that would call you that. A shortie with a yellow backpack looks up at you like you own the stars, except this time he’s joined with a certain tall girl, someone with pursed lips, a big frown and black locks draping past their shoulders.

“It is you!”

On his way home from school and walking by the park where you had once saved him, Jin is ecstatic to run into you. He’s even happier when you buy him donuts and he’s sitting at the park bench munching on them with his classmate. “What’s going on, Y/N?”

You sit beside them, head in your hands. “What’s love?”

“Love?” Sunmi leans over to look at you and she pouts her lips. “Why?”

“No reason. I’m just curious as to what your answer is.” You must be losing your mind to be speaking to two middle-schoolers about your problems. But they could be the best people yet.

Who could be more pure-hearted and honest than them?

“Love is when you like someone a whole lot,” Sunmi says in a confident voice, unmistakable in her convictions as she stuffs her cheek and ignores her sugar coated lips. “They’re good looking or nice to you and your heart flutters. It’s simple. You think about them a lot and you can’t do anything about it.”

“Wow, captain obvious.” Seokjin jabs her side with his elbow lightly. “‘Love is when you like someone a whole lot’,” he mocks her in a higher pitched tone in an attempt to mimic the girl and he pouts his lips excessively, batting his lashes back and forth.

“Okay, give it a try then.” Sunmi urges him with a hand. “Go on, tell me what love is.”

“Love….” The boy begins with a far away look in his eyes, becoming dreamy and expression glossing over. “I don’t think it could ever have one definition. It’s different for everyone. It might be finding the feeling of home with someone else. Or it could be excitement. They might make you nervous or happy…” He looks over at his classmate. “You never really know.”

Although Seokjin isn’t the most eloquent, you can understand the emotions he’s trying to convey. But as Sunmi leans over to him with a smirk, whispering into his ear, “why are you staring at me?”, he pushes her away.

“Nevermind! I changed my mind!” He declares, focusing on chomping his donut. “Love is ice cream and the Transformers movies. Love is also gross...ew. Who wants germs? I don’t.”

“You’re so immature,” Sunmi nags him while sticking out her tongue.

“You’re the same age as me!” They bicker back and forth until your headache worsens.

“Well that doesn’t matter! You’re immature.”

“So are you!”

“No, I’m not! Liar!”

“You’re the liar!”

“Well at least I’m not a stupid jerk!”

Jin’s mouth is agape, about to go off but something in his peripheral vision catches his attention. He sharply inhales and whips his head in the opposite direction to hide himself. “Oh crap! That’s my brother.” You look off to where he was indicating and before you’re able to call Hoseok over, the younger male is grabbing his classmate’s friend, ignoring her yelp - “hey!” - and they dart down the street, abandoning the empty donut box beside you.

Hoseok freezes on the sidewalk and he frowns, looking at you and walking over. “That was him wasn’t it?” Your old high school bandmate is unfazed at your presence and he doesn’t say much of a greeting. You don’t need to greet him either. It’s sort of a secret code or handshake….not to acknowledge each other in words. It’s weird but as long as neither of you kick each other in the shins, you’d like to say you’re being pretty civil to your rival.

“Yeah.”

“I knew it.” Hoseok pulls off his heavy backpack full of textbooks and he heaves down at the bench. He disregards your snide comment of ‘did I say you could sit here?’. “I knew the brat had a girlfriend. He was texting someone all night and hiding the phone from me.”

“I don’t think they’re dating,” you mutter softly in place of Seokjin who would no doubt deny it until his hairs become grey and he’s aged a hundred years. “But what are you doing here?”

“Going home,” he scoffs. “What about you? Don’t you have practicing to do? My university might beat you if you keep slacking off like this, Y/N.”

“Not a chance in hell.” You wave him off. “I was only in the area and ran into your brother.”

“Hmm…” It’s been a long time since you’ve sat next to Hoseok. The last time you can recall is lunchtime in your senior year of high school. While other girls blatantly avoided you and quivered in their shoes, Hoseok joined you…...to discuss music. He just wanted to improve the brass section of the concert band.

At the time, most kids took the class to get the credits but you and him were the two most passionate.

With Hoseok’s commands and nitpicking personality that strives for perfection and the way you drove everyone in fear, your classmates obeyed. You’d like to consider that it was Hoseok’s efforts and yours that played a big part as to why your school won the superior award that year.

Unfortunately, Hoseok wasn’t a close friend but the most similar thing you had to it. You always thought it was a shame that he went to a different university. But looks like fate still wanted the two of you to remain as platonic companions.

“Where’s Namjoon? You’re always together with him. What? There’s trouble in paradise?”

“Kind of…” You sheepishly sigh, probably for the fiftieth time since you’ve woken up this morning. They always say that love is spectacular and being in a true relationship is the most fulfilling thing someone can do but no one ever talks about the effort that’s required. To maintain it, you constantly have to put in work - you have to be an active and willing participant. And you’re afraid you’re doing a bad job.

For one, you can’t express your innermost feelings very well. You hate being in a vulnerable position. Secondly, you have a habit of running away when things don’t work out.

You could list a million other reasons why you really aren’t meant for a committed relationship.

But that doesn’t mean you don’t want to try.

“You know, you’ve changed, Y/N.”

You never thought you would ever want to attempt it - though when Namjoon came stumbling into your life, it seems like a lot of things have been reversed. When it comes to him, especially him, your stubbornness is at an all time high. You won’t give up so easily.

“How so?”

“You’re a bit...softer now.”

“Puh-lease.” You roll your eyes, unknowingly becoming defensive. You even whip your hair behind your shoulder as if it’ll add onto your argument. “I have not become soft, Hoseok.”

You enunciate his name, punching at each syllable. “No, that’s not me.” Your head shakes. “I’m cool and hardcore. People fear me. They want to be me.” When you say it aloud, it sounds much more silly and childish than inside your head.

Hoseok laughs at your arrogance. “Okay then, think whatever you want to think.”

The truth of the matter, one that you don’t want to admit, is that Kim Namjoon has not only reversed your life and changed your once firm beliefs. He has also melted your coarse edges and sharp tongue. Dammit.

//

You bang on the surface of the wooden door, fist booming in a steady beat. When it takes too long, you spam the doorbell with your other hand, the boisterous noise heard on the other side.

It finally opens after two minutes of spamming.

Sleepy eyes look back at you, a mouth that parts to spew out curses but you beat him to the punch, leaning against the doorway. “Why the fuck is your apartment so far away? And why is it practically in the slums? Move already! I thought I was going to get robbed on my way here!”

“What do you want from me?” Yoongi hangs his head in exasperation and exhaustion. He’s shirtless with only shorts on and the sight is repulsive. Is he so poor that he can’t own clothing anymore? Not even a set of nice pajamas?

You laugh in a mocking tone that rings in his ears and makes him scowl. “Not everything’s about you. Now where’s your girlfriend? Jennie?!”

You step to the side to enter his apartment but he steps in the way. Your feet shuffle to the left but he blocks you. It’s another showdown; you versus your dearest cousin. No one is willing to give up.

“Jennie!”

“Get out of here or I’m calling the police!”

“I’d like to see you try! Jennie!” You scream out the concertmistress’ name past his shoulder. “Jennie!”

“It’s literally midnight, Y/N. What the fuc-”

He’s unguarded. You nab at the opportunity. Yoongi huffs out a breath of air. You shove him back. And you’re inside. “Y/N!”

“Jennie?”

Finally, the violinist comes stumbling out of the bedroom in your cousin’s hoodie and you fight not to wince. In the back of your mind, you still find the thought of your family member with your ex-enemy slightly nauseating. “W-what’s going on?” She looks like she’s barely woken up, eyes still closed and hair amuck.

“I need to talk to you.”

The desperation is eating at your skin, like parasite bugs or an unreachable itch on your back that is driving you insane. You need to talk to someone. A person who could understand, sympathetic enough to wrap their minds around your own brain to guide you to the right answer.

You’re too afraid of hurting Namjoon to go to him.

“-and...and then I told him ‘cool’. Like who even says that?” You pinch the bridge of your nose, accepting the warm cup of tea when she offers it to you. Yoongi’s long gone back to bed, giving up on your battle with him for a fluffy pillow and toasty covers instead.

“Well, I think it's a pretty good response for being caught off guard. There are a lot of worse things you could’ve said, Y/N.”

Accurate to what you assumed, Jennie has easily calmed you down. She has an odd counsellor or motherly aura about her. ��I-I...I just don't know what to say to him. I don't know how I should face him. I keep imagining hurting him and then him telling me he wants to break up.”

“No.” She firmly shakes her head, putting her hand over yours. “Not Namjoon. He wouldn't. You and I both know he's not the type to break it off because of that.”

“Y-yeah…”

“I think...you should just talk to him, Y/N. You can't guess how he’ll respond or what he’ll say until you actually communicate with him. I know it sounds sappy but if you said what's on your mind, I'm sure Namjoon would understand.”

You nod your head, already knowing that it's the right thing to do. But-

“What's love, Jennie?”

You crane your neck towards her. She's put on a robe overtop of her pajamas, hair thrown into a messy bun and you muse that she has always been kind to you no matter how much you mistreated her in the past. You're suddenly glad that you have her as a friend. “H-how do I know?”

She smiles warmly at you. “You just...do.”

//

In the meanwhile, Namjoon is unable to sleep even when it’s two o’clock in the morning. He only tumbled around in bed, listened to some relaxation music which only got his brain cranking again and then he decided he might as well be productive and get some homework done.

‘The Incident’ is a constant throbbing pressure at the back of his skull. Every so often, he stops reading in the middle of a paragraph or leaves a sentence hanging to cringe and curse at himself. Was he an idiot? Why did he blurt it out?! Not only is Namjoon mortified by his own spontaneous behaviour but he feels guilty for putting you in that position. It was no wonder that you were avoiding him like the plague. He wouldn’t be surprised if you broke it off with him too.

Aside from being embarrassed to death, Namjoon didn’t want to chase you down for a response. It wasn’t a cat and mouse chase like last time nor was it hide and seek. He wanted to give you space and for you to come to him when you felt like that time was right.

And apparently you felt like two in the morning was a great time.

The doorbell rang once and the clumsy harpist got to his feet before his sleeping roommate in the next room would throw a hissy fit. Hence, no one is able to envision his shock when he finds you on the other side and not some drunk dude who was pounding at the wrong door.

“I-I…” You’re hyperventilating, sweat dripping from your hairline and you wheeze. “I ha...ve...to..talk-...I have to talk to you...I...I ran here..”

Namjoon can’t register what’s happening but he steps aside, allowing you to enter the shabby apartment that’s now become your second home. “What-”

“I’m sorry.” You cough, dragging yourself to stand upwards and looking him in the eyes. Your lungs are still squeezing but you manage and you pull something out of your bag, pressing the soft object to his chest. “I-”

It’s lame. It’s dumb. But it’s a red stuffed crab that you had grabbed at the supermarket kids toy section on your way over. It’s a compensation gift, to try to convey your guilt and apologizes. You don’t know how else to deal with things.

“Is this for me?” Namjoon doesn’t realize that he’s grinning, holding the fluffy thing up. It’s got a bright smile, a cotton shell covering the top of the cute crab. He hasn’t had a present like this since he was five-years old and he feels his heart blooming.

“I’m sorry for forgetting our one year anniversary. W-well...I didn’t forget but I didn’t say anything about it either. That’s not why I’m here though. No more running away,” you mumble but more to yourself. “N-Namjoon, there’s something I need to say to you-”

“We should go to my room first.” He takes your hand, not wanting to disturb his roommate that’s been slaving away to his professors. The door softly closes and he internally swears at himself as to why he had to roll around his bed covers and make everything look like a mess.

Nonetheless, Namjoon fondly places the plush crab down by his bedside table. “I love it.”

“G-good.” You swallow hard, facing him properly like how you should’ve done at the beginning. “I’m sorry, Namjoon.” He tips his head, listening to you and you muster your courage not to shy away. “I-I know I’m a bad girlfriend….I always run away from problems - I’m a coward. But there’s something I need to say to you.”

You brace yourself. “I love-”

“Ahhh...ah...ah….no.” He presses his finger to your lip and you frown. “No. Nope. Shush. Just be quiet.”

“What?”

He drops his hand. “First off, no. You’re not a bad girlfriend.”

“You mean you don’t want to break up with me?”

“Why do we keep having the same conversation?” He exhales with a wide smile, taking your hand and the two of you sit down on the edge of his mattress. “No, L/N Y/N, I don’t want to end our wonderful relationship, okay? You don’t have to worry about that. If anything...I’m sorry.” His voice becomes softer and softer. Namjoon looks away, deflecting your probing orbs. “I know what I said to you was really out of the blue. I..I didn’t mean to say it like that. I had been thinking about it for awhile and it just came out…”

You nervously twiddle your thumbs, “w-why?”

Namjoon shrugs. “You looked really beautiful that night at the bus station.”

A smile cracks through your pressed lips and your tinkling laugh eases his own worries. “Namjoon, I was a mess that day. I literally hadn’t washed my hair or showered. I reeked.”

He shrugs his shoulders again, at a loss. “I don’t want to pressure you into doing anything. Tell me on your own time, whenever you’re ready.” He brushes your hair gently, tapping your head in an awkward fashion like you’re his pet but the timid boy only causes you to blush and smile harder. “I’ll be waiting patiently.”

For a second, you’re almost moved to the point where tears will start to trickle to your cheeks but you get a grip on yourself and remain composed. “You’re too kind, Nams.”

“Oh, really?” His eyebrow cocks and he instantly pounces, tackling you onto the rumpled bed sheets. You laugh out loud and then there’s an ‘thump’ on the wall. You and your boyfriend freeze before exchanging looks, visualizing Jimin knocking against the surface to get the two of you to shut the fuck up.

You put your palm against your lips, muffling your giggles and Namjoon slumps down beside you. You’re too tired to get up to any trouble anyways. The entire day has exhausted you.

“Hey...there’s one way you can make it up to me.”

Namjoon flickers the light off, holding his new plush toy in his arms. It reminds him of when he was a mere boy who had a million dreams, yet, he would never imagine being with such a girl that would cause absolute chaos in his life….the good kind of chaos.

“What?”

“You can cuddle me,” he murmurs out, “I want to be the small spoon.”

“Deal.”

“Happy anniversary.” Your arm wraps around his abdomen, blankets covered to his chest. Namjoon feels toasty and warm, content like he’s never before. He smiles and murmurs, “I love you.” You only hum in response but knowing that you’re here with him….

It’s enough.

[joonsgalaxy]

a meaningful moment through a meaning(less) process

° reader x superhero!namjoon

° fluff  ° 3,1 k words

°° while the headlines of newspapers were screaming about people born under the lucky star, for they had been saved 7 or more times from life threatening situations, and while radio hosts were wondering who would next earn the title of “the best superhero of the year”, the new established policy of keeping a record of it all allowed you to see the reality of what happens behind the scenes.

a/n: this fic is written in namjoon’s pov

‘How many lives saved?’

He watched you intently as your eyes blinked at the screen. Your tone was polite, reverent hence suitable for this formal conversation; yet it was also lightly cheerful and kind, gently wrapping him up in a blanket and lulling him into a dreamland, where the moon and the sun had your warm eyes and your soft smile.

’74,’ he answered.

The commodious room was filled with indistinct chatter and the repetitive sound of keys clicking as the employees typed away.

He thought he was the luckiest man on the planet whenever he would find the chair in front of your desk free. These days it was pretty much the only opportunity he got to talk to you.

Your dexterous fingers halted over the keyboard. You sent him a surprised look.

’74?’ You echoed his words in utter astonishment. ‘Wow.’

‘It was 7:30 am,’ he explained, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. ‘Lots of people were traveling to school or work. I just happened to be at the right place at the right time.’

You chuckled lightly, shaking your head at his indifference. ‘Well, those people were very lucky you were there.’

‘I guess.’ He shrugged.

There was a moment of silence hanging above the desk between you two; then you tilted your head to the side, brows raised in sheer disbelief. ‘You do realize you’re 14 saved lives away from securing your spot in the second place on the list?’

‘Oh.’ He did not realize that, if truth be told.

In fact, he’d never checked the list and he’d never counted the total amount of the lives he had saved; he would only be aware of the count right after an incident had happened, and only because he had to report these exact numbers to authorities like he was doing it now.

Even thinking about the total sum felt weird—he was not some kind of obsessed collector, keeping a record of every butterfly on his walls.

He simply had a supernatural gift—or rather an abnormality—of being exceptionally strong. He figured he could use it to help the ordinary people; and he certainly could do that without keeping a count of the saved lives, or receiving any of the awards, or holding a place on some kind of list, for that matter. In Namjoon’s eyes those things only motivated the overly ambitious and morbidly greedy superheroes. To him that kind of attention seemed unnecessary and overwhelming.

The thing was you seemed quite enthusiastic about it, fascinated even. If it was a big deal to you, well he might as well use this situation for his own good at least once. All he wanted was your attention, after all. It sounded a tad bit selfish and wrong, but he was pretty much hopeless by now. He had no idea of how else he could make you see him as something more than just your brother’s friend or a man obligated to visit your workplace once in a while. He wanted you to see him in a different light for so long, probably since you were sixteen. How long exactly had it been since Hoseok introduced you to him? Seven years? Holy shit. It was about time he did something about his feelings.

It all began, when his eyes landed on you for the first time. You took his breath away. He had never fallen in love so deeply before.

His visits to your house grew more and more frequent. At first he tried to convince Hoseok and himself that it was because of the new TV in Hoseok’s room—it was way wider than Namjoon’s. What a ridiculous excuse. After a while he started feigning concern about Hoseok’s homework—the finals were approaching at the speed of sound, it seemed, and Hoseok was not yet prepared.

Much to Namjoon’s humiliation his friend eventually figured out the real reason he visited your house nearly every day.

‘Admit it. You’re not here because of your benevolent nature,’ Hoseok had confronted him. ‘You don’t actually care about my exams. You only come here to gawk at my sister.’

Namjoon was mortified. How could he be so imprudent? What gave him away? Was it the fact that his pencils would just keep on snapping in half between his fingers, whenever you’d show up in Hoseok’s room? Or was it the way his gaze would linger upon your shape as you were strolling out into the hallway? And most importantly were you cognizant of it all?

‘It’s okay, man,’ Hoseok had said. ‘As long as you’re truly helping me, I’m fine with you hanging out at my place whenever. Just, y’know… don’t actually ask her out or something. That’d be hella weird, right?’

Come to think of it, perhaps those exact words were obstructing him from asking you out even after all these years.

‘Hey.’ A tiny—well at least compared to Namjoon’s—hand was waving in front of his frozen face. ‘Are you okay? I think you zoned out for a moment.’

Namjoon’s spirit returned back to the room full of formal chatter and the click-clack of keyboards akin to the gentle pattering of the rain. He shifted in his seat sheepishly. ‘Sorry.’ His cheeks got pinched by the wicked fingers of embarrassment forcing uncomfortable heat and red dust dance upon his features.

‘Can we continue?’ You politely pointed at the computer, eyes expectant.

‘Sure, I just— yeah, where were we?’

Your eyes fixated on the screen, agile fingers ready to type. ‘Any injured people?’

Namjoon winced at that and sighed gloomily. ‘Yes… this one guy broke his leg.’ The fact had been plaguing him for a couple of hours since the accident. He should’ve taken all the aspects of the situation into consideration; he should’ve assessed all the possible hazards and acted accordingly, avoiding the distressing outcome.

You typed and waited for more, graceful hands hovering above the keyboard. Namjoon stayed silent, going over the incident again and again in his mind, so you asked, ‘That’s it?’

‘Uh-ha.’

‘Just one guy?’ You wanted to make sure, incredulous.

One guy is one too many, Namjoon thought to himself. ‘Yeah, but he’s hurt, I could’ve done a better job.’ He stared at his lap sorrowfully. ‘If only I used less force… that damned train jerked backwards—

‘Would you stop blaming yourself?’ Your irritated tone forced Namjoon’s eyes up.

He felt stupid. He didn’t want to look pitiful in front of you, surely it wasn’t his intention.

He itched for caressing that tiny crease between your brows as you gazed at him with worry on your youthful face.

You deeply inhaled then, as if preparing to scold a child. You leaned forward, resting your hands on the desk.

Would it be weird, if he placed his own hands on yours?

What the hell was he thinking—of course, it’d be weird. The weirdest. He shook his head—imperceptibly, he hoped—to get rid of the ludicrous thought.

‘Look, Namjoon,’ you resolutely began. ‘You saved nearly 6000 lives in the past two years. That guy got lucky he got out with only a broken leg; he’ll be fine.’

Namjoon’s shoulders felt lighter instantly; perhaps you had just descended right from his dreams as the wind and dispelled those sombre clouds suffocating him. ‘You’re right.’

You nodded satisfied and, much to Namjoon’s disappointment, you leaned back against your chair, hands sliding across the desk along with you like the ocean retrieving its wandering waves. He never felt so far away from you, so empty and dry like a lonely beach during low tide.

‘You know,’ your eyes drifted away in thought, ‘sometimes I think this whole system is bullshit.’

Namjoon felt his eyes widen.

‘Like— yeah, of course I’m happy you get to use your talent to pay your bills and all, but I think people abuse this thing, y’know.’

Namjoon could only nod approvingly as you passionately narrated your opinion. Frankly, his mind was still stuck on the words your talent; he would play it over and over in his head later (in your voice, obviously).

‘They’re convinced it’s your job to protect them no matter what, which, well, it kind of is, but—

You shook your head to collect your thoughts. ‘Citizens are so careless now. I’m sure some purposefully get in trouble because of those stories in newspapers and what not. And you know what grinds my gears the most?’

‘What?’ Namjoon encouraged you to continue, interested and fully engaged in the conversation by now.

You leaned forward over the desk again, grabbing a pencil in the process. ‘People are not appreciative enough, not like they used to be.’

If only those fingers irritably twiddling the pencil could run through Namjoon’s hair. His hair felt exhausted and in need of your pacifying touch.

‘Did that guy with a broken leg even thank you?’

‘Nope. Actually,’ Namjoon said, scratching his temple, ‘he was pretty angry at me.’ Being castigated by a stranger this early in the morning wasn’t the most pleasant thing, to say the least.

You gasped and tossed the pencil somewhere to the side, horrified and incensed. ‘See? You know what I’d do, if I were him?’

‘What?’ This time Namjoon was the one leaning forward, hands on the desk. His pulse sang in his ears at the proximity.

‘I would— I’d buy you a dinner,’ you uttered, and his ears were occupied by a whole band now, drumming like there’s no tomorrow.

‘Or, uh,’ your determined voice wavered a little as your eyes skid around the desk. ‘I’d help you in your garden or—

‘I don’t have a garden,’ Namjoon’s lips moved on autopilot, voice chords working on their own, lacking the contribution of his mind, which was swimming now.

‘Right. Well, I’d do at least something to show my appreciation,’ you picked up that persistent tone again, sincere eyes focusing on Namjoon’s.

He felt his cheeks heat up at the nice words coming from your—his crush’s of seven years—mouth.

‘You save people’s lives, for crying out loud!’

Oh, darling, if only you knew how many times he had saved yours. In his mind, that is.

A plane suddenly crashes into this building? Have no fear, for Namjoon—the superhero—is carrying you out into the street and toward the horizon while the blinding dust, scorching flames and misty smoke dance around viciously.

The breaks of your motorcycle are malfunctioning? Fear not, for Namjoon is the one to stop the vehicle with a light touch of his palm like it’s nothing.

And now he’ll have a dinner with you after saving your life in his fantasy too. What could be better than that?

Before he could drown fully in the deep ocean of his ideas and wander away like earlier, a hand came up to tap him on the shoulder and a derisive voice of a man that Namjoon despised with all his might invaded his skull.

‘Joon!��� Jimin beamed. ‘What did you break this time?’ He chuckled heartily as the muscle of Namjoon’s jaw twitched angrily. ‘You know, we’re here to help people, not to compress their cars together.’

‘That happened one time,’ Namjoon exhaled, annoyed. ‘One time.’ He hated to be reminded of that occurrence, especially when he felt your attentive eyes on him. Perhaps the building was truly on fire, that’s why he was so hot right now.

‘Whatever,’ Jimin waved him off flippantly. ‘Gotta go register my three saved lives today.’

What a prig. It’d be so easy to wipe that stupid smirk off his stupid face.

‘Hey, Jimin!’ Your voice echoed just when the man turned to look for a free desk.

‘Yeah?’ He curiously tilted his head with a grin, and Namjoon’s hand clenched into a fist.

You smiled triumphantly, ‘Guess who’s this close,’ you demonstrated with your fingers, ‘to surpass you in the list of the best superheroes.’

Jimin’s brows shot up in surprise. ‘Who?’ He questioned with much interest.

You smacked your lips and used a finger to point at Namjoon. ‘This guy!’ You sing-songed.

Now Namjoon had the same shocked expression on his face as Jimin. He had no idea.

It felt great, though, to see how strongly affected Jimin was by this. Finally he would realize Namjoon is truly capable of doing great things with his enormous power; maybe Jimin would even forget all of the ignominious incidents that happened during school days, when Namjoon was only starting to learn how to master his ability.

‘No way,’ Jimin exclaimed, resentful.

‘Yes way, bitch.’ You seemed so joyful and proud, chin up high victoriously, arms crossed in front of you as though you had just won the most significant fight in the history.

Namjoon didn’t succeed in supressing his laugh; he was so amused and so damn in love.

Jimin’s nostrils flared in fury; his eyes were blazing as he indignantly glanced at the older superhero.

‘What can I say,’ Namjoon shrugged, ‘being incredibly strong comes in handy.’

‘Fuck you,’ the younger one spat out and stormed off.

Your voice pervaded the spacious room, catching up with him. ‘Go to Jeongguk’s desk. He has a thing for losers.’

Namjoon could hear Jimin’s frustrated groan in the distance and your soft jubilant giggle mere few feet away. Your eyes sparkled like the sky on New Year’s Eve. It seemed as though Namjoon’s heart would explode like fireworks too.

The gleeful mood didn’t last long, though; your laugh dissipated, your face seemingly frowned in sincere regret as you leaned over the desk again.

‘Did I go a little too far just now?’ You asked.

Namjoon tried to fish something out of his scrambled thoughts. ‘I mean—

‘Jeongguk is really nice, if I’m being honest,’ your voice was kind and thoughtful.

‘Oh, he is?’

‘Yeah… And Jimin did save lots of lives,’ you muse, but then unexpectedly change your tone and add in a whisper, ‘Yet he’s such an asshole.’

You were adorable. Too adorable for Namjoon’s weak heart.

‘I know right?’ He agreed, leaning forward as though you were school kids gossiping about that one annoying classmate that nobody genuinely liked.

Your soft chuckle was the most precious melody he could listen to while jogging, reading, before sleep and maybe while making food, oh and definitely when he’s feeling miserable, when he’s happy, and also on the way to the grocery shop—

‘Anyway,’ you utter, focusing on the screen again, hands delicately smoothing out your pristine shirt. ‘The next question— oh.’

Namjoon had gone through the process enough times to memorise the general questions, and judging by the glum look in your eyes it was time for, ‘Damaged property?’

‘Uh-ha.’ You said tentatively, voice sounding dismal.

‘It’s okay,’ Namjoon reassured. ‘The train has a dent in the front, but it would’ve been a lot worse, if I hadn’t interfered.’

You typed and nodded, showing attentiveness.

‘But I was pretty bummed out about that guy and his leg so—,’ he stopped mid-sentence, feeling quite embarrassed. He was used to all this, sure, but Jimin’s teasing words from earlier might had had an impact on him.

You glanced at him with kind eyes and motioned him to proceed.

‘I kicked down a tree,’ Namjoon said in a small voice, ashamed.

You didn’t seem too affected by it, though. Your fingers flew over the keyboard, eyes concentrated, tone professional. ‘Was it private or public property?’

‘Public,’ he let you know and shifted in his seat.

You typed, elegantly fixed your hair and then typed some more. ‘It’s just a tree, Namjoon. You think too much.’

‘Yeah,’ he exhaled and glanced at his watch, calculating the time in which he would get to the stadium once he leaves this place. It seemed that running helped him to calmly mull over his ideas and let out his pent-up frustrations. This method was certainly better than crushing his plates and cups while doing the dishes as his restless mind rushed through a million irritating thoughts.

A few more clicks of the computer mouse and then your attention was drawn back to Namjoon’s face. ‘If everything’s correct, you’ll be eligible for the reward. You should get it in a few days.’ You gave him a smile that embraced his heart in a tight warm hug.

‘Great. Thank you.’

He was preparing to push onto his feet and leave, when a tremendously bright light bulb set off in the depths of his brain, halting all his movements.

It’s now or never, he thought to himself and cleared his throat, mustering up the courage to do what he should’ve done long ago. (This thing really did require much more of his courage even than all that heroic stuff.)

‘Hey, um, you’re so nice to me, and,’ he began rather shyly, drumming his fingers against his jeans. He’s back at your house; he’s that inexperienced boy again in his best friend’s room, nervously stuttering in front of the girl who so effortlessly made the knees of the strongest boy in the whole world ridiculously weak.

‘I’d like to show you my appreciation by buying you a dinner.’

This might crush his dreams; this might go terribly wrong and ruin him; you might draw a sword from under your desk and slash his knees, sending him sprawling across the floor in front of your feet.

(He had great imagination, indeed, but he wasn’t good at foreseeing the future.)

‘Oh?’ You grinned with a curious look in your eyes.

He prayed that the cause of that bright smile on your beautiful face was you being pleasantly surprised and not you thinking he was laughably funny and dumb for daring to ask you this kind of thing.

‘Well,’ you glanced at your folded hands upon the desk, lightly biting your lip.

Every brain cell in Namjoon’s skull was about to scream to book it and never step a foot into this place again.

He had to stop himself from clinging onto the armrests of the chair, because he was certain they wouldn’t withstand his nervousness.

He thought you were dragging it out because you weren’t sure of how to reject him without hurting his feelings too much. But he should’ve known by now that he was pretty bad at interpreting a girl’s actions.

‘I’d love to have a dinner with you.’

(What could be better than having a dinner with you in his fantasies? He had the answer now—it’s having a dinner with you in real life.)

<3

thanks for reading!! and as drew monson says: leave me a fxxking comment because i’m very lonely :))

[whiskeytangofrogman]

5 times Eric Bittle regretted living with Jack

(and one time he didn’t)

A Zimbits 5+1! 

2.5k, also on ao3! 

1.

Bitty loved Jack, okay? He really, really did. He loved how sweet Jack could be, and his odd sense of humour, and how Jack could sit and patiently listen to Bitty ramble on about pie filling with nothing more than a gentle smile on his face.

Bitty did not, however, love Jack’s enthusiasm for morning runs. In fact, it was one of the few things Bitty resolutely did not like about Jack.

(He loved how chipper he looked while running, sure, but not the physical act of running at 5 AM. There was a special place in hell for 5 AM runs.)

But every morning, he rolled out of bed, threw on whatever pair of shorts seemed the cleanest, tied his running shoes on, and trod out of the door after Jack, still rubbing sleep out of his eyes as they descended the stairs from their penthouse apartment to the pavement below. Except for off days. Bitty had convinced Jack that sleeping in on off days were an absolute must, at least for Bitty himself. Jack could experience his days off in whatever hellish way he wanted to.

Through the next however long Jack decided they were running that day, Bitty would huff and puff his way through. It wasn’t that he hadn’t kept himself in shape since he’d graduated the year prior, because he had. But Jack’s legs were, quite frankly, a ridiculous length, and Bitty wasn’t meant for long runs with professional athletes. He was a sprinter, okay?

No words usually passed between them, because Bitty was barely awake and usually pretty grumpy before his first cup of coffee, and Jack liked to go over plays in his head, something he’d had to focus more time on since getting the A the previous season, so they ran in silence.

Afterwards, they’d trek back up the stairs to their apartment (sometimes Bitty swore Jack had some thing about elevators and not using them for what the good lord intended), and Jack would manhandle both of them into the shower, and let Bitty have first turn at the warm water.

After that, Jack would get ready for practice that day while Bitty made them breakfast, with lots of protein and fruit, because there was more to the world that copious amounts of meat, Mr. Zimmermann-

And then, Jack’d kiss him goodbye, and Bitty would get to sleep another hour before he had to head off to work, and they’d reconvene at 5pm, Bitty usually full of stories from managing his bakery, and Jack usually armed with one or two horribly dirty jokes from that day’s practice, and their day would end.

That is, until 5 AM the next day.

2.

Bitty loved Jack’s team almost as much as he loved Jack himself. For one, when they’d found out about Bitty, not a single one had had any sort of problem with it. Bitty had figured at least one of them would have a problem with Jack dating a guy, but the only thing they seemed to care about was whatever new pie Bitty was bringing to practice the following week.

And two, they never seemed to mind trying out new recipes for him, no matter how mediocre they might be. Hockey players were useful like that, especially when they were starved of many other junk foods during the season because of their diet plans.

(Bitty and the team nutritionists had come to an agreement early on. No more than two reasonably sized slices of pie per week, per player, no sweets whatsoever during playoffs, including Jack, and no individual pies at all during the season to players who were known to eat one of them all in a sitting. In return, they’d turn a blind eye every time Bitty came in with his signature blue boxes from the bakery.)

It would be nice, though, if Jack warned Bitty when they were at the apartment, before Bitty walked in singing Beyonce at the top of his lungs, only to hear the living room fill with applause, near giving him a heart attack in the process.

“Jack! Kitchen, please?” He called out, face bright red. Jack met him there a few moments later, looking apologetic, but still more amused than he was allowed to be.

“Jack, honestly-” Bitty started, sliding a hand down his face.

“They liked your performance, Bittle.” Jack grinned at him, and Bitty cursed the gods for making Jack Zimmermann so attractive on top of everything else he had going for him, because it was hard to stay mad for very long.

“They better have.” He muttered, and then sighed, leaning up on his toes to kiss Jack’s cheek. “Can you just shoot me a text next time you have people over? I don’t mind at all, I’d just like to have a heads up, you know? So I don’t end up walking out of the shower naked as the day I was born, or worse.”

Jack nodded, though looked perhaps a bit confused at what “or worse” could mean, and held up a pinky. “Pinky swear.”

Bitty linked their pinkies, and then dropped their hands. “Alright. Now you go tell that rabble out there that if they’re going to hang out here, I’m gonna have to force them to try out some of my new recipes.”

Jack laughed softly, nodded once. “I don’t think they’ll have a problem with that.”

---

Two days later, it happened again. Bitty cursed whatever gods were listening, and Jack Zimmermann, when he happened upon five of the Falconers best in his living room, in a towel.

Bitty grew up around guys, and in locker rooms, so it wasn’t the towel part that was embarrassing.

It was the standing ovation they gave him when he stepped out of their bedroom to ask Jack where his favourite pair of jeans went. “Uh-”

Stanley, one of the first line’s D-men, and a human so large he made Holster look like a gangly teen, shot him a thumbs-up. “Nice harmonies, Bittle. You ever thought about singing the national anthem at one of our games?”

Bitty sighed, and gave a significant look to Jack. “No, thank you though.” He said, before turning around and waving a hand over his shoulder. “If you’ll excuse me, fellas.”

They were gone by the time Bitty had found his jeans, and assembled the rest of his outfit for date night, and returned to the living room. Jack was pressed against the couch, still dressed in a workout shirt and a pair of sweats. “Jack-”

Jack stood, and came over, pulling Bitty into a hug. “I’m sorry.”

Bitty wrapped his arms around Jack in return, and smiled despite himself. “It’s alright Jack. Just shoot me a dang text, okay?”

He leaned back, soft smile turning into a smirk. “I know you’re an old man who doesn’t know how to work his phone, but I’m sure someone would be willing to show you on the team.” He chirped, grinning at Jack.

“Hey-” Jack said, and then huffed, grinning back. “Alright.”

3.

“No.”

“Bits, just hear me out-” Jack started, fighting off a grin as his hands gestured wildly through the air.

“Jack Zimmermann, don’t you start with that first name sweet talk with me, mister. We are not buying that godawful-”

“Bittle, please-”

Bitty sighed, and dragged a hand down his face, rubbing a hand over his hairless chin. “Jack, we can’t buy this couch. Not only is it a frankly ridiculous price, but it’s ugly.” He hissed the last word, eyes darting to where an associate was standing nearby, talking to another customer.

“It’s not ugly!” Jack said, laughter bubbling from his throat. “I think it’s nice. It’s the same color as the walls.”

Bittle folded his arms across his chest. “You’re colorblind then. That’s the problem.”

Jack shook his head, full on grinning now. “I am not. And besides, maybe you’re the colorblind one. The pattern is nice, it’s a good size-”

“It’s atrocious!” Bitty pointed behind him, waving his hand over the sofa.

The sofa in question was something the store listed as “antique,” on account of its elegantly carved wooden frame, the only part of the couch he didn’t mind too terribly. But the cushions were patterned in the most god-awful floral pattern Bitty had ever seen, and in shades of puke green and brown to boot. It was massive, and it would take up most of their living room if they bought it, which if Bitty had anything to say about it, they would not.

He hated it, and Jack seemed to love it.

“Are you messing with me?” Bitty asked, looking up at Jack’s grin, frowning.

Jack shook his head, trying to school his features back, but he was too amused.

He’d suggested the couch as a joke, but saw almost immediately Bitty’s horror at the idea, and had decided to run with it.

Sue him for trying to make furniture shopping more exciting.

Bitty gasped, rather dramatically in Jack’s opinion, and clapped his hands over his mouth. “You are!”

Jack’s grin widened more, and he shrugged. “Maybe I just really like ugly couches, eh?” He said, leaning over to pat it. “It’s just the right size for me. We can call it a conversation piece.”

Bitty pressed a hand to his temples, and sighed. “You’re the worst, and this couch is awful, and we are not buying it.”

A small cough drew their attention. The associate had apparently finished up with the other customer, and had wandered over their way. “Excuse me, but I’m going to have to ask you not to insult the wares-” The employee leaned in, a small smile gracing her features. “No matter how ugly they may be.”

“Ha!” Bitty said, and shot Jack a smug look. “Do you mind showing us to some of your more popular couches?” He asked, smiling brightly at the associate.

Jack cast one last glance, considered having it delivered to their house as a joke, and then unconsidered it because he really didn’t want to actually upset Bittle, and then followed the worker to a new set of couches, smiling to himself as Bittle and the girl chatted about interior decoration like it was the most interesting thing in the world, and not the world’s worst new-house chore.

4.

It’s been five days since Jack was last home. Him being away was easier in college, when Bitty was doing things too, had his own roadie schedule, a cadre of teammates to keep him company when he missed Jack.

But Shitty and Lardo were in Boston, and Ransom and Holster moved out to Seattle last year, and Chowder’s in San Jose with the Barracuda as their starting goalie. He’s, for lack of a better word, alone. The bakery keeps him occupied for as long as he can stay until his employees kick him out, and then Jack skypes him when he can on roadies, but sometimes it’s not enough.

And Jack goes on so many roadies that sometimes they’ll go weeks where the only time they spend with one another is an hour before bed cuddled up against one another holding sleepy conversation, exhausted from their respective jobs, but not willing to sleep just yet.

He wakes up to an empty bed after a rough dream midway through the team’s longest roadie this year, and rolls over. He brings Jack’s pillow to his chest, and sends a selfie. Miss you, he captions it.

Jack texts him back a few minutes later, with an equally sleep-rumpled selfie, and a soft smile. Miss you more.

Jack being away is hard, and Bitty wishes he was able to tag along, but it’s okay. It’s never more than a week.

5.

“Jack.” Bitty watches Jack for a second as he runs, face twisted into concentration as his feet pound on the treadmill track. Jack doesn’t hear him.

“Jack,” Bitty says a little louder, trying not to scare him out of his thoughts, but his phone’s been ringing on and off for ten minutes now, and it’s getting a little old.

He does this a lot in the winter, when it’s too cold to run outside, which is why it’s only a problem half of the year. And always on their days off, because any other day Bitty would be at the bakery and Jack would be at the rink.

He leaves his phone on the nightstand, and then his breakfast alarm goes off and wakes Bitty up. On his day off.

He loves sleeping in almost as much as he loves Jack, and if this goddamn alarm keeps ruining his opportunities, Jack and sleep might swap places on the “Top 10 list of things Bitty loves.”

“Jack!” Jack’s head whips around, and the cord of his earbuds catches on the bar of the treadmill, ripping them out of his ears. He presses pause on his audiobook, and shuts down the treadmill, turning to face Bitty.

“Morning, Bits.” He looks sheepish as he takes the phone from Bitty’s hand and presses his thumb against the home button to shut off the beeping. “Sorry.”

Bitty yawns, and rubs at his eyes. “S’fine sweetpea. Just… take it next time. Please.” He shoots Jack a desperately tired look.

A grin creeps onto Jack’s face. “Maybe if you didn’t stay up so late on Tweeter, waking up at seven wouldn’t be such a problem.”

Bitty glares at him, and reaches over to start the treadmill again. It comes alive under Jack’s feet, and forces Jack to throw out his arms to catch himself. Bitty laughs.

Jack huffs, and shuts it down once more before stepping off. He bends over to kiss Bitty’s forehead. “I’ll make pancakes.”

Bitty catches him, and pulls him into a better, deeper kiss. “‘Kay.”

They stare at one another for a second, the early morning making them soft, and quiet. Then Jack lets go, and Bitty slips back into their bedroom to go grab his phone before helping Jack with the eggs.

Though he’s reluctant to admit it, it’s almost a routine at this point, to wake up to Jack’s alarm and then make breakfast together. He’d like to sleep in until noon, sure, but he only gets to see Jack so much.

So, despite his complaining, Bitty does enjoy mornings like this, rare as they are.

+1

After breakfast, they curl up on the couch. Jack picks out an old movie for them to watch, though most of the time they both doze off within ten minutes of the food hitting their stomachs. They spend the rest of the day doing menial tasks, like grocery shopping and cleaning, all the things that get abandoned over the rest of the week. Sometimes Jack goes to the rink for an hour or two, and Bitty will stop by his bakery to make sure things are still running smoothly without him, but they always end up back together by the end of the night.

Together, and happy.

[sedimentarydearwatson]

The adventures of Neus in the land of Oh Gods Why Does Everything Happen So Much.

Several days of running around has netted Neus a highly positive reputation in the Gilded Vale, a stronghold co-managed by a talking chair, four friends, a pet spider, and some mild concern she might take a flying leap off the sanity plank in the future if she doesn’t do something about this Watcher biz.

She actually wasn’t too perturbed by the spirit sight before the meeting with Maerwald. Outside the broad guideline of Do Good Things, Neus views as it her priestly duty to offer consult and comfort: not to grant forgiveness, necessarily, but to give advice or aid where able, and simply listen where there is nothing that can be done. The wandering therapist of Eora, if you will. Seeing spirits, then, seemed almost a blessing - both instrument and expanded ministry!

After Maerwald...”Well,” Neus says, staring down at the man’s gaunt frame. “Perhaps I was once a succession of fat and boring bakers?” The silence stretches too long before Edér clears his throat over-loudly and says “Sure, can’t rule it out” and elbows Aloth to prompt the muttered addition of something that is either agreement or the sudden onset of dust allergies. 

Anxiety is low - she genuinely doesn’t think it likely her past lives would be as dramatically bad as Maerwald’s, and she still finds the Watcher perks useful - but her own life has been quite enough to deal with without shouldering all the ones that came before it as well, and the restless sleeping is a bit of a trial, so it’s off to find the Leaden Key and see if the peculiar downsides of Watcherdom can’t be negated somehow.

In the meantime: friends! Neus and Edér hit it off pretty quickly in a “s-same god?” “same god!” sort of way; she’s delighted to find his feelings about Eothas align so closely with her own, while he’s frankly just flabbergasted to find an actual Eothian priest wandering around Dyrwood. Delving into the sad story of the Gilded Vale’s temple was a somber moment for the both of them, and his involvement in the Saint’s War is not a contentious point as yet, but it’ll be interesting to see where that story goes. Partly as a result of the fact he’s stuck at the head of my formation as the meatshield, I see him taking the lead a lot; he’s older, he knows the area, and he’s experienced in combat. The group’s quite democratic overall, and Neus is unavoidably the pivotal point of Weird Shit That Keeps Happening, but if Edér gives something that sounds like an order...there aren’t too many complaints. Yet.

Aloth is the first travelling companion Neus picked up who didn’t die shortly afterwards and she’s...patiently curious about the fact there is so obviously something up with him. It’s not exactly difficult to draw lines of comparison between his occasional strange outbursts and Maerwald’s cycling personalities, but she’s willing to respect his right to tell his story if and when he wishes, so long as he isn’t setting them on fire in their sleep. In the meantime, they both have that good old high Lore attribute so I assume there’s chatter about books and history going on.

Durance and Kana are comparatively new acquaintances (which isn’t saying much since everyone’s newly come together - she likes what she knows of Edér and Aloth, but that’s all of about six days worth of knowing) so opinions are still very broad. Durance is a crotchety and cryptic old bastard, but as a fellow priest with some knowledge of Watchers, she treats him with respect for now. Kana she likes for his cheer and honest nature, and she finds it very interesting to watch a chanter at work. Their powers combined, there is so much buffing going on in these dungeons you would not believe.

Acquiring ownership of a cursed keep was unexpected to say the least, and given how many unexpected events have piled on her this last week - she’s not quite calling it divine manipulation, yet, but it’s definitely in the realms of The Very Unsubtle Signs Of The Universe Suggest I Might As Well Make The Best Of It. If nothing else it’s ridiculously ironic to have been hitching a ride with ill-fated settlers only to end up with a larger chunk of land than they likely could have hoped for. The steward seems nice.

Lastly: I already know I’m going to spend the game excitedly shoving every single pet into my pockets, but Neus is particularly :D! about the pocket spider, which is building up to a fantastic aesthetic and I couldn’t be happier. 

[draco-omega]

Touhou Randfic #4

Yamame + Wriggle, ‘Sanctuary’

Run.

Run.

Just keep on running and don't look back.

Youkai were creatures of fear – born from it, sustained by it, shaped by it – but it wasn't very often that they were victims of it and even scarcer that they were so panicked they could hardly remember their own name. Then again, it also wasn't very often that one of them killed a villager with their own two hands, either.

Wriggle was having a very, very bad day.

She stumbled blindly through the winding tunnel, feet seeming to catch on every single spur of jagged rock there was to find. She'd lost all sense of how long she'd been running now – how far she'd come, where she was going, or even what direction she was travelling in.

Away. That was all that mattered.

Her cape snagged on a spiny protrusion from the cavern wall and cut her momentum abruptly short, at first strangling her and then pitching her sideways onto the ground for what had to be the third time at least. She barely felt the impact.

A villager was dead and she was absolutely 100% to blame; youkai simply didn't survive doing those kinds of things anymore – at least not small fry like her. If Reimu caught up with her, it was all over; no more cozy little treehouse with its rafters dotted with beetles, no more picket fence covered in honeysuckle for the bees to drink from, no more danmaku or gardening or teaching silk worms to weave patterns together. She'd been making a scarf for Mystia just this morning, in fact. She'd even been considering making a business of it; a youkai could do that sort of thing in this modern world, after all.

But not anymore. There was no going back now. Not that the Underground was much less frightening, but a kasha she'd met at Myouren Temple a few months back had told her the rumors about the people who lived down there were lies; that the Ancient City welcomed everyone, from misanthropes to miscreants to the merely misunderstood.

Even murderers? she wondered.

Oh course, no place in Gensokyo was truly safe from the Hakurei Shrine Maiden, but maybe she wouldn't bother to look for her down here. Or maybe she'd get just as lost as she was in all these endless twisting passageways that never seemed to-

“Erk.”

This time, it wasn't her cape that was to blame for the sudden stop. Whatever she'd just run into, she'd done it face-first. It felt... sticky?

“Well, now; this ain't somethin' ya see everyday,” came a voice from somewhere above her.

Wriggle felt torn between terrified silence and a frankly-embarrassing shriek, but somehow managed to fumble out a faint “Who's there?” instead.

There was no immediate answer, but she felt a shadow descend behind her – silent and menacing and quite a lot larger than she was. She tried to crane her head around to look at it, but it was firmly stuck to whatever springy mesh-like object was blocking the passageway.

A web, she slowly realized. An absolutely colossal spiderweb.

“Heya!”

Wriggle's heart ran cold even before the words reached her ears. Looming above her was an earth spider, all limbs and eyes and ravenous malice. She wasn't going to have to wait for Reimu to find her, after all. That spider was going to dig its fangs into her neck, wrap her up, liquify her flesh, and then-

“Hey, thanks for bein' scared of me and all,” Yamame said cheerfully, “but y'know it doesn't actually work unless you're human.”

“Huh?”

She shrugged expressively. “Just doesn't taste the same, y'know? What brings a surfacer all the way down here, anyhow? What, with the so-called prohibition and all.” She asked the question so casually it could be mistaken for an inquiry about the weather. For a moment, Wriggle wasn't even sure how to respond.

“I... um....” The firefly paused, fidgeted, and succeeded mostly in getting her left arm even more stuck in place than it already was. The earth spider's grin looked surprisingly cordial, but maybe she was just playing with her food. No spider could ever have an insect's best interests at heart. ...could they?

Well, it didn't seem to matter very much at this point, anyway.

“I did something terrible,” she said eventually.

Yamame grinned at her. “Do tell!”

“No, I- I.... really terrible.”

“Heard ya the first time.” Though she didn't sound particularly annoyed by it.

Wriggle hesitated again. Somehow it was hard to admit it out loud, even to another youkai – spider or no spider. Maybe if she just didn't say it, then it would all go away somehow.

“I killed a villager.”

“Wow, a little thing like you?”

“Hey, don't look down on bugs!”

She'd spat the words on reflex and immediately regretted them as soon as she remembered the perilousness of her situation. The only insects nearby were a couple of cave crickets and a small flatworm – hardly enough to dissuade an earth spider, no matter how willing they might be to sacrifice their lives for her. Did the youkai down here even respect spellcard rules?

But Yamame just laughed. “Damn straight – us creepy-crawlies gotta stick together, hey?”

“I thought argiope ate fireflies,” Wriggle said with a frown.

“Yeah, well they don't sing karaoke either and you oughtta hear me on open mic night.” She grinned shamelessly. Wriggle just blinked. “Anyway, you were saying?”

“Oh. Right.” The firefly youkai took a deep breath, somehow feeling calmer while trapped in a spider's web than she had for hours – exhaustion, perhaps? “It was the son of one of the cloth merchants in the village,” she began. “I'd seen him once or twice before while checking up on the silkworms his father keeps. He was out on a... picnic, I guess? Or just wandering around looking to cause trouble – it was out past the farms on the outside of the village walls, anyway.” She paused. “I saw him... pulling the wings off dragonflies.” Even in her exhaustion, the memory still seethed a little.

“So you killed 'em.”

“No!” Wriggle waved her arms in dismay – or rather set the web to undulating like a runaway waterbed while her arms remained fixed in place. “I just... I just told a couple bees to go sting him a little. You know, to make him stop it.”

“Uh-huh.”

“He was allergic.” Wriggle hung her head in shame. “Really, really allergic.”

She'd flown into a panic the moment the boy's face had turned blue, but she couldn't just barrel through the village undisguised to look for a doctor and Eientei was so far away and she always got lost every time she went looking for it and before she'd even figured out what she could do, he'd stopped breathing altogether.

“So yer running away from the surface then, hey?”

Wriggle nodded faintly.

“Well, if anyone asks me, he took a swing at a beehive and it's his own damn fault.”

“....really?”

“Really.” Yamame grinned. “Far as I'm concerned, the guy had it comin'. Bet he didn't even wanna eat those dragonflies,” she grumbled. “Humans have a bloody strange sense of taste, let me tell you.”

Wriggle paused; for the first time all day, she felt the faintest hint of a smile tease the corner of her mouth. Maybe that kasha had been right, after all; they really weren't all bad people down here. They couldn't be, not if a spider was willing to help a fly – even a little. “Do you think there's really a place for me in the Ancient City?”

“You like booze?”

“...not particularly.”

“Well, we'll worry about that latter.” Yamame landed on the ground with a thump and then set to peeling the webbing off of Wriggle's back. “Let's get you out of my bat-catcher and I'll show you around the place. Y'know, I bet Ari could use another hand with those silkworms of hers....”

[clausvonbohlen]

Asclepius the God

It is a long time since I last posted here. I have to find some flow again, so please forgive me if the following is a bit disjointed. It also starts with a physical ailment, which is  uninspiring (and elderly), but it is merely a way in…

I have, for some time now, been suffering from lower back pain. It’s nothing dramatic, just a constant dull ache. But it is enough to kill my enthusiasm, in a very general way. Taking the dog for a walk, watering a plant… they become an effort rather than a pleasure.

There are different theories about the etiology of lower back pain. Some people say it is stress related (and, in my case, it came on at a time when I felt very tense). A friend of mine who is a practitioner of Traditional Chinese Medicine was more precise: it is specifically related to money trouble. The spine specialist in London was true to his scientific roots and diagnosed, with the help of an MRI, ‘mild joint effusions at L 4 – 5’. I asked him about the effects of stress. He said that stress and tension could make a problem worse, but that they could not be the cause of it.

I saw a chiropractor and an acupuncturist, neither of whom were able to effect any lasting improvement. In the end, the spine specialist prescribed painkillers, anti-inflammatories, and a course of physiotherapy. I followed this conscientiously over a period of months, also to no avail. Eventually, I went for an expensive cortisone and anaesthetic injection into the spine. The symptoms went away for a month, but as soon as those chemicals were no longer present in my back, the pain returned. I began to feel that I would just have to live with it; manageable, but joyless.

Here in Athens, a friend told me about about an ‘energy healer’ who had helped her a lot, and who was in any case an interesting individual. I thought to myself that I had nothing to lose, and I asked her for the healer’s contact details.

A week later, on a cold and drizzly February morning, I rang Iannis’ doorbell on a street in Pangrati - a comparatively quiet area of central Athens. Iannis came to let me in. He was a diminutive, smiling man in his late sixties or early seventies, with a lively, engaging manner.

We went into his apartment which was small, modern, and perfectly ordinary. On the walls were a few of those tricksy landscape paintings that are sold by street artists. I was about to launch into a description and history of my complaint, which so far I had not told him anything about, when he stopped me by holding up his hand. ‘Let me diagnose you,’ he said.

I then stood in silence, fully clothed, in front of Iannis, while he put his hands lightly on my shoulders for a few minutes. Eventually he said, ‘You have lower back pain, a problem around vertebra 04, and you have had trouble with your right knee in the past.’

I was blown away by this. He was right about the knee too, it was a rugby injury that had plagued me for about 2 years. While driving, the pain used to force me to stop the car every half hour to stretch my leg. But that was more than ten years ago, and since then I have not had any knee trouble.

‘Do you also sometimes feel that your heart beats irregularly?’ he asked. ‘No,’ I replied truthfully, and my belief in his omniscience diminished a little, though it is possible that he is right and I am not aware of it. He then said that my lungs were not breathing properly, owing to a problem some time ago. This is also true, I got pneumonia a few years back. He seemed to think that this was the more serious problem, since it affected the amount of oxygen in my brain and therefore also my general mood. But he thought that he would be able to treat all of these problems. When I asked how many sessions would be necessary, he blithely replied, ‘Just one.’

Iannis told me that he used a form of energy manipulation. ‘Like Reiki?’ I asked. ‘A bit like Reiki,’ he said, ‘but this is an ancient Greek technique, in the tradition of Asclepius, the God of medicine and healing. It is not written down anywhere. It has been passed down through generations of practitioners, but there are not many of us these days.’

Iannis told me to lie down on my back on his sofa with my eyes closed while he performed the energy manipulation above me. He told me to report anything I saw or felt, particularly any colours I saw. It lasted for about half an hour. Frankly, I did not see or feel a lot. Perhaps some warmth in my hands, and a slight vibration in my solar plexus. I saw a few greens and reds, but I could never be quite sure that I wasn’t imagining them, or willing them into being. But each time I reported a colour or a sensation, Iannis would respond with an encouraging, ‘Yes, very good.’

The treatment ended with the painful massaging of three pressure points, two on my left foot, and one near my heart. Then he asked me to stand up and walk around the apartment. I did feel a lot better, though the pain from my back had not gone completely.

I asked Iannis how he had performed the initial diagnosis. He said that it was by knowing himself very well, and then by sensing the energy  of another person through various sense modalities, including sound and smell. He said that it was not so much a gift as the result of single-minded dedication over a lifetime. He reiterated that what is absolutely fundamental is self-knowledge; only on that basis can one come to know others. That is rather what I think about psychotherapy.

I paid 70 Euros and left his apartment. It was still raining outside, so I decided to wait it out and treat myself to a coffee. As I sat in the café, the ache in my lower back returned, as persistent as it had ever been.

                                   *

 Some months later, I felt I needed to escape the summer heat of Athens. I got on my motorbike for a weekend trip to visit some of the Mycenaean sites in the Peloponnese. The Mycenaean culture was dominant from about 1600 - 1100 BC; it consisted of a number of small independent kingdoms – Mycenae, Sparta, Argos, Pylos, Tiryns, Midea, Thebes, Athens and a few others. This was the period subsequently made famous by Homer in the Iliad and the Odyssey. It is the factual basis for the myths and legends that he committed to paper between 500 and 1000 years later, and also the period that saw the birth of the first attested form of written Greek (called ‘Linear B’), which predated the Greek alphabet by several centuries.

                 I crossed the Corinth canal and then followed the small country roads down to ancient Epidauros. This was once a sanctuary of Asclepius - a site of pilgimage and the most famous healing centre in the ancient world. It comprised the temple of Asclepius, a hospital, a 160 room guesthouse, a bathing complex, a 14,000 seat theatre with near-perfect acoustics, and a sports stadium used for quadrennial games.

               The 14,000 seat theatre at Epidauros.

There were few other visitors that afternoon and it felt like a magical place. The pine trees appeared to pulsate with health. Beside the Temple of Asclepius are the remains of the rectangular Abaton; patients used to sleep in this building in expectation of a visitation, in their dreams, from Asclepius the healing God, commonly believed to take the form of a serpent. The God would advise them what they had to do to regain their health.

Beside the Abaton was the circular Tholos, the foundation walls of which formed a labyrinth that was used as a snake pit, full of harmless snakes. The pit may have served as a primitive form of shock therapy for the mentally ill. The afflicted would have crawled in darkness through the maze-like structure, guided by a crack of light towards the middle, where they would find themselves surrounded by writhing reptiles. One would need a very strong constitution not to find that shocking.

In the museum there was a sculpture of Asclepius holding a staff with a snake wrapped around it. This is the famous ‘Rod of Asclepius’ –  the symbol of medicine and healing arts that is still used around the world today (it should not be confused with the caduceus, the staff of Hermes, which has two entwining snakes and is more properly associated with commerce). Asclepius is also often depicted with a dog by his side, and some healing temples used sacred dogs to lick the wounds of sick petitioners.

               Asclepius and his snake-entwined rod.

Wandering around this peaceful temple complex, I wondered about the role of snakes in healing. It is a major theme in Amazonian shamanism. Snakes are probably the most common motif in Ayahuasca visions, and they play a significant role in the cosmologies and mythologies of many indigenous cultures. And indeed in our Western mythology too, going back to the serpent in the garden of Eden. Why are snakes so significant, and why are they associated with medicine and healing across cultures? I would like to know (there is an interesting theory in Jeremy Narby’s Cosmic Serpent, to do with the double helix of DNA, though it would seem to apply more accurately to two entwined snakes, rather than just one).

There was an area of shade at the back of the rectangular Abaton. Hanging on the wall was a photo of a relief sculpture from another Asclepian sanctuary (at Piraeus), depicting the kind of healing that may have gone on in this building. A patient was lying on a couch, and a healer, or perhaps Asclepius himself, seemed to be performing some kind of energy manipulation above him. It could have been me on Iannis’ couch.

     Relief sculpture from the sanctuary of Asclepius at Piraeus

                              *

 From Epidauros I drove to Nafplio. For 13 years, this small seaside town was the first capital of modern Greece, from the start of the Greek War of Independence in 1821 until 1834. At that time, as photos attest, Athens consisted of little more than ruins surrounded by a few farmhouses.

I spent the night in Nafplio, then visited the site of ancient Argos the following morning. It is on the outskirts of town, rather hard to find. Entry is free and the theatre is impressive, but  less so than Epidauros. Then I pushed on to Sparta, down to Kalamata, and finally up into the foothills of Arcadia.

In the early evening I passed through modern Megalopolis; it is a nowhere sort of place – an empty main street, a series of traffic lights, and strong winds - but  in ancient times there was a huge city here. From the road a few miles outside the modern town, I saw three Ionic columns standing unremarked in the tall grass of a tawny field, and behind them a flock of sheep and their shepherd. Who placed them there, and why? What were they once a part of? Which God was worshipped there?

I spent that night in the hillside village of Karitena. The night was blissfully cool after the sultry nights in Athens. The following morning I had to wait for the mist to clear, then I followed small, winding roads into the forested hills of Arcadia. I crossed the river Alpheus on an small stone bridge – Alpheus was probably the basis of Alph, the ‘sacred river’ that Coleridge glimpsed in his opium-inspired reverie, and whose ready-formed verses he subsequently committed to paper as the poem Kubla Khan.

I thought of the resonance of Arcadia, the traditional precinct of the nature god Pan. For later Roman poets, Arcadia was linked to the Golden Age - a time of innocence and primordial bliss, before the rot set in. Virgil claims Arcadia as his own in the climax to his Eclogues.

Arcadia came to be known as ‘Arkady’ in English, though Evelyn Waugh reverted to ‘Arcadia’ for the title of Book One of Brideshead Revisited: ‘Et in Arcadia Ego’. This is a memento mori in which Death is warning us that he will find us even in Paradise – the skull is forever grinning in at the banquet. But, one has to wonder, is that not what gives the meal its relish?

My GPS ceased to function on these tiny roads, and I was soon lost and had to retrace my route. But it was a beautiful drive and I felt profoundly grateful to live in Greece.

[dylanthoran-blog]

D&Da 4: Katak , The Legend

Callie and Rede left the town to head towards the predestinated meeting point. Neither of them had much to do in town besides trade a few items, so they figured they could head out early and have camp completely set up for when the rest of their party finally came around. It was nice and peaceful in the woods where they set up camp. Just another average, calm day of their travelling life often filled with interesting precarious moments. “How long has it been since we paired up?” Rede asked her while he worked on the tents.

“Oh geez…” Calie looked over at him, “A few years at least from when you ‘hired’ me on.” She wasn’t in any of her large plate armor as they hadn’t any plans to be causing trouble anytime soon. Rede found it nice to see her in more form fitting clothes.

Rede chuckled, “Turn out as stupid and boring as you first thought it was going to?” He teased her, “What was it you told me? It was probably a waste of time and a loss of money?”

Calie shook her head at him, “You’re never gonna let me live that down are you?”

“Oh hells no!” Rede immediately replied, “Only since you like it so much.”

Calie rolled her eyes and got back to work, “To be fair, it was a pretty good waste of time the first few months. No one wants to hire just two people for a job normally.”

“We got by well enough.”

“Speak for yourself,” Calie scoffed, “I was about getting ready to ditch your sorry ass before we ran into Shade and Gorgos.”

“Well, glad you didn’t.” Rede smiled at her, “This party would be lost without you.”

Callie laughed, “Oh trust me, I know.”

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

 Walker had immediately left his friends behind and headed straight to the tavern. With a bit of luck the owner hadn’t changed in the past few years and still owed him. As Walker flung open the doors he was surprised to see just how busy it was in here, being as early in the day as it was. Shrugging to himself he walked to the bar and jumped up onto one of the stools. “Whiskey, straight.” He quickly ordered as he noticed the barkeep, pleased to see it was the same owner.

“Right away, sir gnome-“ The barkeep stopped short as he saw Walker sitting in front of him. His eyes lit up and he walked over smiling to him, “Well I be damned! I didn’t think you’d ever come around these parts by now!”

Walker chuckled, “Just passing through the area with my friends. Honestly surprised you remember me.”

“I’d never forget the face of that gnome who saved my family, my tavern, my life.” He patted the bar in front of Walker, “Wait right here, sir, I’ve got something special in mind just for you.” The barkeep quickly ran down into his cellar before coming back out not long after with a large, dusty, auburn bottle that looked ages old. The barkeep set down the bottle and smiled widely, “I found this gem hidden quite well in a burnt down cabin a year after you helped me out.” He wiped off the dust from the label and turned it to face Walker.

Walker’s mouth dropped wide open. Katak, The Legend. It was by far the rarest whiskey to ever grace the world. There was a multitude of different rumors on who and how these bottles were made, but the truth was that no one really knew. There was no brewery who could lay claim to it, and no family who claim its ancestry. It simply appeared from seemingly nowhere…and sold for exorbitant prices. Walker slowly shook his head, “You…you can’t. I don’t-“

“Shhh.” The barkeep smiled at him, “I can, and I will.” He told Walker, “If you hadn’t spotted that my chest was a mimic I would have lost my life, and if not my life, it would have been the tavern followed by my wife, in which case I would have wished for it to be my life.” He paused for a few seconds, “They are my everything, lad, I’m not sure you understand, but-“

Walker raised his hand silencing the barkeep. He closed his eyes and took a deep, pained breath, “No…I understand. And I would’ve paid the same.” He bit his cheek for a short second before swallowing heavily and opening back up his eyes while grabbing the neck of the bottle, “Thank you.”

The barkeep looked down at the gnome with sorrowful eyes, “I’m sorry for-“

Walker shook his head, “Don’t be. It’s not your fault.” He forced out a smirk, “Plus, I wouldn’t be so good at spotting mimics if not for that…” Walker sighed.

The barkeep nodded at him, “Speaking of mimics…any luck finding one of the ones you were looking for?”

Walker shook his head, “No...trails went cold weeks after I ran into you. Now I travel with some new friends living on a small hope I’ll run across them one day.”

The barkeep beckoned for Walker to lean over for him to whisper in his ear, “Rumors got it that there’s a mimic in Castle Everclare with the human king, another one sneaking around in the elven red light city of Talama, and a third one way out in the trade capitol of Port Phishk.”

Rede nodded at him, “Hmm…no guarantee any of them will be ones that I’m looking for, but it’s always worth a shot. I’ll ask if my party is up for hitting any of those places. Can find good merc work in any of them.”

The barkeep leaned back, “Aye, you all could. Figured I’d do my part to help you on your vengeance quest.” He took a deep breath, “Anyways, shall you crack open that bottle?”

Walker smiled at him, “Pull out two glasses, at the very least you deserve a taste of it as well, my friend.”

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

 The sky was painted with pinks and oranges by the setting sun once Shade and Gorgos came running into camp. “What the fuck?!” Rede screamed at them as Gorgos dropped down a pair of dead bodies behind hers and Shade’s tent.

Shade laughed and gave Gorgos a high five, “Gorgos…you are a LIFE saver.” He patted her back smiling.

“Okay…” Calie started to speak up with the tone of a disappointed mother, “We put up with quite a bit of weird…and frankly fucked up shit from you Shade…” She shook her head taking a deep breath, “Why do you have two dead bodies?”

Shade smiled and nodded politely at her, “Thank you for being civil about it.” She said flashing a glare over towards Rede, “I need some parts from their bodies for potion making. Live humans are better, but frowned upon even more. So I use recently deceased ones…it’s not like they need their parts anymore.”

“What the hell potions do you need body parts for?!” Rede shouted at him.

“Oh, so you won’t question it when I collect goblin ears for potions, but now that it’s a body of your own race you care? Huh?!?” Shade shouted right back.

“That’s not!” Rede yelled in frustration, “It’s different!”

Shade shook his head, “Racist.” She mumbled before responding, “Part of my success is no one else knowing many of my elaborate recipes for my concoctions. Even though you could never make any of these, I’m not about to break that trend now.”

“Shade…” Calie shook her head, “Did you steal those bodies?”

“Pffffft!” Shade blew her off, “Don’t worry about it so much! I’ll have taken what I needed from them in no time and will return them right back from where I got them in the middle of the night.”

Calie brought her hands up to her face massaging her temples, “Oh dear gods Shade…we’re never going to be able to return to this town.”

Shade shrugged at her, “And that’s a problem because…?” As both Calie and Rede looked at him  like he was an idiot she continued, “This town is small and honestly way out in the middle of nowhere. We’d probably only return here if we set out to return here anyways!”

“On a principle level though!” Rede groaned at him, “You can’t just go stealing dead bodies!”

“I’m just taking a few parts of theirs!” Shade tried to convince him, “It’s not’”

“Guys!” Calie got their attention, “Guys…let’s just move on with life. Nothing we can do about it now Rede.”

Rede grumbled to himself, “Fine…fine…but DON’T do this again.” He snapped at Shade.

“Well, 1 won’t have to for quite some time after this. So you got a deal.” She faked a smile at Rede, “ No Walker yet?” He asked them.

“Not yet, no.” Calie responded.

“Hopefully he shows up soon, by far the best cook we got.” Shade took a deep breath, “Thanks for setting up camp guys, make’s our life much easier.”

“Yea no problem.” Rede reluctantly spoke up, “We like setting up camp.”

“Cuz you two had sex while doing so!” Walker’s voice caught everyone off guard as he walked into camp.

“Did not!” Rede immediately called out.

“I don’t know about that…” Shade teased him, “I’d believe-“

“You got no room to tease, Shade.” Walker cut him off as well with a smirk, “Anyways, what’d’y’all want for dinner? I’m starving.”

Calie quickly pulled out a huge hunk of cow meat before anyone could speak up, “Got this bad boy on sale today.”

“Hmmm…” Walker eyed it over closely, “Yea yea…that should cook up quite nicely.” He quickly ran over to his tent and pulled out his foldable cooking set, setting it up over the fire that Calie and Rede had previously started. Rubbing his hands together quickly Walker licked his lips, “A-ha!” He called out and grabbed the meat from Calie, “Got a plan.”

“So, Walker,” Rede spoke up, “You find anything exciting in town? Shade found two dead bodies for his potion making.”

“Alchemy.” Shade snapped at him.

Walker chuckled at them, “Not directly no…” He paused for a second, “Do we have an actual destination right now?”

“Nah.” Calie told him, “Just wandering looking for work.”

“Think we could head towards either Everclare, Talama, or Phishk?” He asked them.

“Why…?” Shade asked.

“Might be something of interest in all three of those places for me.” Walker admitted, “I would greatly appreciate it.”

Rede sighed, “We aren’t going to Everclare, but unless anyone else had quarrels with one of the other cities, I see no reason as to why we can’t. We’ll find some good work in either of those.” Everyone else shook their heads at them “Well there we go! Guess we have a destination now, which one would you prefer?”

Walker smiled at them, “Let’s hit up Talama. You all will have much more fun there and I can’t say I really want to return to Phishk.”

“You come from there?” Calie asked him.

“Yep!” Walker told her, “Spent most of my life there.”

“Why don’t you want to return then…?”

“Bad memories…”Walker grumbled, “Bad memories.”

“I can respect that.” Shade nodded at him.

“Anyways, it’ll be awhile before this meat’s all cooked up.” Walker told them as he slaved over it, “I’ll call y’all when it’s done.”

“Thanks, man.” Shade smiled, “I’d like to harvest what I need as soon as possible.” He turned and went with Gorgos behind their tent where the pair of bodies were.

“Where’d you learn to cook?” Calie asked him before she took off.

Walker smirked, “Wife couldn’t cook if her life depended on it and as a crime lord I had to host a lot of different races. I learned on the fly, and quickly became a master chef as well.”

“You have a wife?” Calie was shocked. She had never heard of him having a wife before.

Walker glanced over at her with pain in his eyes, “Now I like to cook to help keep my mind occupied.”

Calie nodded respectfully at him, “I’m…”

“Don’t worry about it, Callie.” Walker grimly told her, “You didn’t know because I don’t like to talk about it.” She sat there in silence staring at him, “I’ll call ya when the food is ready. Rede is waiting for you in the tent.”

“For the record we did not have sex!” She said as she slowly stood up.

“No, but that’s what you’re going to do now.” Walker chuckled as she stomped off towards hers and Rede’s tent.

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