#silver seems the sort to wear his heart on his sleeve for better or worse yknow

[pawtistictails]

Silver makes me insane man.

Like does he get a break??? Every time we see him it’s because when he returned to the future it was still bleak. Does that mean that he goes to the past to fight some big bad, and when he defeats it, he goes back, only for him to immediately leave again??? Does he show up in his friends lives years apart still carrying all the scrapes and bruises and singed fur from the last time they saw him?? Has every time we’ve seen Silver all been Silver’s Very Bad Week? Imagine you’re Sonic and the first time you meet this guy, he’s about the same age as you. And you keep meeting him as you grow up (or don’t I really have no idea what’s going on in their timeline) but he never does. You first met him when you were like 15 and he was 14. You’ve seen him so few times, but now you’re like 30 or so and he’s still 14. Still got that determined look to his eye. Still naive, and still injured. Dude I’d be crying into my pillow every night like give the kid a break. I think Amy or someone would start trying to convince him to stay in the past just so he doesn’t have to constantly fight all the time. I think he’d be too stubborn and determined to accept. He’d rather fight for every inch of his life and others, go to the future, swear, and go back to fight again.

Or does he get to actually see a good future for a little while, only to wake up one morning with everything changed? How would that work?? Would he be staying with some nice family, then all of a sudden wake up to nothing but an empty house full of ghosts? Would he cry and mourn for people who no longer existed in the first place? Before picking himself up to try and save them again? How does he even know where to go back to? How does he even know how to go back? I never played Sonic 06 but I think there was something to do with like Mephiles and a machine or something? But that timeline was erased so how does he do it now? Silver’s been alone his whole life and it seems like he’s the only survivor from his future. How does he know how to even speak? What if the few times he gets to come back to a good future, he finds himself in the middle of somewhere with an entirely different language? He’d love it, because there are living people, but he still wouldn’t have anyone to talk to or be friends with. He’d still be alone.

I can’t even put all my thoughts into coherence for this post just know that he’s swirling around my brain and I love him. My poor little disaster.

[5lazarus]

The Domestics

Alistair runs into an older elven woman on the battlements, watching the children play in the Skyhold courtyard below. They get to talking: isn't it nice that the mages get to keep their children now? Then, in the course of the conversation, Alistair figures it out. Alistair says, “I always wondered. What my life would’ve been like, if she could’ve kept me. I always kinda knew she didn’t have a choice. King’s bastards are the king’s, not whoever carried them. If she were a servant and if I’d end up in the kitchens or, better yet, the dairy. I really like cheese. But if she were a mage, I guess we never had any of that. Unless she ran away.” Read on Archive of Our Own here.

It’s snowing at Skyhold, which delays Alistair’s plans by a day. Anora cuts him loose, locking herself in the ambassador’s heated room with her furs, and he wishes he could change into less fine clothes and join the children in their snowball fight, or wander into the kitchens and see if he can sweet-talk the cook into giving him something hot and sweet to drink. He’s king, so he could ask for all the chocolate in Seheron, and doubtless the Inquisition would try to give it to him.

He walks the battlements so less people will see him and watches the battle in the courtyard below. The Inquisitor’s children seem to have made common cause with the servants’ kids against the visiting nobility; honestly it’s just a relief to see that it isn’t human against elf. Alistair, a tad self-conscious, touches his right ear. An older elf is watching them, smiling. Alistair wonders if she’s the mother of one of them below.

“Which one’s yours?” Alistair asks.

The woman says, “I’m only watching them for the Inquisitor. I’m their guard.” She’s got short black hair, threaded with silver, but her eyes are lively enough. She’s wearing green robes with a bit of Dalish-looking embroidery at the ends of her sleeves. She’s got an Orlesian accent, too. He didn’t know the Inquisition was working with elves from Orlais, didn’t Anora tell him to keep an eye out for Ambassador Briala’s livery?

“Oh.” He shouldn’t feel awkward, but he blushes anyway. He stares at the woman’s feet, toes poking out of those foot wraps, and wonders how on earth she’s not freezing. Alistair’s got a coat of heavy wool, trimmed in fur.

The woman notices he’s staring and says, matter-of-fact, “My circulatory system is different than yours. We conserve heat more efficiently than your people. Besides, I’m a mage. It’s easy to keep warm.”

That has him a bit miffed. Of course he knows elves are biologically different than humans; they can still breed, though. He’s evidence of that. He doesn’t feel the cold as intensely as the others at court, and he knows why. The servants at the palace can tell, even if he passes, for the most part. Eamon and Tegan talk all the time about how much he looks like his father, how much he looks like Cailan, but he’s seen enough portraits of them both to know how he differs.

Alistair says, again, “Oh. Cool. I’m half, you know.” It’s not that he’s discouraged from talking about it, but it’s never been something to advertise. Those with eyes to see it don’t need to be told, but right Alistair feels like he needs to justify himself, with the way she’s looking at him. Skyhold has had him wrong-footed; Leliana has been distant and he is finding it harder and harder to slip away from the King. Anora tells him that’s part of adulthood. He’s not so sure.

The woman says, “I know.”

Alistair folds his arms. “Really? Because I didn’t. What’s your name, by the way?”

The elf smiles sadly. “Fiona. I used to travel with the Grey Wardens, when I was young.”

Alistair says, “Really? The Grey Wardens don’t really let people leave. Unless, you know, you point out that yet another civil war is going to break out if they don’t let you put your ass back on the throne. What was your excuse?”

Fiona says, “I had a baby. It’s hard to keep a nursery going in the Deep Roads. The darkspawn get jealous.”

“Oh. Can’t be having that, they’re crabby enough as it is. Though I heard of a Warden who brought his cat into the Deep Roads too, scratched out the eyes of a hurlock apparently. You’re lucky, most of us can’t have kids. I can’t. Probably.” He thinks about his own natural daughter with Tabris and blushes at the lie, rubbing at the back of his head. It’s for her own good and the good of the realm he hasn’t brought her to court. It’s not an excuse, it’s a reason, and Morrigan has the spare heir anyway, if Anora can’t figure something out.

Fiona says, “I suppose it’s luck. The Circle took him away from me, and gave him back to his father.” She sounds wistful. “But under the Inquisition, the mages keep their children. It’s a different world now. There’s no going back.”

He thinks to himself, I’m not so sure—the disastrous plans for the Hinterlands, the riots in Denerim, the failure of the embassy in the Brecilian forest. He thought after the Blight, with this new alliance between elves, dwarves, and men, there would be no going back. Anora tells him it’s a struggle for the future and that reform doesn’t come in a day, perhaps not even their lifetime: sometimes they need to settle for establishing the groundwork for the next person to rule, like Maric did for them. But of course, Anora’s never had her cousin kidnapped and brutalized, or her father sold into slavery. That sort of perspective changes things.

Alistair says, “Really?” He scratches his head. “I look at things in Ferelden and wonder how things can stay so stagnant, and then you look at Orlais and how they’re eating themselves alive. And Orzammar, of course, which is basically a living fossil. People don’t like change. They’d prefer for things to stay the same, or even go back to how they were a generation ago.” He is surprised at the bitterness in his voice.

Fiona cocks her head and looks at him curiously. She says, “You’re too young to be talking like that. You must understand it comes in seasons—we flourish in spring and reap our harvest in summer, and then prepare for and suffer through the conservative reaction in winter. Sometimes it’s a harsh winter, and many do not survive. But then there is always the spring. You lived in Ferelden, you should know—from the Night Elves who freed your people from the Orlesian occupation to Clan Alerion securing the boundaries of the Hinterlands now, things have changed. You just need to…riot every so often, to make sure no one gets complacent.” She grins.

It’s nice to talk politics with someone who doesn’t know who he is, who thinks he’s just another wealthy Ferelden currying favor with the Inquisition, not a king staring down the religious cult that just carved itself a city-state at the border of his realm. Below the children are yelling. A couple of them are using magic to freeze the snowballs, and they’re having a fierce debate, interspersed with throwing said ice balls, on whether that’s fair.

Alistair says, “Then I hope you’re right. I hope the mages and the Inquisition’s made enough of a, er, spring, to shake things up. It’s good for these kids to stay with their families, I hated what the Circle did. I didn’t know my mother, growing up. Would’ve avoided a lot of angst if I’d gotten to meet her.” He thinks about Morrigan and her awful mom, and then Goldanna flashes through his mind. Ashamed, he pushes the thought away. “Or maybe it would’ve made it worse! Hard to say, I certainly don’t know!” He smiles at the woman brightly.

Fiona says, “It might have made it worse, since she was an elf. Your life would’ve looked very different, even in Ferelden.”

His heart stops. Surely she doesn’t know who he is. That could be awkward, considering what he’s been saying. Anora will be furious that he’s gone off and talked politics with another random person again. He can’t help it, he gets bored easily, and the courtiers and advisors only tell him what they think he should want to hear.

“How do you know I’m Ferelden?” Alistair asks suspiciously.

“You’re wearing the badge on your fur coat. And, of course, your accent. Unless I am mistaken?”

“No, no,” Alistair says. “But yeah. Sorry. I don’t know much about her. Don’t know if she’s still alive. Just that she was an elf. Always assumed she was a serving woman or something, if my father was anything like C-Caleb.”

Fiona says, “Sometimes it’s better not to think about it, how we came into the world. I never met my parents either.” She leans against the balustrade and shakes her head at the kids fighting in the courtyard below. They’ve devolved into outright brawling, but that weird Warden the Inquisitor keeps around her has waded into the fray, bellowing orders. “It’s good to see them playing again. They never had enough time to play.”

“When were you a Warden?” Alistair asks. “You know, my dad travelled with the Wardens too. But they didn’t make him join up—guess that’s why I’m here, ha-ha.” He wants to ask her if she ever met him, because they might have overlapped. It’s hard to tell with elves sometimes though, they age more slowly, but she looks like she’s in her late forties, a bit careworn. Then he decides he really doesn’t want the conversation to get weird, because he is a king and his father was a king, and it’s rare that someone speaks to him normally now—treats him like the lovable idiot he knows he is, not the history-breaking king.

Fiona says, “Oh, give or take thirty years or so. I try not to count the years, at my age. My people live a long time if left unmolested, but I have a knack for running into trouble.”

Alistair laughs. “Oh, me too! I don’t even mean to do it, I’ve just never learned to keep my mouth shut.” To Teagan and Anora’s chagrin, he thinks ruefully. “I was given to the Templars as a boy, before I managed to get the Wardens to take me, and Maker! The Mother despaired of me. Called me most the accidental heretic she’d ever known. Really the Wardens taking me saved my life, Maker knows what they would’ve done to me if I kept poking at them like I was.”

Fiona pauses, trying to suppress a laugh, and then says, “At least you’ve never started a war.”

Alistair laughs heartily at that. Then he realizes what she’s said. “Wait, what? You started a war?”

Fiona says, “You…you didn’t know?”

Alistair says, “Is there something I should know?”

Fiona steps away, smoothing her expression away. “Many things.” Anxiously she peers down into the courtyard, smoothing her sleeves over her hands. The two factions of Skyhold children have joined forces and are attacking Blackwall with snow, but another one of the Inquisitor’s companions has joined the fray—a cackling elvhen girl, and then Alistair sees that from the balcony of the inn there’s a mustachioed mage swatting snowballs away from his friend.

Alistair says, “You never asked me my name.”

Fiona glances at him and then turns away. “I didn’t need to. You look very much like your father. Though I suppose you must know that.”

Alistair opens his mouth and then closes it. He says, voice hoarse, “Did you ever—“ He stumbles over his words, and clears his throat. “Did you ever find out what happened to your baby? When the Circle took him away.”

Fiona hesitates. The silence between them is filled with the children laughing below, the mage grandiosely chanting what are clearly made-up words, and the old Warden dramatically pretending to be overwhelmed by the volley of snow. The elven girl is swearing revenge, right now. It looks the children are trying to steal the “body” and make a pyre out of snow.

Alistair says, “I always wondered. What my life would’ve been like, if she could’ve kept me. I always kinda knew she didn’t have a choice. King’s bastards are the king’s, not whoever carried them. If she were a servant and if I’d end up in the kitchens or, better yet, the dairy. I really like cheese. But if she were a mage, I guess we never had any of that. Unless she ran away.”

Fiona covers her face with her hands.

Alistair continues, “Then, yeah, being apostates suck. Believe me. I met a girl who lived in a swamp. But I think we could’ve made it work. Like since I pass, and I’m not magic—at least I don’t think so, but I think I’d know by now? I’m like, thirty-five. Or something. I could’ve gone to the villages and traded for food. And I would’ve known more about who I am. Than just Maric’s bastard. Who’s just a story, anyway. That’s how kings like that end up. Just stories.”

His mother is weeping now.

He says, “I have no idea how you started that war you said you did. But I think I know what I’m supposed to know.” He takes a step closer, and she doesn’t move. He says, helplessly now, “I think I have your eyes.”

Fiona leans against the balustrade, back to the courtyard below. She’s not crying now, but she’s not making any sound. Alistair is afraid to go closer. Her hands press into her face like a mask, restraining a scream. He thinks if he touches her, all that tension will explode. He gets overwhelmed like that too. Can you inherit that sort of thing? He has to wonder, does the way one expresses pain get passed down in the blood?

He waits for her to speak. A door behind them creaks open, footsteps scuffle to a stop, then retreat. The door shuts. The mage has come down into the courtyard now and is chanting what appears to be Nevarran over the pile of snow that is Blackwall’s pyre. The elven girl is leading the children in mourning—but then the mage flourishes, and the snow glows purple, then scarlet, then green as he sparks. Blackwall throws the snow off and roars. The children cheer.

Fiona breathes heavily, drawing herself out of wherever she retreated. She swipes at her face with her sleeves. She says, “Forgive me. It was better that you didn’t know. You couldn’t have become—you deserved—Maric needed—what are you going to do, I told the Divine to go fuck herself, you can’t have a mother who told the Divine—“

Alistair says, impressed, “You told the Divine to go fuck herself? I am your son, I knew it had to come from somewhere! This is your fault!” He gestures at himself, and Fiona manages a laugh.

“An exaggeration,” she says. “I merely said the Divine should fuck herself, right before we voted to dissolve the Circles and separate from the Chantry. I’d hoped to tell her that at the Conclave, which is why they sent Orsino rather than myself.” Her mouth twists into a rueful smile. “Perhaps the only time running off my mouth and losing my temper has saved my life.”

Alistair says, “Well, the Divine was kind of an ass. Somebody had to say it.” He laughs. “Oh, this is wonderful. My mother, the rebel mage.” He’s genuinely delighted, this is much cooler than anything he came up with as a boy. “This is so cool. Anora’s going to be so annoyed when I tell her. Not like she can complain, her dad betrayed the realm and got all the Wardens killed, so really on the scale of shitty in-laws, I win.” He pauses: he isn’t sure he conveyed what he wanted to by that. Fiona is just staring at him. “But seriously, I don’t know who you are. Besides, obviously, my mother.”

Fiona says, disbelief in her voice, “I’m the Grand Enchanter."

Alistair says, “Oh Maker, I should’ve recognized the belt, shouldn’t I?”

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (27) || atz

You’ve learned that Hongjoong’s determination knows no bounds.

Because a week after that terrible little fiasco, he and Yeosang have gotten straight into planning how to slip into Nassau once again.

“Are you serious?” You had asked them, leaning over the map that they’re studying as you brought their dinner to them, Seonghwa’s masterpiece, beef stew. Hongjoong takes the bowl from you gratefully and starts to shovel the food down his throat, never once looking away from his map.

It’s a map of Nassau Island, with several navigational notes to it that you don’t understand, talking about tides, depth of the ocean and what not. Yeosang is pointing out a patch of map off the eastern coast of Nassau that is painted a darker blue than the rest.

“We could drop anchor here.” Yeosang says, gesturing to it. “And have two people take a rowboat out to the beach that Chin Hae and Wooyoung swam to the last time. They could retrace their steps from there.”

Captain nods as he studies the map intently, but his brow is furrowed. “I worry about the tide, though. It should be coming in, but anything could change.”

Yeosang shrugs, taking his meal from you with a grateful smile. “Thank you, Chin Hae. We can’t really do anything about the tide, since nature itself controls it as it will, but that’s a risk Seonghwa will have to take.”

Hongjoong nods once. “It’s final. This is what we’re going to do..” The navigator gets up, rolling the maps and tidal charts up, before giving you a quick smile. “I’ll go over the plan with Seonghwa, then. See you, Chin Hae!”

His fingers grasp yours as he leaves. Ever since the two of you had brushed death hand in hand, you find his fingers have instinctively begun seeking yours. It’s cute, the two of you are almost like twins now, two people cut from the same cloth.

The door swings shut behind you, and then you and Captain are the only two people left in the cabin since the time the crew discovered you are a woman.

Your captain looks at you for a moment as he unconsciously flexes the fingers of his right hand, the one he had crushed after San had told him of Yeosang’s condition.

It occurs to you that since waking up, you haven’t apologised to him yet.

You muster up all the courage you have in you, bowing before your captain deeply.

“I’m sorry, captain.”

Hongjoong must know what you’re apologising about, because his face stiffens a little. Then it relaxes, ever so slightly as he reclines in his chair, San having healed the damage done to his back during the week you were unconscious.

He opens his mouth to speak.

“I don’t accept your apology.”

Your heart stops in your chest. He doesn’t… accept your apology? You lift your head just a little to stare at him, and he gazes back it you, green eye firm and unyielding. When he speaks again, his voice is gentle, a little sad, a little hurt.

“I need to know why you lied to me, lied to all of us. I could have understood if you’d told us you were hiding the truth from us because you were afraid that we would leave you behind if we found out about your identity, but after you became part of our crew, there is no excuse, Chin Hae.”

All sorts of emotions swirl in you, the most prominent one guilt. You’ve hurt your captain, lied to the crew, and now you need to give them an explanation, except that you have none that makes sense.

“I…” You begin hesitantly, fingers fiddling with the hairpin at your belt. Its touch is cool and comforting, even if the man who gave it to you hasn’t said a word to you since you woke up. “I was afraid at first. Afraid that if you found out who I was, you’d leave me behind. But as I started to grow closer to all of you…”

The words choke in your throat.

Hongjoong’s expression is soft as he urges you to continue. “Go on.” The dam in you breaks, tears slipping past your eyes as the feelings that you’ve kept in so long spills out of you.

“I didn’t know how you’d react! I saw how all of you trusted me as one of your own and I was so afraid what you’d do if I told you I had been lying to you the whole time! I didn’t want you to be hurt, I didn’t want you to hate me! I just wanted to keep being Chin Hae, your crewmate! And now, everything has changed!” A sob leaves you and your eyes squeeze tight, unable to look your captain in the eye. You don’t want to see the look on his face as he tells you that this is a stupid reason, that you should have just come clean at the start.

But he doesn’t.

There is silence for a moment, then the scraping sound of a chair behind pulled out. You hear soft footsteps on the cabin floor approaching you, and for a moment, you’re actually afraid that your captain might hit you.

Instead, two warm hands come to rest gently on your shoulders.

“What has changed?” He asks softly. You look up in shock to see your captain’s faces mere inches from yours, so close that you can count the stitches on his eye patch. You’ve always wondered why your captain needs an eye patch, just like how you’ve questioned why Wooyoung always wear shirts with longs sleeves even on the hottest of days and why he wears shackles around his wrists like a slave. But this isn’t the time for those questions.

“I don’t understand-”

“Nothing has changed.” Your captain tells you firmly, not a trace of doubt in his voice. “You are Choi Chin Hae, you are and have always been since the day I gave you that name. You are still part of the Treasure, part of my crew, one of my family. Even if you are a woman, a clay one, instead of a man of flesh, neither of those things change for me.”

Warm tears run down your eyes. You finally have something you had been searching for your whole life, a family who loved you like no other.

“Why I wish you had told us earlier… is because we could have protected you better, made your life easier on this ship instead of having you live a lie.” Hongjoong says honestly, his hands are gentle as he squeezes your shoulders. Something in his voice cracks. “I regret, with every fibre of my being, being unable to protect you from that commander back in Nassau.”

You don’t understand your captain. He was getting whipped within an inch of his life because of you, and the thing that weighed most heavily on his mind was being unable to protect you?

“I’m… sorry, captain.” You manage to stutter, still utterly in shock. But your captain shakes his head, his green eye staring at you meaningfully.

“I believe that apology is better saved for someone else, Chin Hae.”

You immediately know who he’s speaking about. Your fingers touch the silver sea flower wrought into the head of the hairpin.

“I will.” You tell your captain, determined to make amends. Even if he doesn’t forgive you for betraying him, you still owe him an apology, at the very least. “But I’m still sorry for causing you all this burden, captain.”

Hongjoong laughs, stepping back as his hands fall from your shoulders.

“Didn’t you hear what I said to Seonghwa the last time? I want you to tell me all your problems, burden me with everything, share life with me and the crew. We’re a family.”

The tears that slip from your eyes, this time, are ones of happiness.

“Yes, captain.” You manage choke out, and before you’re overcome with emotion, you move for the door, intent on finding the head gunner. But when you’re out of the cabin, stepping onto the main deck, a call from your captain makes you whirl back to look at him.

“Chin Hae?”

You’re a little confused by what he wants to say. He seems to be pondering something, rolling the thought around in his mind. You prompt him, curious about why he seems to be so hesitant.

“Captain?”

Finally, he smiles, and your breath catches in your throat from how it highlights every part of his face even in the gloom of his cabin.

“Call me Hongjoong.”

And with that, the door closes in your face with a soft click.

A happy laugh leaves through your tears. The words seem almost instinctive to you now, more free on your tongue than they have ever been. Before, you had been part of the crew, but now, you are part of the family.

“Of course… captain.”

A light feeling blossoming in your heart, you wipe the tears from your eyes and look up to the sky with a smile.

And you see a dark shape in the rigging, swaying back and forth with the wind, looking utterly alone.

Concern wells in your chest. San had told you that Wooyoung had been been remaining in the rigging for the past week you had been unconscious, only visiting your bedside once. During that time, he had refused his meals, snapped at everyone who had attempted to talk to him and had literally drunk himself half to death. In fact, he probably would have, San had told you grimly, if he hadn’t gotten into a massive fist fight with Jongho.

The maknae had tied a rope around Wooyoung’s waist, picked him up and thrown him into the sea to sober off. After that, the gunner had stopped downing alcohol like he was trying to drown himself in it, but it evidently wasn’t enough to stop him from separating himself from everyone like he had the plague.

Worse of all, Yunho had confided in you, eyes worried, that Wooyoung seemed to be regressing back into the behaviour he had exhibited when he had first come to the ship. He had ignored Hongjoong’s orders, which simply doesn’t happen on this ship, and had even refused to speak to Yunho or Yeosang.

Lonely, afraid and terrified of interacting with anyone around him.

You need to apologise.

Crossing the main deck, you make your way to the foremast, climbing up to the forecastle deck. The dark shape above you continues swaying precariously in the ropes above, uncaring of anything below it.

You exhale deeply, trying to muster up the courage to speak.

“Wooyoung!”

The dark shape jerks, almost tumbling out of the rigging, to your horror. But his hand flashes out instinctively from years in the ropes, gripping tight onto the sheets, and he rights himself, glancing down.

His eyes meet yours for a second, and in that moment, your heart shatters.

You honestly don’t know what you were expecting when you met him face to face again. You remembered, more than anything else, that his face had been the last thing you’d seen when you slipped into your tangle with death itself, streaked with tears and grief. You couldn’t exactly recall what he’d said or you’d said, but you had seen his face in your dreams more times than you could count.

But in none of them had he looked like this.

The person staring back at you looks like a man haunted, as if he’s just surfaced from a terrifying nightmare, trapped in the shadows of his own mind, desperately wondering if he’s still merely wandering about in the darkness. His normally immaculate purple hair is mussed, as if he hasn’t bothered with it for weeks, and his mouth hangs open in shock.

Then he smooths it over the best he can, but you can see the wounded, terrified look in his eyes right before it slips away behind his mask. Hiding his true self in front of your eyes.

“I’m coming up.” You call, and you don’t think you’ve seen him more panicked your entire life.

His eyes fly wide in horror and he opens his mouth to protest, but then immediately shuts it before a word can escape him, much to your confusion. You place your hands on the rope, the thick lengths twisting under your grasp as you begin to haul yourself up.

It’s been a long time since you’ve touched the ropes, but you’re sure it’ll come back to you soon. You’re just not sure whether it’ll come back fast enough to catch Wooyoung, who’s scurrying away from you up the mast like a terrified monkey. Honestly, your limbs are still weak from your long bedrest and you doubt that you can catch the man who’s practically lived in the ropes for half his life, but you need to at least make an effort for all the pain you’ve put him through.

“Wooyoung, wait!” You shout, chasing him up as fast as you can. He doesn’t look back once, scrambling as fast as he can to avoid you at all costs. But there’s only one way he can go, and that is up. Eventually, he reaches the top of the mast, and there’s nowhere else for him to go. His eyes widen as he realises this and he glances at your approaching figure like it’s the devil itself come for him.

Then his eyes flicker to the side and you gape, a swear starting to emerge from your mouth. “Wooyoung, no-”

But it’s too late. He’s already jumped across the rigging, catching onto the ropes of the main mast and hiding from your sight behind the wooden pillar.

“Are you serious, Wooyoung?” You grumble, grabbing a rope from the side and swinging across to him. The wind and warmth of the sun caresses your face as you grab onto the ropes of the main mast, barely catching a glimpse of his eyes as he leaps to the mizzenmast.

Honestly, if you follow him again, he’s probably just going to jump into the ocean to avoid you and you’ll never get to apologise to him. Then a dumb, reckless plan pops into your mind and you start climbing higher and higher, as fast as you can.

“Do you trust me?” Wooyoung had asked you once.

You had replied with a joking ‘not at all’, but deep in you, the words still stayed the same, no matter what had happened between the two of you.

With my life.

“Wooyoung!” You call, and from your time together in the rigging, learning about the way each other thinks, moves, breathes, he can sense something in the air. One eye peeks around the wood of the mast, only to widen in horror as he sees you stand at the highest yardarm, arms outstretched, only holding on to a single length of rope in hand.

It’s a trick that the two of you had developed, before the mission, before Nassau, before any of this had happened. It had just been the two of you, you resting against him in the crow’s nest, your intertwined hands in his coat pocket for warmth as you had watched the sun vanish behind the sea and the stars twinkle to life in the night sky.

You want, for a moment so desperately it hurts, to return to that time.

“No, don’t do it-” You see him begin to shout in raging alarm and panic, but you simply grin at him, wild and breathless from the sheer stupidity and recklessness of what you’re about to do. You’ve never done it from this high before, but you place your faith in Wooyoung, closing your eyes.

“Catch me.”

With that, you jump.

Wind rushes past you for a second as you seems to hang in free fall, but you’re not the least bit scared like you should be. In a single breath, something warm slams into your body, sending you flying backwards. Strong arms wrap around you, one around your waist and the other catches the rigging behind you. Your entire body jerks as you come to an abrupt stop, tangled in the ropes and in Wooyoung’s arms.

His body is warm against yours, pressing you to him. For a moment, relief sags in you.  

Your eyes fly open, only to see Wooyoung’s eyes staring straight into yours, pupils still dilated from fear.

Then his mouth opens, and from incensed look on his face, you’re about to get a tongue lashing.

“What were you thinking-” He rants, furious at your actions. But you aren’t paying attention to his scolding, instead, your eyes flicker over the sickly, bloodless pallor of his face, the way his jawline looks too sharp from lack of proper eating, skin stretched over his bones, how gaunt he looks with sunken cheeks. There’s a healing bruise on his cheekbone, still fresh, put there presumably by Jongho.

Your heart breaks clean in half when you study the dark circles under his bloodshot eyes, as if he hasn’t slept the entire week, how the white colouring of his skin makes them look like dark bruises.

“And do you know how dangerous that little stunt was? What would you have done if I hadn’t gotten to you in time? I can’t believe-” His words are cut off in a breathless gasp as your hands reach up to cradle his face gentle, thumbs brushing the soft skin under his eyes. He stares at you with wide eyes, terrified but so desperately unwilling to pull away from your touch, a war raging in his heart.

“You haven’t been sleeping well?” You murmur softly, tracing his cheeks and for a second, in a moment of weakness, he gives into your warmth, pressing his face into your hand. For a while, everything is right again with you and him, two people seeking comfort in each other.

That’s what the two of you have always been, a refuge for the other.

Then he catches himself and yanks himself from you, clapping one hand over his mouth, turning away so that you can no longer see his face.

“Go.” You hear him choke out, the words muffled by his hand as he sits down on the yardarm, unwilling to look at you in the eye. But you’ve had enough.

“Stop running from me, Jung Wooyoung!”

He seizes up at his full name. Nobody on board this ship calls him that, aware that his family name isn’t a real one. It’s something Hongjoong gifted him with when he had become one of the crew, a precious treasure of incomparable worth to him. But when you use it, he knows you understand the weight of it.

Having a name, when before you had none.

You see him shake his head and bury his face in his hands, knees curled up to himself. He doesn’t want to speak.

Crossing over to him, you crouch before his form. Initially, you had thought he was angry at you and merely didn’t want to talk to you out of fury at being lied to like that, but now you feel like it runs so much deeper than that.

“Wooyoung, talk to me, please.”

He shakes his head again, a little more frantic this time. You hear a sob torn from his chest and the sound of pain, anguish, agony makes yours ache in return.

“I’m begging you, Wooyoung. Please. Please talk to me.”

He remains completely still apart from the silent cries you can hear trapped in his chest. You’ve never seen him this vulnerable before, like a child who wants nothing more than to run to his parents for comfort, but doesn’t have any.

Someone who doesn’t know how to be told that it’s all going to be okay.

You rack your brains furiously for what happened to make him like this. Back and back and back, to that moment in the captain’s room, to when Wooyoung looked at you with eyes burning with ice cold fury. You see his lips move, and then you remember what he had said to you.

I wish… I wish you had died that first battle after Raguza... I wish you had never come to this ship.

“I didn’t mean it…” You hear Wooyoung’s soft whimpers as his body is wracked with the force of his sobs. Your heart breaks as you finally realise why he’s afraid of speaking to you any longer, why he won’t look at you in the eye. “I never wanted for any of that to happen… I never wanted for you to get hurt like that…”

A tear escapes you, a single drop rolling down your cheek.

He blames himself for what you had done.

Then you move forward, arms wrapping around him. His entire body stiffens in shock at your touch and he tries to shy away, but you cling to him, unwilling to let him go this time. Your chin rests on his shoulder, so close to him you can hear his heartbeat in your ears.

“I forgive you, Jung Wooyoung.”

“Don’t-” He chokes past tears, and another shudder runs through his entire body. “Don’t forgive me.”

You smile at him fondly even if you know he can’t see it. “Then you forgive me for lying to you.”

“I don’t blame you for that.” He sniffs, wiping his eyes but face still hidden in his arms. “You had every reason not to tell me. I had no right to say anything like that to you.”

“If you don’t let me forgive you, Wooyoung, I’m going to jump off the mast right this second.” You tell him, pulling away. Wooyoung’s hands rush to grab your wrists, pulling you tight to him, his chains jingling in your ears.

“Forgive me, forgive me-” He chokes out, wheezing from the heart attack he has almost gotten. You laugh, curling yourself into his chest where you’ve always sat before as you watch the sun begin to set before your eyes, turning the sky golden and blue.

This time, you take his hand in yours and place it in your pocket.

“I do.”

[wylanvnneck]

This 2 part fic was written for the Secret Snusband Gift Giveaway hosted by @jurdannet​ and @jurdannetrevels​ for my lovely Knife Wife @lilacs-with-lavender​.

Rating: T for Tyrannosaurus

Summary: Inspired by an episode of my favourite Cop TV show, ‘Castle’, in which a bet takes place with pretty high stakes, although the plotline has been tweaked to fit this fandom. My Knife Wife said she loved the Enemies to Lovers trope so that’s what I’ve (tried to) write here and I hope you enjoy the story of Homicide Detectives Jude Duarte and Cardan Greenbriar and their mutual enmity.

Warnings: Not so graphic descriptions of murder and mention of drugs. (Really not sure what I need to tag, so please let me know if I’ve missed something.)

Posted as a Gift on AO3 | Part 1 | Masterlist

Part 2

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“Lil, It’s 7.15 and I still need to decide on a dress, help!”

The ever helpful Liliver is currently perched on her bed, legs crossed and unruffled in stark contrast to Jude’s frantic rummaging of her sparse closet. She comes across a sparkly orange sequin dress that she holds up for her friend’s inspection.

“Honey. You’d look like a broken disco ball.”

“The girl at Saks said sequins were in.”

“She lied.”

Ugh. Damn Greenbriar for his stupid bets and his stupid dinners and his stupid brain which occasionally stumbled upon solutions. Defeat was a bitter pill to swallow.

She’s contemplating over whether to excuse herself for the night by pretending to have an infectious disease which requires keeping all other humans at a distance of five feet, when the doorbell to her apartment rings.

“Lil, would you mind answering the door for me please?” she asks, conscious of the fact that she was dressed in only her underwear.

“Sure, but when I come back you’d better not be wearing that ghastly hot pink dress I saw in there,” her friend calls as she unravels herself from the cozy mattress and leaves the room.

Foiled again. Jude’s just about out of options and the only thing that she can fathom being worse than having to be Cardan’s fake girlfriend for a night, was having to do so while being completely underdressed and out of place in a roomful of his father’s closest business associates.

“There was a package delivered to your doorstep,” Lil says as she re-enters the room, carrying a white parcel in her hands.

“A package? But I haven’t ordered anything.”

“Open it, maybe there’s a note,” she hands it over. The detective inside of Jude is wary, but she’s too curious to not open it so she gently rips open the package’s wrapping to reveal a large square box tied with a silver ribbon and tag attached to it. ‘Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo’ are the only words written on it. She knows immediately who it’s from and she feels an answering surge of anger along with an emotion that isn’t easy to decipher.

“I knew he was arrogant, but this-” She roughly unties the ribbon and tears open the lid  and inside is the softest folded up material that she’s ever seen. Gently, she takes it out and it unfolds, turning into a simple but gorgeous black cocktail dress with an A-line skirt and off the shoulder sleeves, the picture of elegance.

Lil’s silver eyes are wide when she lets out a low whistle, “Damn.”

Jude is speechless.

“Wow.” Cardan’s voice sounds slightly higher pitched than usual before he clears his throat, standing just outside Jude’s doorway. “You clean up nice, detective.”

With a little help from Lil, she had accessorised the dress with a silver choker necklace that had belonged to her mother and a small velvet clutch. Her hair was carefully put up with dozens of little bobby pins and she feels sexy and ready to conquer whatever the Greenbriar family had in store for her.

Cardan himself is dressed in a coal coloured suit, a silky scrap of fabric tucked into his jacket pocket, shiny enough to match his eyes. There’s the faintest shimmer of gold on his defined cheekbones and his curly locks are just untidy enough to look stylish and it’s unfair how handsome he is.

“So do you.”

He steps back and holds out his arm for her in the way that gentlemen did in those historical dramas that Lil was always forcing her to watch and it shouldn’t have made her blush as she clutches the soft fabric covering his arm, but it did. She blames it on the corridor’s harsh fluorescent lighting.

Together they glide to the elevator and wordlessy head to the garage where Cardan’s sleek grey Maserati stands out amidst the other rundown cars belonging to the other apartment tenants, her neighbours, yet another reminder of all the differences between the two of them.

“Your carriage awaits you, my lady,” he opens the door for her, something that most of her few disastrous dates had neglected to do in the past and she’s so used to thinking of him as an indecorous scoundrel that him being so courteous was almost unwelcome. She’s not used to spending time with him outside of work and she’s strangely out of her element.

Cardan goes round and gets in on the other side and Jude secures her seatbelt as he starts up the car and swivels his head around to watch the back of the car before reversing.

They’re cruising along in his car and the only noise is the smooth purr of the Maserati and it smells of the pine air freshener that he’s pinned up to the rearview mirror. She leans back in her smooth leather seat and watches as they pass by buildings and skyscrapers and shops, the city buzzing with nightlife.

“So, what exactly is it that I’ve gotten myself into?”

Cardan takes his eyes off of the road to shoot her a swift glance before focusing back ahead of him, one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the gear stick. 

“Well, it’s a dinner party with some of my father’s closest friends, all of them snobs and all of them with their own agendas. I suppose I should also mention that this party is to celebrate the win of his company’s recent lawsuit.”

“Sounds like it’ll be wonderful.” Her words are dry with sarcasm. She has no desire to spend the night making polite conversation with aristocratic stiff necks who would look down upon her, but a bet was a bet and she had to admit that so far Cardan wasn’t making her regret her decision to agree to his challenge.

He surprises her by letting out a low and husky laugh, “You have no idea.”

There’s an awkward silence. 

“Thanks for the dress, by the way.”

“You’re welcome.”

For the short remainder of the ride the only sound that can be heard are the songs being played on the radio.

The party is in high swing by the time they get there, champagne glasses clink, waiters in their smart uniforms walk around carrying trays of hors d'œuvre  and the low rumble of conversation and piano music fills the air. The private outdoor venue is large and there are fairy lights strung on the bordering walls and tea candles on each table, creating an overwhelming effect.

There’s a slightly raised ramp at the other end of the entrance where a podium had been set up, complete with a banner displaying a fancy script that reads ‘Elfhame Enterprises’, which was the name of Cardan’s father, Eldred Greenbriar’s company.

Cardan has been holding her hand since he opened the car door once again for her and now, standing at the entrance of the party and waiting for his invitation to be accepted by the guard stationed at the gate, he squeezes her hand tightly in his and the act seems unconscious. There’s a tension clearly written on his face. 

For once she doesn’t need to raise her head to speak to him, thanks to her three inch heels and she leans over to discreetly whisper in his ear, “You ok?”

This time the gentle squeeze that he gives her is definitely on purpose.

 “I’m fine.” There’s the smallest of curves to his lips.

A diminutive lady with pale skin and Cardan’s sharp cheekbones and raven hair bustles up to them, a long stemmed wine glass filled to the brim held loosely in her hand. Jewels glistened on her long and low-cut gown, adding to the air of opulence that she exuded. 

“Cardan, you’ve finally arrived. Oh and you’ve brought someone with you!” 

“Hello, mother.” There’s a tightness in his smile. “Yes I did, allow me to introduce you to Jude Duarte.”

Stepping forward she firmly holds out her hand to Cardan’s mother and is graced with the barest of shakes in return, “You may call me Ma’am.” 

Ma’am? 

“Of course, thank you...Ma’am.”

Mrs. Greenbriar gives Jude a long and thorough onceover, dissecting her with cold eyes as if she were a mere insect and the feeling is extremely disconcerting. She looks to Cardan for support, but he looks just as out of depth offering her a look of sympathy with the features that so resembled his mother’s.

“So, Judie, what exactly is it that you do?”

She stands taller and staunchly replies, “I’m a Homicide Detective for the 12th precinct.”

“Ah. I see.” The words reverberate with barely hidden disappointment and distaste and just like that she no longer pays Jude any attention, turning to her son and reaching out to possessively clutch his arm and whisper something in his ear which makes him tighten his jaw further before bouncing off, wine spilling over from her glass.

“That was my mother.” Cardan says, unnecessarily.

“Right.” Jude couldn’t help what but wonder about what sort of a childhood he would have had to endure. Perhaps his mother hadn’t always been so disparaging. It seemed that there was a whole different side to Cardan’s life that she’d never known about.

“She's - hard to explain. I apologise for her behaviour though, she shouldn’t have treated you that way.” He’s sincere, but there’s also an underlying note of sadness. The type of sorrow that you would feel if you were let down yet again by someone that you always gave second chances to. Her heart gives a pang on his behalf. Before she can reassure him he continues, as if desperate to push the subject behind them. “Anyways, let me go get you a drink, what’ll you have?”

To the side of the grounds is a long table covered with a white cloth with various bottles of alcohol lined upon it, their colourful glasses glinting under the fairy lights. Behind the bar there’s a bartender in uniform, smoothly mixing drinks to order as rich elites look on.

“Um, maybe a Martini?” She names the first drink that comes to mind. 

“A Martini, huh? Dirty, perhaps?” His trademark flirty smirk makes a reappearance and Jude knows exactly how to handle it.

“Yup.” She pops the ‘p’ in what she hopes is a seductive manner. “Just the way I like it.”

His pupils seem to darken just the tiniest bit and his mouth makes a slight ‘O’ shape before he promptly turns on his heel in the direction of the bar muttering, “I’ll be right back.”

After a few moments of standing near the entrance, moving only to accept a smoked salmon canape from a passing waiter, Jude pulls out her phone from her purse to find multiple texts from Lil.

So? How’s it going?

If you need me to call and be your ‘family emergency’ so you can escape, I can totally do that, just say the word.

Jude

Jude

Judeee

You alive?

Biting back a grin she reassures her dramatic friend that she was definitely still alive. She’s just pressed send when she senses someone’s stare on her and something about it makes her skin crawl. She looks up and is met by the sight of a tall girl in a jade green V-cut and backless dress with vibrant blue hair. Nicasia.

“Why, Judie, fancy seeing you here!” Jude inwardly grimaces. Nicasia’s voice hadn’t gotten any less painful to hear since their last encounter. Standing in front of her now, she can’t help but think that she looked slightly ridiculous in all her fripperies, opaque pearls dangled from her ears and around her neck, gemstones glistening on her hair and cerulean eyeshadow that completely overshadowed the rest of her face. Strange to think that the last time they’d met, Jude had been plagued with envy, not even really knowing why.

She plasters a carefully manufactured, artificial smile on her face. “Nicky! What a delight to see you again!”

Nicasia’s face twists for a mere second before her cheerful and friendly facade is back in place. “Quite. Although, I can’t imagine how you’ve come to be here.” 

Her words are clearly a question, one that Jude answers beamingly, “Oh, I’m here with Cardan. As his date.”

She watches as the blue-haired girl’s eyebrows fly up her forehead, unable to contain her surprise. Jude knows a moment of smug victory and Cardan chooses this moment to walk up behind her carrying two cocktail glasses in his hands. He stops right next to her, handing her a glass with clear liquid and an orange twist inside it before slipping an arm around her waist, sending a zing up her spine. What the hell did he think he was doing? She briefly considers shaking him off, before realizing that he was holding her this way for Nicasia’s benefit. After all, she was his pretend girlfriend for the night.

“Nicasia! How lovely to bump into you!” His smile is just as fake as Jude’s had been and that fact shouldn’t give her a moment of satisfaction but it did.

“Why hello there Car! Yes your mother invited me, wasn’t that sweet of her? And I was just talking to Judie over here, it’s been lovely seeing her again.” She brings a hand up to her neck and starts twirling a pearl necklace. “I didn’t realise you two were an item?”

Cardan holds her even tighter against him. “Well, what can I say, she swept me off my feet.” 

He turns his face to her and gives her a subtle wink before molding his expression into an excruciatingly sappy look of affection, the kind that only existed in extremely cheesy early 2000s Disney movies. Suppressing a smile she returns the look to the best of her abilities.

“Aww, Honey Bunch, you are too adorable!” 

Go big or go home, right?

Cardan has difficulty not breaking into laughter but he manages to hide the hysteric sound that leaves his mouth as a deep cough and if this charade went on for much longer she didn’t think she could resist cracking up either.

“Only for you, Kitten.” That almost undoes her.

Nicasia makes a low sound of disgust at their little act and barely bothers to make up an excuse for herself before stalking off, her stilettos clicking against the paved pathway. 

“Oh thank God she’s gone, I was afraid that we’d be regaled with ‘Nicasia’s Trials During Sea Travels, A Saga; Part II.’” He’s referring to her last conversation with Nicasia when she had dropped by the precinct to drop something off for him and had ended up spending almost half an hour recounting her issues with sea-sickness. By the end of that half hour Jude had felt like clawing her eyeballs out.

She can’t help but laugh at both his comment and the recollection of their ridiculous masquerade and he rewards her with a look of astonishment, before a slow smile spreads over his face, eyes unbearably soft. “There’s that laugh.”

He’s referring to their conversation at Fair Folk Inks when he’d accused her of being uptight. The recollection should prompt Jude to make a snappy retort, but instead she simply swallows against the sudden lump growing in her throat and her heart is beating quick enough for her to hear. What on Earth was going on? This entire night had felt strangely like being stuck in limbo, her and Cardan shedding their competitive workplace relationship for one that was a lot more informal, a lot more together.

She takes a sip of the forgotten Martini in her hand, trying to push her errant thoughts away. Before she can think of a way to defuse the situation, the tinkling sound of metal being struck against a glass rings out through the night air.

Unnoticed by her, an elderly gentleman in a midnight blue suit that contrasted heavily with his bright blonde hair and owlish bronze eyes had stepped up to the podium. In his ring clad hands he held a wine glass and a fork, explaining the sound that she had heard earlier. Standing a little behind him but at his side is Mrs. Greenbriar, gripping a re-filled glass of wine. There also appears to be someone else standing next to her on the ramp, but the crowd around it is so thick that Jude can’t quite make him out.

“And there’s good ole’ Dad.” Her date for the night doesn’t sound at all enthusiastic about the appearance of his sire at the podium. “Looks like he’s about to grace us with an Eldred speech.”

And indeed, the old man waits until everyone is paying attention to him before he sets down the fork and raises his full glass in the air as he speaks. “Ladies and Gentlemen, as I’m sure you all know; since otherwise all you blighters wouldn’t be here,” there’s a slight smattering of obligatory laughter, “Elfhame Enterprises has recently undergone a lawsuit, which we came out of with a resounding victory against the Seelie Corporation, as everyone knew we would. Nevertheless, let us raise our glasses in celebration and as a toast to many more years of victories and resounding successes!”

United, his entire audience dutifully raises their glasses in a toast and downs the contents, Jude herself takes the smallest of sips from her Martini out of respect, although the alcohol tastes more bitter than before. She had never been a huge fan of these big businesses that bribed and blackmailed and pocketed money for themselves at the cost of so many others and she’d been a detective for long enough to cement that dislike. Then, she makes the startling discovery that Cardan himself had not raised his glass, nor taken a sip, instead, the hand that clutched his drink was doing so so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. Before she has the time to question his surprising behaviour Eldred continues speaking. 

 “In regards to the many years to come for Elfhame Enterprises, well, as you all know I’m not as young as I once was, although I can definitely still party the way I used to,” more polite laughter,

“and it is very likely that I shall be retiring for good in a few years. Until that bittersweet moment arrives however, I am glad to announce that working right along beside me and learning the ropes will be my heir and the man to whom the running of my wonderful company will fall to...my beloved elder son, Dain Greenbriar!”

If a meteor had just flown across the sky and landed two feet away from her, Jude couldn’t have been more shocked than she was at that moment. Cardan had a brother.

She watches in slow motion as the previously hidden figure beside the now jubilant Mrs. Greenbriar steps forward to stand by his father. Unlike Cardan, Dain was the picture of his father, except 30 years younger. His blonde hair was light and shiny and his face was harsh and unforgiving, the angles seeming as sharp as a blade. His handsome but smug smile rubs Jude the wrong way, making her instantly dislike him. Next to her, Cardan wears a shield of uncaring resignation, but whilst she watches him watching his family, there’s an underlying sadness seeping from his countenance and she knows him well enough to detect it.

Jude had always taken Cardan at surface level, he was rich, came from a wealthy family with high connections and lots of influence and he was also a playboy. To her, that meant he had been given an easy life, one where he never had to work hard for anything and got a free pass into doing whatever he liked, so very different from the life that she had lived with her struggling single mother after her father had passed away during an accident at his forge. And now it looked like her disdain for his background had been unfounded. His mother seemed to only care about money and positions, his father was no better and from the self-satisfied grin on Dain’s face she could surmise that he was the golden child of the family, coveted by all and ‘overshadower’ of his younger brother.

The same younger brother whose existence his entire family and their friends seemed to have forgotten about. 

Enough was enough.

She deposits her Martini onto a passing tray and does the same with Cardan’s untouched one which she wrestles from his tight grip, before reaching out to take his hand in hers. He tilts his head and considers her for a moment before surrendering with a slight shrug, his usual debonair sucked out of him. 

“Come on, let’s get out of here.”  She drags him out through the entrance, not stopping to consider if any of the guests was watching them in the turmoil of congratulating Dain and his father.

The moment they’re out of the gates she stumbles into a nearby deserted alleyway, towing a bemused Cardan along with her. They come to a sudden stop right next to a streetlight, and unhesitatingly Jude plonks herself down onto the relatively clean looking sidewalk, with no regard for her new dress. 

“Sit.” She pats on an empty spot next to her.

Cardan raises an eyebrow at her, before giving in and seating himself in the place she’d indicated. Her heel clad legs stretch out next to his feet encased by fancy leather Oxford’s.

“Talk.” She silently encourages him with her eyes.

“I-” He starts, then stops. Struggling to meet her steady gaze he finally bows his head and forces himself to speak. “I suppose you could say that my family has never been the most loving,” understatement she thinks, “and ever since the day I was born I was nothing like my big brother, he talked; I watched, he walked; I crawled and it was always like that. He would excel at school, I used to run riot with my friends. I always knew that they loved him more.

“When it was time for me to find a job, I knew that I didn’t want anything to do with the corporate world, I’d seen what it did to my parents and my brother and I wanted nothing to do with it. So I decided I’d do the exact opposite. I’d try my hardest to fight for justice and go against everything that my family stood for, corruption, money and power. That’s why I became a cop, why I enrolled at the academy, why I used my father’s blood money to pay the fees, so I could give back to the community in even some small way. Needless to say, my parents weren’t very happy with that decision.”

His words hit Jude like a volley of arrows. She’d been so very, very wrong about the man sitting next to her. This man who fought so hard to escape his family’s legacy. Regret rushes through her and reaches out for his hand and squeezes it gently, the way he’d done to her earlier.

“Cardan, listen to me, what your family thinks about you doesn’t matter. I wish that you’d grown up with parents and a brother who loved and treasured you the way you deserved, but you know what? 

“I think you should be proud of who you are. Because everything that you’ve been through has made you who you are today; Cardan Greenbriar, a pretty smart cop - despite what I said earlier, it wasn’t true and I’m extremely sorry for it - and a partner who always keeps up with me and someone whom I wouldn’t hesitate to entrust my life to and the man who manages to charm everyone in the precinct with his magnetism.”

He’s squeezing her hand right back and his eyes are glistening suspiciously as they burn into hers. A shaky smile manifests at her last few words after which he looks down once again and mutters, “not everyone.”

“Huh?”

“Not everyone.” His voice is stronger now when he raises his head again, more combustible. “You said that I’ve charmed everyone at the precinct, but there’s one woman who appears to be immune, despite being the one woman that I’ve had feelings for for quite a while now…it’s you, Jude.”

She can hear the blood rushing in her ears as her heart thumps. He thought she was immune to him? So had she, she’d thought she hated him, but now she’s wondering if what she felt for him was so much more than hate. Yes, he had her hackles rising faster than anyone else did and his occasional arrogance was a never ending source of annoyance to her, but he was also the man who understood her when she was working overtime on a tough case, always bringing her coffee whenever she pulled an all-nighter, always making sure to inquire after her mother’s health, always making sure she had a safe way of getting home. So many times he’d helped her out in little little ways, disguising his kindness as him merely trying to get under her skin and now her oblivious self was finally starting to realize it.

He smells like pine and Cardan in the aftermath of his confession, and he’d called her Jude, not ‘Duarte’ and he had feelings for her and what she’s about to do next was something that she never dreamed that she would do before, and yet, it was somehow inevitable. She leans over and kisses him.  

His lips are so very soft, like a feather, and the moment they meet hers she bursts into flames. This kiss was unlike any that she had ever had before, It was a forge-fire hot conflagration and she didn’t care if it burned her. The flame that had always been there between them is stronger than ever and it felt as though all this time the ‘hate’ burning through them had been hiding a much more powerful passion beneath it.

He brings his hands up to her neck and gently tugs at the bobby pins holding up her hairdo. She barely notices as they skitter to the pavement, leaving her brown locks down for him to pull at. She does the same to him, carding her fingers through his thick curls, curls that felt as sleek as a puppy’s fur against her questing hands.

Panting, he pulls away first and she has to force herself not to follow his lips with hers. Slowly she opens her closed eyes and looks at him, so close now that she can see the slightest flecks of colour in his dark eyes as his breath stirs her loose hair. 

“Wow. That...wow,” he babbles, “I - we should date, that was, I mean-”

“Cardan?”

“Yes?”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

He does exactly that and later, when he asks her out, she has no answer for him but ‘yes’.

The End.

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Liles, this fic was for you and I hope you enjoyed it. It’s been really fun getting to know more about you through our anon asks and answers and feel free to PM me anytime💕

Once again, I’m tagging: @cupcakesandkittens​ and @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln​

Please let me know (via ask or PM) if you’d like to be added to or taken off of my taglist!

[razorblade180]

It takes time

Weiss sat comfortably in her bed at home. Who would’ve thought how nice home would be after all the tragedy in it? It was nice to unwind, then Ruby came walking in. The reaper looked like she was caught in the worse state of limbo. As if she saw a ghost. Weiss knew that face. That was the same face she made whenever she accidentally walked in on Nora and Ren.

Weiss:What’s wrong? What’s today’s chapter in “Ruby’s rollercoaster of a life.”

Ruby:I don’t appreciate that name. If anything my life is an extremely long road trip with minimum bathroom breaks and people get left behind whenever the RV finally does stop.

Weiss:You’re avoiding my question.

Ruby:I’m fine.

Weiss:1.....2....

Ruby:....

Weiss:Don’t make me get to three.

Ruby:Fine! Gosh, you’re so aggressive when you wanna help people. You’re just as bad as Whit-

Ruby tried to stop herself but it was too late. Weiss’s eyes became focused on the girl. Of course it was a Whitley problem. The two have been dating a few months though she loved her brother, he could be an idiot. Not that Weiss was any different, or Winter for that matter. All of them were emotional hazards when it came to romance.

Weiss:What happened between you two? You both were doing so well after what happened between him and father.

Ruby:Oh it’s....nah, it’s stupid.

Weiss:2.5.....

Ruby:Stop counting!

Weiss:Then out with it!

Ruby:I told him “I love you!!!”

Ruby turned bright red and put her hood up. The fearless team leader then bellyflopped onto Weiss’s bed, her face landing in a pile of pillows. Of all the things Weiss was expecting, this wasn’t one of them. It’s true that’s it’s been a few months and Ruby was definitely the kind of girl to wear her heart on her sleeve. That knowledge alone told Weiss what most likely happened next.

Weiss:He didn’t say it back, did he?

Ruby:I feel like such an idiot.

Weiss:Let’s take a few steps back. How did this even happen?

Ruby:We were-

Weiss:Get out of the pillows. It’s already hard to understand you when you’re worked up.

Ruby:*flips over* We were watching tv, just talking. Then a stupid commercial came on for that blind date show. The one you like to laugh at even though you clap when the couples work out.

Weiss:Mmmhmm, unnecessary to add but continue.

Ruby:One of the people started talking about love at first sight. It got me thinking if Whitley believed in that kinda stuff, so I asked because of course I did.

Weiss:At least you’re self aware.

Ruby:He told me that sort of thing seemed like a work of fiction. So then I asked him what would he call our first meeting.

Weiss:Oh no...

Ruby:He didn’t say anything at first, then asked me what I thought it was. *red* Th-Then I told him that for me, I wouldn’t know what else to call what happened that day. I ended up kissing him and telling him I loved him. Then....I waited to hear it back. Waited, waited, and I kept waiting as he wasn’t sure what to tell me. I got the hint fairly fast. Gods, I felt so embarrassed and stupid that I tried leaving as fast as I could. He grabbed my hand to try to and stopped me. But then I made things worse by asking him directly if he did love me. Again, nothing but lip flapping. I dashed away after that. Ugh, why did I ask such a stupid thing!? Was it too soon? Am I the only one who-

Weiss:Stop...

Ruby zipped her lips. Weiss looked down at her with concerned yet welcoming eyes. Weiss grabbed her partner’s shoulders and sat her up.

Weiss:My brother stood up to my father in order to date you. Questioning his feelings for you is a thing you should never have to do.

Ruby:Then why-

Weiss:Four months.

Ruby:What?

Weiss:It took me four months to tell Jaune I love him after he told me. One day he sort sprang it on me like you did, and just like Whitley, I couldn’t say it back. And just like you, Jaune was hurt by it. He understood why I said nothing, but of course it didn’t make things feel any better. In fact, the two of us got a little distant for a while. A piece of me honestly thought that I had ruined my first real relationship, just like that.

Ruby:Why...why couldn’t you say it back? You two have been a thing for awhile. Actually I sorta remember when you two seemed to talk less.

Weiss took a deep breath and looked around her old room. How many nights was she in by choice? How many times did it feel like this room, this house, would be the only world she knew? The world built by her father.

Weiss:As much as it angers me to admit this, our father will always be this terrible, looming presence in the back of our mind. Even while I was at Beacon I found myself acting and saying things in a way that wouldn’t get me in trouble. I envy you Ruby. Your house, I’ve never been there but I can tell it was full of love. That’s not this house. That’s not my parents. The love in this place ran dry so long ago and Whitley had the least time to enjoy it. I doubt he actually remembers it for real. When Jaune told me he loved me I should’ve felt so happy in that moment, yet I was so terrified I could barely speak. Was I allowed to love? Would he change his mind one day out of the blue? What was the price to pay for that love; I even thought briefly that he was lying.

Ruby:I...had no idea.

Weiss:When a Schnee loves something, it goes away, or has a catch. Unconditional, genuine love feels like a fairytale. Saying “I love you too” made me feel like Jaune was going to disappear or worse. I couldn’t shake the feeling of his feelings being just another trap. I couldn’t let myself be happy, not like that. However, he was patient with me. He still said it from time to time but didn’t expect to hear it back and never pressured me. I actually did say one time within those four months. He came by really late at night to try and clear the air. Honestly I still feel a little anxious when I do say it, but I can’t help but get this warm feeling when I see the look on his face when he says it back. *red* He means it.

Weiss couldn’t help but smile as she looked in the mirror. Odd, has she ever done that before? Her complexion looked healthier than the last time she looked. Was it the light, or was Weiss glowing for the first time in awhile. This room might be the same, but it finally felt like a room. A place she could belong even. Weiss turned back to Ruby to see the girl in tears.

Weiss:What the!? You’re crying!?

Ruby:How could I not!!! I had no idea how much effort it took for you to feel like love was something you could have.

Weiss:I’m sure if you asked Winter then she can tell you a similar story between her and your uncle. There’s no doubt in mind Whitley wants to say it; he’s just scared.

Ruby:I feel terrible now. I didn’t even give him a chance to really explain himself or his feelings. How selfish can I be?

Weiss:Don’t be such a dunce. Now isn’t the time for a pity party. Give him a little time and then talk to him again. I’m sure he has a lot he wants to say.

Ruby:Thanks Weiss. You’re getting really good at this comforting thing.

Weiss:I learned from the best.

Ruby:Awww

Weiss:...

Ruby:You meant Jaune?

Weiss:It’s a team effort. Don’t sell yourself short. *hugs her* I love you too you know?

Ruby:*gasp* Would you say that-

Weiss:I’m not calling you my BFF, but yes, you would fill that spot.

Ruby:Good enough for me. I love you too.

xxxx

Later that day, Ruby decided to poke her head into the media room again. Unfortunately there was no sign of Whitley. There was however the sound of a smoke alarm going off in the kitchen. Ruby petal bursted all the way there to find a pan of something charred black and Whitley holding a fire extinguishers, baking ingredients covered his face and blue apron. He silently stared at his girlfriend before blasting the pan again for good measure.

Whitley:Hey....

Ruby:Hey. You uhh, you tried cooking by yourself.

Whitley:Emphasis on tried. I forgot to butter the pan. Also I think I needed more milk for the apology cookies.

Ruby:You know I’m positive this house has a cool book for people to- apology cookies?

Whitley:Yeah I uhh, I hurt your feelings, again. Sorry.

The boy put down the extinguisher and looked at his baking failure. He let out a long sigh of defeat and took a seat on a stool. Ruby opened up a window and wet a cloth, walking over to wipe is face. The cookies might’ve turned out well if the ingredients ended up in the bow instead of on his sad, cute face.

Ruby:I should be the one apologizing. I swept you up into my feelings and didn’t take the time see yours.

Whitley:You talk to Weiss? I heard you shout earlier.

Ruby:Oh...can you pretend you didn’t hear that?

Whitley:Only if we pretend I didn’t ruin chocolate chip cookies. I bought those Hershey Kisses for nothing.

Ruby:Those don’t melt properly in an oven or microwave unless it comes in a baking package. They burn and warp things.

Whitley:Who would make chocolate that doesn’t melt normally? Baking is stupid.

Ruby:*smiles* Hehe, it’ll take time but you’ll get it.

Whitley:Maybe in a hundred years.

Ruby:Eh, I’ll wait. I will umm...I will wait for anything you need time with; patiently. S-So don’t worry. About pushing yourself that is. Take your time, okay?

Whitley reached up and took Ruby’s hand. It was so warm compared to the cool rag in it. Their faces became flushed as icy blue met piercing silver. Whitley slowly leaned forward and gently pressed his lips against Ruby’s before seperating again. If it was up to her, Ruby would’ve made it last just a few seconds longer. For someone who’s only kissed one girl in his life, Whitley was surprisingly good at it.

Ruby:That’s a really good way of saying thank you.

Whitley:I care about you. You...mean a lot to me. I’ll try not to make you wait long.

Ruby:Don’t rush it. *leaning in* I’m fine with this....

She couldn’t help but go back in for another kiss. The words could wait. His gestures, the way pressed his lips on her own, it said more than what those three little words could do on their one. No point in rushing them. The love was coming through loud and clear. Weiss couldn’t help but spy on the two with Jaune for a second before leaving them to their moment.

Jaune:You did a good thing.

Weiss:I didn’t do anything that wasn’t going to sort itself out. Just being a good friend and sibling.

Jaune:Caring, another reason I love you.

He bent over and kissed her head. Weiss elbowed him lightly before pulling him down a little further for Jaune to kiss her properly.

Weiss:Yourself, all the reason why I love you.

[cozy-the-overlord]

Dances and Daggers

Summary:   The Summer Festival is upon Asgard, as is the tradition of the dagger ceremony, where each unmarried gentleman chooses a lady to bestow with the honor of carrying his dagger for the night. As Prince Thor’s betrothed, Teki’s only goal is to accept his dagger with grace and hope that her violent stepfather doesn’t find fault with her in the process. But Prince Thor is unpredictable, and when he ignores his engagement on a whim Teki finds herself in a desperate situation. Luckily, Thor isn’t the only prince in Asgard…

Pairing: Loki x Original Female Character

Chapter 5: The Aftermath

Previous Chapter  |  Next Chapter

Word Count: 1,752

Chapter Summary:  After her... outing at the lake with the young prince, Teki is just trying to lay low. 

A/N: This week’s chapter is pretty short... I thought about combining it with next week’s, but I really liked the note this ended on, so I decided against it. Hope you don’t mind!

Thanks for reading! :)

TW: mentions of child abuse, threats of violence

Tags: @lucywrites02 @gaitwae

Read it on Ao3!

Teki stiffly swept her hands across the keys. When she woke up to find that the Queen had sent a messenger asking her if she would like to stop by to play the piano for a bit this morning, she told herself it was a good thing. She loved playing piano—surely that would make her feel better.

It didn’t.

Her back ached as she balanced on the bench, her shoulders aflame every time she moved her arms too much. The melody, usually so sweet and soothing, rattled in her skull and beat her brain. Frigga had given her a book of sheet music, but the notes swam before her eyes. Several times, she hit the wrong key, and all she could do was cringe.

Her stepfather hadn’t been pleased with her little game of hide and seek the night of Loki’s Nameday Feast. Neither had he bought her explanation that she had been in the bathroom the entire time because she hadn’t been feeling well.

It could’ve been worse. He didn’t know what she had been up to, or who she had been up to it with. Her ruined dress reappeared in her closet with the rest of the clean laundry, washed and good as new. As far as Osvald was concerned, Teki had just run off and hid somewhere like the brat she was. She couldn’t imagine what he would have done had he known she had been wandering around the place grounds in a soaking dress with Loki.

Her fingers hit the wrong key again, and Teki flinched. This was humiliating.

“Tekla.” The Queen interrupted, moving from the couch to sit at the bench with her. Teki stopped, focusing only on her folded hands in her lap.

Frigga frowned. “Is everything all right, dear?” she inquired. “You don’t seem to be yourself today.”

“I’m fine, Your Majesty. Just a bit tired.” She could feel the sweat lining her brow. It was far too hot to be wearing high collared, long sleeved dresses, but it was the only way to hide all the bruises.

The concern in the Queen’s voice was apparent. “Are you certain?”

Teki nodded, still keeping her eyes in her lap. She felt if she met Frigga’s concerned gaze, she’d be liable to start crying, and that would be even worse than playing the wrong notes on the piano.

She didn’t seem convinced, but nodded regardless. “Well then, perhaps it would be best if you went to go lie down and get some rest,” she said, reaching out to rub Teki’s shoulder consolingly. It took every ounce of willpower for Teki not to wince. “You don’t look well—I’d hate for you to be coming down with something.”

Teki nodded some more as she stood up. She wanted to tell her that it was all right, she wasn’t getting sick, she didn’t have to worry, but she didn’t trust her voice.

She was halfway down the hall when a familiar voice called her name.

“Teki!” Teki turned to see Prince Loki rushing towards her across the corridor, raven hair tousled. He reached her panting, his emerald eyes overflowing with a wild kind of worry. “Are you all right? You haven’t been at dinner.”

She dropped her gaze to the floor again. “Yes, I’m fine, my prince.” Her tone was high, artificially cheerful. “I’ve just been a bit tired.”

It wasn’t that she was mad at Loki. The little prank in the lake had been just that—a prank. He hadn’t meant it to be mean or anything, and she believed that he was genuinely apologetic, but… a lot of things went wrong when he pretended to fall off the dock.

He was reaching out towards her, his hand stopping just shy of hers. “Can—can I do anything to help?” he asked.

“It’s fine, my prince,” she repeated. “I’m just going back to my rooms.”

“I could walk you back—”

“No, that won’t be necessary” Teki interjected. Her voice came out sharper than she intended. She hated the way he flinched. “Sorry,” she dropped to a whisper. “I’m just—it’s—”

“No, you don’t have to explain. I understand.” He bowed softly. “Can I expect to see you at dinner tonight?”

“I’m not sure. Probably.” She didn’t particularly want to go, but there was no way her mother would let her skip a third night in a row.

Loki’s expression was pained. For a moment, he looked like he was going to say something else, but then he shook his head. “I’m sorry, Teki.”

“It’s alright,” she murmured. She turned to make her way down the hall, still feeling his gaze on her back.

…

Everything hurt.

Teki groaned as she tried to roll over in bed, searching for a position that didn’t press against the bruises on her shoulders and down her back. She wished her mother would take her to the healers. But her mother was concerned that they were spending far too much time down at the healing ward—she never said so, but Teki could tell that she was worried they’d start looking into their family.

“If it’s still hurting a lot by the end of the week, I’ll take you,” she had promised.

Teki wasn’t sure if she was going to make it to the end of the week.

Her shoulder twitched when she moved the wrong way, and Teki hissed in pain. She wanted her mother’s painkiller drink. Her mother had made for her earlier, before they went to dinner, but Teki hadn’t drank the whole thing—she was too afraid of passing out in front of the royal family. She was fairly certain her mother had saved the rest of it, in liquor cabinet downstairs…

For a while, she laid on her side, trying to ignore the throbbing at the base of her neck. Don’t think about it. If she woke Osvald up rustling through a cabinet she wasn’t allowed access to, she’d be even worse off than she was now. It wasn’t worth the risk. But as the night dragged on in an agonizing crawl, no relief in sight, Teki found her resolve breaking.

She could be quiet.

Her heart was thudding as she peaked out through her cracked bedroom door. The hall was silent. Holding her breath, Teki crept out towards the stairs. History had taught her that the seventh step creaked if you placed your weight on the middle, so she was careful to hug the wall as she went down. She barely dared to breathe until she reached the bottom of the staircase and slipped into the sitting room.

The curtains on the other side were just barely cracked open, the slightest beam of moonlight cutting through the darkness and contorting the shadows of furniture and belongings in an ethereal glow. The cabinet loomed in the corner, glassy eyes watching her as she slunk past the table. Teki shuddered.

The doors were locked. That was all right—Teki knew her mother kept the key hidden away at the top of the cabinet. She wasn’t tall enough to reach it on her own, though, so she pulled one of the chairs away from the table to stand on. Her back screamed in pain, but she was careful to carry it high enough so that the legs wouldn’t drag on the floor. She groped blindly across the dusty shelf until her fingers landed on the little metal key.

Teki glanced over her shoulder as she stepped down from the chair. The apartment was still. Even so, she could feel her pulse pounding in her ears as she fumbled with the lock. Please don’t make any noise. It clicked open without issue.

The metallic glint of liquor bottles greeted her. Teki squinted through the dark. There should be a mug somewhere, but the pale moonlight revealed nothing.  Her heart sank. Her mother did keep the extra, didn’t she? She could’ve sworn she had. If she had done all this sneaking around for nothing…

Climbing back on to the chair, Teki ran her fingers down each shelf in a desperate search for the missing mug. There was a sinking feeling in her stomach, but she forced herself to ignore it. Maybe it had gotten pushed behind the bottles. She reached as a far as she could, but she found only glass.

Then her nails jammed against something metallic.

Teki cried out before she could stop herself. No! She clapped a hand over her mouth, anxiously eying the stairs. Only when several minutes had passed and her stepfather didn’t come pounding into the room did she exhale and turn back to the cabinet. Nursing her hand, she tried to make out what it was she had hit.

There seemed to be a small metal box hidden behind the liquor bottles. Teki frowned. What in the Norns? The meager light from the curtains wasn’t nearly enough to take a proper look. Tentatively, she slid the box from its resting place.

It was about the size of a large book, and heavy too—she could feel the contents sliding around inside as she turned it in her hands. There was a tiny silver lock embedded on the side. Her hands itched—the layer of grime engulfing the box screamed of neglect. How long had this thing been hidden away in here? Why had it been hidden away in the first place? Teki was confused.

She held the box to the light, hoping to get a better look. There seemed to something engraved on the top, perhaps a name of some sort, but the dust was so bad she couldn’t tell what it was. Probably “Áslaug,” or perhaps her grandfather’s name, “Ásvaldr.” Her mother still had many engraved pieces that had belonged to her grandfather. But then again, Teki wasn’t quite certain. The first letter didn’t look much like an “Á.” She rubbed at it with the skirt of her nightdress, her pain nearly forgotten in her curiosity. What could this be? What would her mother keep hidden from the rest of the family?

After a moment, she had cleaned it up enough to make out the lettering. She wasn’t sure what it was she was expecting to find, but there was a thrum in her hands as she held it to the light again. It took only a moment for her to recognize the name. She nearly dropped the whole thing on the wooden floor.

Steinn

This box belonged to Teki’s father.

[akitokihojo]

Delicate - Chapter 6

Lol, I forgot it was Friday and almost didn't post this. Whoops.

----------

It was like Kagome had completely lost the ability to read Inuyasha - if that was something she was ever able to claim at all. She’d noticed a difference in him over the weeks. He seemed a little more calm, a little more forthcoming, a little more receptive, a little more welcoming. She’d seen his smile so many times before, but there was something about the looks he’d give her on occasions few and far between, only in passing, robbing her heart of a beat as he bequeathed this warm and tender grin. What did it mean? 

Initially, she’d thought the effort he was putting forth was to overcompensate for the argument they’d gotten into, but as time kept ticking, the facade didn’t appear to be so much of a facade anymore. She could see herself getting used to his new demeanor around her. It wasn’t a change that was so substantial that she felt something was wrong. She actually felt like Inuyasha was just more comfortable. With her, in particular. Everything else seemed almost normal.

Maybe she was looking too far into it; seeing things that weren’t actually there. Maybe she’d inadvertently received an extra dash of hope one day and clung to it like static on clothing. She’d tried shaking it off, rationalizing, but she couldn’t get it out of her mind. Suddenly, she desperately wanted her plaguing thoughts to be true. She wanted him to like her.

It couldn’t be possible, though. Could it? No. Yes? Maybe? It wasn’t healthy to go back and forth with herself so often, wondering how another person felt. But, she couldn’t help it. He’d come over to study, and when he was trying to explain something to her in more depth, he’d scoot closer. Not like before. He wouldn’t just lean in a little. Inuyasha would move his entire body toward her. She’d physically feel his body heat, smell his intoxicating and subtle scent, and god, was it difficult to focus through that. So, therein of itself, it had to all just be her imagination at play. If their knees grazed, he’d usually move away. If he got a little too close by accident, he’d scoot himself back an inch or two. Then, there were times where it seemed he wanted to touch her but wouldn’t; another scenario she could blame on her overactive imagination. Inuyasha was just being nice, and her stupid emotions were clearly getting the better of her. 

Truth be told, she was impeccably embarrassed for having her feelings exposed to him. She felt even more vulnerable than before. They hadn’t been acknowledged since or formally rejected, so her admittance did nothing more than hang in the air between them. The lack thereof was as much a rejection as anything, though, and she told herself that. It didn’t matter that they texted more often, it didn’t matter that he looked at her a little lighter, it didn’t matter that she, herself, felt considerably more drawn to him. None of it meant a thing. Did it?

What was the worse option here? To hope or to not get her hopes up? 

Unfortunately, as easy as it was to try and logically think things through in her alone time, when she was around him that was all shot to hell. For some reason, he seemed even more attractive lately than ever. She liked the way his brows relaxed when he looked at her - consciously or subconsciously, she couldn’t tell. When he had his nose in his own homework, Kagome couldn’t help but stare. Just a little. He had a wonderfully calm expression to him when he wrote out answers on the sheet, his long hair swooping over his shoulder from the tie at the crown of his head. Not a single part of his features crinkled when he concentrated, unlike hers. The sound of his voice was soothing. When he spoke, the pace of her heart would increase for a few seconds, and then slow to a peaceful rhythm. She liked that. She enjoyed the way he made her feel just by being near.

At the same time, she couldn’t even tell if she was miserable or not. It was so difficult to love someone while trying to convince yourself it would never happen. Love. Was she even old enough to experience that emotion? Did it have an age cap? Was it an eighteen-or-older sort of thing, or was it legitimate at whatever stage you were in life? It had to be legitimate; there was no other excuse for the throbbing intensity that overwhelmed her chest, or the loneliness she felt whenever he left her side.

She was scared. Scared she was right and he didn’t feel the same, scared he’d ghost her again no matter the reassurance he’d given, scared she’d be this hopeless forever. Sometimes, Kagome felt life would be a bit more manageable if Inuyasha would just be straightforward and turn her down already. Then she’d at least have a direct answer to go off of. Then she could move on.

“Kagome?” Her mom’s voice was soft as she approached her bedroom, poking her head through the cracked door that creaked as the angle widened. Kagome had responded with an audible yeah, but she’d tossed herself facedown on her mattress the moment she got home from school and had been laying that way ever since, so the word came out muffled and groan-like. “Well, you look like you’re hanging in there.” She remarked, the playful hint of sarcasm ringing through.

This time, Kagome intended for the broken groan she’d replied with, dragging it out as she felt the vibration of her voice on her pillow.

“I totally understand. I feel the same way.” Her mom giggled.

She shot up to sit on her knees, twisting around to face her mother leaning against the doorframe. “I hate feelings!”

“Oh?”

“Who needs them, anyway!? Are they gonna get me into college!? Get me a good job!? Nope! I shouldn’t even be focusing on them! I’m seventeen, I’m too young for this! Right?”

“I met your dad at fifteen.” She smiled warmly. Just like that, Kagome huffed out some of her frustration, furrowing her brows as her lips sealed. “I knew I loved him from the start. He was a little older, a little rough around the edges, and it took him forever to outright tell me he loved me.”

“But, you knew.” Kagome drawled. She’d heard the story before, multiple times. It just hit different now that there were similarities to what she was currently going through.

“It’s all about taking the hints. People have different love languages. Learning their fluency is difficult but rewarding.”

“What if there’s a misunderstanding or miscommunication, though?” She asked, a little on the gentler side. “What if you misinterpret what they’re trying to tell you, entirely?”

Her mom gave a one-sided shrug, the smile never leaving her face. “Then you ask for clarification.” She noticed the uncertainty on her daughter’s face, the way her big, brown eyes seemed wary as they flickered away. “And, you keep the negative thoughts at bay until then. No use jumping to conclusions, good or bad.”

Kagome, defeated as she was, thanked her mom with a lazy smile. “You going into work?”

“Yup. Nightshift again. Sota’s at Shippo’s, would you mind getting him around eight-thirty?”

“Sure.” Kagome agreed, looking at the clock to see how much time she had. Two hours. She crawled off her mattress, heading to her dresser to get out different clothes to wear.

“Oh and,” She waited for her daughter to turn her way, making sure she had her attention as she gripped the door to close on her way out. “Love may not get you anywhere, but it can get you through everything. You’ll come to appreciate it. Believe me.”

“Yeah, well it sucks so far.” Kagome chuckled.

“I’ll bring home ice cream.” She droned, shutting the door as she left.

Kagome shoved her hands in her hoodie pockets, tucking herself inward as she approached the train station. Of course her brother, no longer in a cast and crutches but still hobbling around on a weak ankle, would want to hang out with the friend that lives furthest. Their mom pitied him since he’d been cooped up day and night ever since he’d gotten hurt, so she allowed him to get out now that the cast was finally off, but could he have gone to see someone down the street? Nope. Of course, not.

She pulled a hand free, reaching into the back pocket of her jeans to pull out her station pass to enter through the gate. The seasons were changing, the nights growing colder to really communicate the shift, making her wish she’d thought of bringing her muffler out of the entry closet ahead of time to freshen up. For now, it wasn’t too bad. The air was just a little nippy, but as she made her way further into the station to wait for her train, she adjusted to the comfortable temperature inside.

A rail line pulled up to empty, the car doors opening as several people filed out and Kagome moved out of their way. According to the schedule, hers should be there in the next ten minutes. From the side, silver caught her eye, bringing her attention to immediately shoot toward it. That’s how it’d been lately. Anything, anything at all, that could potentially remind her of Inuyasha was impossible to ignore, a shutter of excitement ricocheting along her ribcage. Whenever it turned out to be nothing, she felt disappointed and embarrassed, and ultimately glad no one had a pathway to read her mind and see the pathetic basket case she’d become. Not even Sango knew the degree of her state, and if Kagome had her way, it’d stay like that. More often than not, all she wanted to do was crawl under a rock and wait everything out until her feelings subsided and she could coexist with Inuyasha like a normal person with rational thinking abilities. But, as her brown eyes flashed over and she actually spotted the half demon trudging through the small crowd, an inexplicable mixture of happiness and trepidation crawled over her skin. His head was slightly hung while he dabbed the back of the sleeve of his pullover sweater to his mouth, pulling it away to look at it, then dabbing it again. Her mouth had opened, her breath hitching as she almost called his name, but he’d already looked up, golden eyes landing on her instantly.

Inuyasha didn’t seem all that happy. In fact, it looked as if he’d ducked his head an inch or two, keeping the back of his fist raised to his mouth. He’d stopped walking, the station emptying and leaving the two of them alone where they stood. Without thought, Kagome walked over, noticing the way he notched his face away when she approached. It didn’t take a genius to know something was wrong. Disconcertment began to bubble in her abdomen, and she briefly wondered why he wouldn’t look at her or greet her with the smile she’d grown accustomed to.

“Hey,” She spoke softly. The side of his lips that she could see were curved in a frown, one that pinched together in unsettlement while she waited for any sort of response from him. She could hear the clenched breath in his throat as he sighed out heatedly, practically feeling his frustration and discomfiture. It wasn’t difficult to understand now why he was hiding his face. In fact, his adamant reluctance to show her was all she needed in order to know. “What happened?” Kagome’s voice echoed her concern.

“Don’t want to talk about it.” Inuyasha brusquely replied, resisting the temptation to meet her gaze. He didn’t expect to feel so ashamed just by seeing her at the worst possible moment, but the murky sensation swam through each vein in his body, one at a time. “I’ve gotta go.”

“Don’t do that.” She shook her head. He hadn’t tried to step around her at all, but she moved closer anyway, cocking her head in an attempt to get him to look at her. “Don’t shut me out. You don’t have to, you know this.”

She was comforting him, yet his shame increased, making him want to duck his face further. It was two against one, and they’d gotten him good this time around. The last thing he wanted was for her to see the evidence of the incident. He didn’t want anything to mar her picture of him. 

Her hands reached up, and his abdominals tensed rigidly, but not a single bone in his body pulled away from her touch, gentle, cold hands wrapping around his wrist to pull it away from his mouth. There was little hesitance from him. It wasn’t entirely passive, though. Inuyasha still needed to assure himself that she, Kagome, wasn’t the enemy. She’d never be his enemy. She wouldn’t hurt him. He trusted her, and with firm reminders, he was progressively believing that she was a safe zone.

Kagome observed the way his lids closed as she guided his hand away from his mouth, his head turning to her so that she could see. There was a fierce cut on his bottom lip, the area angry, red, with a hint of purple developing over the soft flesh. Crimson was smeared along his chin, cleaned with his sleeve but the tinted smudge still remained. His cheek was bruised and scraped, the dark hues already settling in. Inuyasha opened his eyes, leveling with her own, his tongue slowly licking away fresh blood that seeped from his mouth.

“One of the bastards was wearing a ring.” He huskily mentioned.

She couldn’t withhold the exasperated grunt she’d released at his state, gripping his wrist a little tighter as she about-faced and led him to a nearby bench. Pulling him in front of her, she pushed down on his wrist to gesture for him to sit, releasing him as he followed suit with zero argument. His gaze sat along the far wall away from her as she gently held his jaw, looking him over to see the damage.

“Are you okay?” Kagome was heavily distraught, her fingers barely skimming the soft skin as she worried more of aggravating bruises that may not have developed yet. When she saw no markings beneath her fingertips, she’d set them down, running over the line of his jaw before reaching for each hand, one at a time, looking over his knuckles to see if harm had been done to his fists. He took his right hand back just as she ran her icy thumb over his scabbing middle knuckle, using the back of his sleeve to dab at his lip before setting his arm back in his lap.

“Fine.”

“There was more than one guy?”

“Two.” Inuyasha plainly stated.

“And, they just - they just attacked you?”

“No. Not quite.” He sighed. “It’s complicated.”

“How is it complicated? I don’t understand.”

“No, Kagome, don’t start. I don’t want you getting involved.” The hanyou stood, and Kagome instinctively gave him space as he stepped around her, heading to the vending machine.

“I’d hardly consider it getting involved if all you’re doing is explaining the situation.”

He slipped a dollar in, hitting the first cold drink in the machine and watching it clank to the bottom before reaching in for it, immediately pressing the beverage to his offended, bottom lip. He glanced back over, noting the concern in her eyes and the way her mouth pouted with the pressing emotion. Wow. How unpredictable that he’d grow so remarkably weak in the wake of her regard. “I told you, I used to associate with a shit crowd.”

“Yeah. Used to. Why are they still coming after you?”

“They didn’t think it was very respectful of me to just up and disappear on them when I wanted out. Then, I told them all to fuck off, which is always received well.” He sarcastically chuckled, sauntering back her way. “Their little leader, Bankotsu, wants to have a word with me, which typically means he wants to beat me senseless, but it’s more fun avoiding that and pissing him off than anything. Whenever I’ve bumped into any of his lackeys since then, they tell me to come with them and I always say if they can manage to kick my ass, I’ll go.”

“So, you challenge them.”

“Yeah. Pretty much. I’m not just gonna roll over.”

“But, why’d you get involved with them in the first place?” Her brow furrowed, dismay etched imperfectly in the way the skin between bunched.

The hanyou sighed, his chest deflating entirely, lowering the drink from his lip and letting it hang in his hand. “I was always angry, I was lashing out, so I went and got myself inducted into this team of misfit toys that I thought were relatable. It was fucking stupid, I know, and they treated me like trash from the get-go. I realized half demons always got the short end of the stick, but damn, even the lowlives of the alley made me feel like I didn’t belong anywhere.”

Kagome could hear the lick of resentment in his tone. Truthfully, she felt resentment for him.

“They actually had me wishing for a way to become a full demon for a while. Can you imagine how much easier my life would have been if I was a full fucking demon?” His aggravation was expanding, boiling in his gut, hot and bitter and vicious as the hard feelings of everything had never completely been dealt with. “I still think things would be better if I could just change. One or the other. Demon or human. No in between so there’s no bullshit to deal with.”

“Don’t you think that’s bullshit in itself?” Kagome boldly asked. “What good would that do? You’d only end up miserable.”

He’d reacted habitually, his defense shooting up as his scowl formed. “Oh, because I’m so much better off as it is? You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She froze for a second, unsuspecting of his tone. Sheepishly, she ducked her head, swallowing and taking a small step back. Maybe she shouldn’t have said that. Maybe it wasn’t her place. Maybe it didn’t matter what she thought, and her opinion was only received as an insult. Maybe that’s why he didn’t want her getting involved; because she always gave her two cents, like he’d said before. “Right. You’re right. That came out wrong. I’d only meant that you shouldn’t have to change who you are to be happy.”

Fuck. His temper was going to be his downfall. He could feel her guard going up, figuring he’d made her feel shut down. It was obvious she meant well, so why the fuck would he react like that? “Kagome -“

“No, you’re right. I don’t know what I’m talking about. I don’t know what you’ve been through. I just - I can’t imagine you as anything but a half demon.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you.” Inuyasha breathed.

“You didn’t. I get it; where you’re coming from, that is.” She assured, shaking her head. He didn’t firmly believe her. Her eye contact wasn’t holding. Inuyasha stepped inward to close the minute gap she’d created with the insecurity that had risen, appearing as invested in what she had to say as possible. He honestly wanted to know where she was going with her statement, his wary tendencies shadowing his surprise that she’d even have a rebuttal to his diffidence.

He wanted more from her, she could tell. He hadn’t meant to react so rashly, she could understand that, too. It took a moment to regain her bearings, her fingers balling in her sweater pockets, letting her confidence and comfort build while pushing the negative thoughts away as she leaned her head back to look up at him.

“Everyone who thinks little of you is shit.” Inuyasha watched her lips as she spoke, the words acting as fingers that steadily held onto his heart. There was no grip yet, but he was positive one would develop. It would wring him dry. It would bring him to his knees, he just fucking knew it. One statement. One statement in and he was already terrified of the beautiful damage she was about to inflict on him. Terrified and, oddly enough, thrilled. “I don’t care how many people that turns out to be, they’re all shit. This is you, and you are not bad or worthless or unnatural or whatever else they may have told you. If you could see you the way I do maybe you’d understand what I’m getting at, but I don’t think there’s any possible way you could be you in a different form. And,”

Kagome paused, her nerves clenching her stomach.

Inuyasha was breaking as everything he’d ever needed to hear was so easily spread out between them.

“I’d be -“

His eyes stared at her with astonishment, glowing through the shadow of his brow. She wanted to touch him, wanted to help him feel the adoration behind her sentiment, but she trembled so badly that she worried he’d confuse that with literally anything other than what she wanted to convey. The rest of her sentence was knotted in her throat, she almost had to coax it free. Her face grew hot, and she swore he’d inched down her way.

“I’d be devastated if a part of you were permanently thrown away. I like you the way you are.” She’d whispered.

Inuyasha felt himself moving without his command, drawn to her like she was the missing piece of a puzzle he’d been working on for so long now. He was slow in his action, achingly so, but he never once tried to regain control. Nor, did Kagome pull away. She was allowing his hands to cradle her jaw, to bring the two of them closer to one another, to breathe her in one inch at a time. He loved her. Fate was finally kind to him. He was intentionally tender, the tips of their noses grazing incredibly softly, her inhale short and broken and hitching in her chest, their lips just barely brushing together when the train’s horn alerted them as it came into the station.

Inuyasha tensed, pulling back and releasing her. Any conviction inside of him dwindled away with the startle, his nervousness intensifying to take hold of what was.

“I’m sorry.” He blurted, eyes bouncing back and forth from the stopping train to the blushing girl before him.

“It’s okay.” Kagome quickly assured.

“H-heat of the moment.” The excuse left his mouth before he had the chance to stop it. His mind was always looking for a scapegoat, for a way out of any situation, willing to toss out anything, and no matter how innocent this may have seemed in the split second it had flashed through his mind, it was also the most insensitive thing he could have said. He looked at her, his lungs no longer cooperating as they clasped his breath hostage, taking in the series of expressions that formed on her face. Mild shock, brown eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. Then her lips sealed and she gazed away, her cheeks still as red as before but her disappointment was so vivid. Then, when she smiled, as if she was trying to hide what he’d already witnessed, her eyes blinked quickly and he caught the faint scent of tears. He could have kicked himself. “Fuck, no, Kagome I -“

“That’s my train.” She mentioned, pointing, regarding him slightly, then walking away.

“Wait, where are you going?” Inuyasha followed, panic striking him. Hardly anyone had left the train, the cars mostly empty to begin with.

“I have to get my brother.” Kagome didn’t know which emotion predominated the other; humiliation or dejection. Her heart had dropped when he leaned in to kiss her, warmth flooding over her so wonderfully, only to have it all plummet to the floor when he’d said he hadn’t meant to. How much more vulnerable could she get without the promise of someone catching her as she fell? At this rate, she was bound to hit the ground. Hard. She was ready to cry, her chest was tight, and the absolute last thing she wanted was for Inuyasha to see her that way. She took deep breaths, as deep as her lungs would permit, gathering herself hastily.

The half demon lunged forward, snagging her arm and stopping her before she stepped through the open door of the train, her attention reactively flying right back to him. “I’m sorry, I said the wrong thing. I didn’t mean that.”

The warning announcement went off for all passengers to be on the train. Kagome looked back at the open car, stepping in, Inuyasha’s hand gliding from her upper arm, down to her elbow, her forearm, her wrist, and then her hand, gripping her there. His palm was hot and large around hers, and she couldn’t help but hold his hand in return, adding to the weight on her shoulders. She gave him a smile, trying to relax the distress on his brow. It didn’t work.

“It’s okay, it was an accident. You don’t have to worry about it.” She politely dismissed. He gripped her hand a little tighter, his jaw clenching. “It would have probably hurt your lip, anyway.”

“No, shit, I don’t care about that!” Another warning chime interrupting, rushing him. He wanted to tell her that if he had the guts, he would have never pulled away or moved so slowly that he’d lost his chance to begin with. He wanted to tell her that if he could, he would kiss her over and over and over and over, whenever he got the chance. It’s just not easy for him. None of this is easy for him. If he could communicate that with words, he would have, but they failed him just like so many times before. And, he wished the way he held her hand was enough, but it wasn’t. Who would understand what he was trying to say through the simplest of gestures, right? “It - it wasn’t - it wasn’t an accident. Believe me.”

Whatever was left of Kagome’s smile had faded.

Oh. Oh.

He’d wanted to kiss her?

Is that what he was telling her, that he’d wanted to kiss her? Because, it sure felt like it, and the intensity of his stare pierced her in such a different way than ever before. Kagome inadvertently clutched his hand tightly, topping the fervor of his hold. How did he feel right now, in this moment? It wasn’t right to guess. Assuming would only make matters worse for her at this point.

“Let me know when you get home safe, okay?”

She nodded, her fingers finally sliding out of his palm. As the door closed, Kagome ducked her head, fighting the thickness of her confliction.

—

“Woah, woah, wooooooah! Back up!” Sango sat on the edge of her bed as Kagome paced the floor of her bedroom, her friend unable to stop her finger-fidgeting in her current state. She’d come over to talk as the evening was setting in on their Saturday, claiming to need a distraction, and no wonder. The girl was loaded with clashing thoughts. “Is this why you’ve been acting so weird the past couple of days?”

“Yes.” Kagome replied unthinkingly, worrying her lip as she finally stopped in front of Sango.

“Not gonna lie, this was definitely a twist I wasn’t expecting. He kissed you?” She leaned forward in her spot, her fingers gripping the very edge of her mattress to hold steady.

“No. Almost.” Kagome corrected.

“But he leaned in?”

“Yes.”

“And then said it was a mistake?”

“Yes.”

“And then said that was a mistake?”

“Yes.”

“Wow. Okay. That’s not confusing at all. Repeat the rest of what you said, I got stuck on that part.”

“I don’t know what to think, Sango.” Kagome stated powerfully, the frown on her lips deepening. “Does he like me? Does he not like me? Did he really want to kiss me? Does it mean anything? Oh, what if he didn’t mean to almost kiss me but also didn’t mean to say what he said, so all he was trying to do was retract that? He wanted me to text him when I got home; isn’t that something someone only says when they really care about you? Am I reading too much into everything, or -“ She trailed off in a loud groan, flailing her hands out at her sides, resuming her pacing briefly and then abruptly stopping in front of Sango once more.

“First of all, breathe.” Sango said cautiously, watching her best friend with wide eyes. Never, in all the years they’d known each other, had she ever seen Kagome like this. It was worrisome. Kagome didn’t do as instructed, instead huffing to express a little more of her vexation. “Second, I don’t get it. I knew something was up with you, but this was far from what I imagined. You guys have been talking in school, standing all close to each other, texting… you seemed totally fine around him.”

“Yeah, because he can’t know what’s going through my head!”

“Shouldn’t he?” Sango almost flinched at the incredulous stare Kagome shot her way. “Look, I’ve told you a million times that I think he likes you, but it’s not good enough - which I totally get. The best thing is to hear it from Inuyasha, and the only way to get that right now is to ask him, yourself. Tell him that you’re losing your freaking mind playing this guessing game, and he needs to give you a straight yes or no.”

Kagome’s face fell, dark brown eyes falling to the floor. For the first time that night, she seemed a little more stable, maybe taking in Sango’s advice. Sauntering over, she sat next to Sango on the bed, her raven hair gliding over her shoulders as she sagged forward slightly.

“What if he says no?”

“Hey,” Sango cooed, twisting to face Kagome’s riddled form. She dragged the hair away from hiding Kagome’s face, pushing it behind her ear before rubbing her hand up and down her back as soothingly as possible. “I really don’t think he’ll say no. To me, all the signs are there. Maybe feelings just kind of freak him out and that leads him to literally say all the wrong things. All the time. He’s not Captain Charisma, babe. I mean, I could give you my theories all night long, from most likely to least likely, and in alphabetical order, but you and I both know it won’t be nearly as comforting as hearing it from the source. You just have to ask.”

“How do you ask someone how they feel about you? I’d be putting him on the spot.”

“Yeah, and in my unpopular opinion, that’s exactly what he needs!”

“He’d freeze and say something stupid. I know him.”

“Mm.” Sango hummed, pursing her lips. “You got me there. But, he’d only say something stupid if there’s something to hide.”

“You think?” Kagome inquired, her pout deeming innocence.

“Yeah.” She giggled. “That’s usually how it goes. You said it yourself, Inuyasha isn’t this big mystery. He’s expressive. You’re in your own head. What’s really got you so wrapped up here? You’re not usually like this.”

Kagome gave a small shrug, shying her eyes away before she could muster up an answer. “I think I might be falling in love with him.” She admitted, her voice small and timid, sinking to lay her head in Sango’s lap. “It’s very stressful.”

Sango laughed, stroking the black hair out of Kagome’s face to comfort her. “And not knowing how he feels is scary, right?”

Kagome nodded.

“Would it make you feel any better if I told you he has feelings for you, again?”

Kagome shook her head, her chin giving a little quiver.

“Oh no. Kay, it’s gonna be fine. Okay, here, stay the night and we’ll watch movies, and my dad got that jumbo bag of pizza rolls so we can go to town with those. I have The Wedding Singer, and Adam Sandler literally sings a song about how much love stings, yeah yeah?”

Kagome feigned a smile, sitting up and shaking her head. “I can’t tonight. Gotta get Sota.” She was lying. She really was her own worst enemy right now, but she couldn’t get her mind to calm down. It would be too difficult to enjoy the time with her best friend with how distracted she was. As much as she’d already sat alone in her bedroom and tried to sort out her thoughts,  maybe now she’d stand a better chance since she’d vented and gotten her main frustrations out in the open.

“Rain check?” Sango asked, cocking her head to the side sympathetically.

“Yeah. Thanks. I should get going.”

The night air was brisk, the skin of her arms covered in goosebumps, and she cursed herself for not bringing a sweater to Sango’s in the first place. Kagome didn’t want to go home, though. She felt so restless, so ridiculous, so antsy and weighted with how she was too nervous to convince herself Inuyasha had feelings for her, because the letdown of potential rejection was too harsh. If she was wrong, it would hurt so much worse if she’d allowed herself to believe otherwise without his affirmation. Just thinking of it was mortifying. 

Sango was right, this was unlike her. Sure, she was human, and sometimes she got as insecure as anyone else, but she never usually stayed down due to the density of her constant, nagging second-guessing. Even if she wasn’t sure about something, Kagome was the kind of person that gave it time for the air to clear so that she could see the situation a little better. Or, just took it all head-on. So, what was going on with her now? 

Everyone was right, if she was this riddled, she needed to just get it over with and ask, but she was so timorous about the ordeal. If she were on the other end of this, it would be incredibly awkward to answer. No matter the outcome, it would be uncomfortable. If it were a yes, you’re put in a position where you have to confirm before you’re ready to do so on your own. If it were a no, you’re put in a position where you have to turn someone down and then your friendship is on the line. 

And then your friendship is on the line.

No. She didn’t want that. She didn’t want to lose him.

Above all else, she just couldn’t bring herself to be selfish enough to ask for an answer. She could handle this on her own. She’d get over it. It didn’t matter that she was feeling down right now, because one of these days she was going to wake up and feel a percentage of the pressure had lifted from her chest. 

Was the pressure even normal? Was anything that she was feeling normal?

Kagome pulled her phone out of the back pocket of her jeans, dropping her butt onto a nearby bench as she let out a deep, guttural sigh. She’d texted her mom a little while ago saying she was staying a little later at Sango’s than anticipated so she wouldn’t worry, and she’d been wandering about ever since. Some fresh air was supposed to do her good. 

Truthfully, the one thing she wanted, the one thing she truly felt would actually do her any good, was to talk to Inuyasha. Not to bring up her feelings, or his, or the now-infamous almost kiss, or anything pertaining to them at all. She just wanted to talk to him. To hear his voice. To listen to that low rumble as he spoke. It was always so comforting to her, now more so than ever. She wanted him to say her name in his calm tone, hell even his grumpy one would help her feel stable right about now. Anything. Anything from him, she would happily accept.

It was kind of late; almost nine. Would he lecture her for calling at this hour? Would he ignore her altogether? Either way, she’d take the risk. This was the least she could do for herself. She clicked on his text from a few hours ago, hitting his picture-less icon, then the phone call button that appeared beneath.

Inuyasha laid on his bed, flipping through the channels on the tv in his room, donned in his joggers and nothing else. His ear flicked as his phone gave a long vibrate on the surface of his nightstand. He was half-tempted to ignore the damn thing, figuring it was Miroku trying to coerce him out of the house to hang out, and he was too damn comfortable to even entertain the idea. Just to be sure, he reached over, tilting the device his way to see who was calling.

A grin grew on his face when he noticed her name was the one illuminating his screen. She’d never called before. Whatever her reason, he didn’t care. Inuyasha immediately swiped to answer, putting her on speaker as he muted the television.

“Hey.” He spoke, his voice on the lazy side.

“Hi.” Kagome said weakly, unable to swallow the sadness that had balled in her throat. She hoped it wasn’t evident. “Were you asleep?”

“It’s nine, of course I wasn’t.” He replied. He couldn’t tell if this was just how she sounded over the phone, or if something was wrong, but he was leaning more towards the latter. Her voice sounded off, small, and it immediately piqued his concern. “Are you okay?”

She went to say she was fine, but her stomach was sinking and it was almost like she couldn’t think straight. She went to say it again, but instead she inhaled shakily to gain her bearings.

“Kagome?”

“I’m okay.” She finally said.

“What’s wrong?” Inuyasha sat up. He didn’t believe her. Of course, he didn’t believe her. That was the worst lie she’d ever said if she’d spoken one. Something was up.

“Nothing. I just - I, um -“

“Did something happen?” The half demon asked, his tone approaching more on the severe side. Kagome wasn’t replying, but he could hear her slow and trembling breathing, a sniffle breaking through, and he even heard her whispered curse toward herself. It was away from the speaker, but he’d caught it all the same. “Kagome…”

“I’m fine.” She said with a little more conviction. “I’m sorry, I -“

“Where are you?”

“What?”

“Are you at home?” Kagome could hear it. She could hear his worry. It was in the direct way he spoke, the tone that demanded an answer without so much as raising his voice. 

“No.” She responded just as meekly as her hello. 

“Where are you?” There it was again. Stronger. There was a bit of rustling, too, like he was moving around. “Kagome, where are you?”

“You know the park with that statue of the famous archer?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m there. I don’t know the nearest street name.”

“Are you alone?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, I’m coming. Where in the park are you?” Inuyasha set the phone back on his nightstand, grabbing his discarded jeans from the floor to change into them, his jaw clenching as his gut wrung with a budding panic.

“No, you don’t - that’s not why I called. It’s okay! I’m fine! Really!” She tried to reassure him, her heart giving an uneven thud behind her ribcage. 

“No, you’re not! Don’t lie to me! I’m coming, so I can either track your scent or you can make the process faster by telling me where you are!”

Kagome swallowed thickly, her chest heavy as she breathed. “I’m on a bench along the walking path.” She looked around for a notable landmark to guide him. “I think I’m in the thicker tree area.”

“I’ll find you.” He promised, slipping a tee shirt over his head. “Don’t move.”

“Inuyasha…”

“I don’t want to hear it. Don’t move, Kagome. I’ll be right there.” The line ended, beeping three times to signify he’d hung up.

She felt defeated and slightly embarrassed by the whole thing. She couldn’t even pull herself together to talk to him for five minutes like she’d wanted. The effects of his voice were, ironically, too soothing. Where she’d expected the gruff reverberation would calm her mind enough to stabilize, it in fact calmed her so much she almost crumbled instantaneously. It was like she suddenly felt safe enough to fall before him and know he’d help with whatever, and that wasn’t what she was aiming for.

Kagome waited as instructed, setting her phone in her lap so she could hug her exposed arms to her chest to defend against the bite of the air. The night was still, quiet, cars driving in the far distance where the hum of the wheels on pavement barely met her ears. Shoes clapping against the cement path grew closer and closer at a quick pace, bringing her attention to the side as she noticed Inuyasha curve the bend. Even as she stood, catching her phone before it slipped off her leg and to the floor, stepping into plain view, he didn’t stop.

He didn’t stop.

Not until he was within reach did he abruptly slow, grabbing onto her arms, his momentum still forceful enough to have them stumble back a few steps, but his strength enough to compensate and not allow her to trip.

Inuyasha had been worried fucking sick, his mind running wild with each passing moment he hadn’t gotten to her. Something happened but he didn’t know what, which meant anything could have happened to her, and he wasn’t okay with a single thought that crossed his mind to serve as the purpose of her distress. His first instinct was to look her over, his hands traveling to her forearms to bring them before him so he could check her flesh for markings of an assault.

“What happened, are you hurt!?”

“No.” Kagome answered promptly, wide-eyed, surprised by the way his hot hands moved over her. He took her jaw in his hold next, his fingers threading through her messy hair as he stepped in and analyzed her face.

“You sure?”

He was so gentle, his thumbs caressing her cheek, amber eyes radiating such consternation as he stared into her own.

Oh.

She’d been so blind. So foolish. Right then and there, with his current silence and his tender care, with the way he’d dropped whatever he was doing at the sound of her discernible sadness, ran straight to her, his chest now heaving up and down as his lungs demanded air but his question demanded an answer that he clearly needed to hear exponentially more than his body needed oxygen - that was his love language. He was saying so much more, and truth be told, probably had been for the entire time she’d been doubting it all. She shadowed herself, more capable of believing what her fear told her instead of him.

With her stomach still in knots and shambles, she laughed, more of disbelief than anything, as her eyes prickled and her body grew hot. She was so stupid. Tucking her head, Kagome pulled herself into his chest, his hands curving from where they’d sat at her jaw to the nape of her neck. They were light on her, no real firmness to them anymore, but she didn’t care. When they finally settled on her, bringing her against him securely, she felt herself falter, her emotions winning over as tears spilled out.

Carefully, Inuyasha smoothed his hands over Kagome’s soft waves, every barrier of his virtually nonexistent when it came to her now. It was hardly evident, but he could still feel her unsteadiness in the way she leaned her weight against him, ripping his soul apart, breaking his heart with the little quakes of her inhales. His grip around her tightened, and he curled his back to really support her, his cheek propped against the top of her head, pillowing into her thick hair.

“What happened?” He whispered. She gave a small chuckle through her crying, the noise wet but still pleasant. Against the center of his chest, she shook her head, her fingers clutching onto the back of his sweater a little stronger. “Tell me what’s wrong. Please.”

Kagome backed away, hiding her face as she wiped her cheeks with the heels of her hands, sniffling but regaining composure without having to hide anything anymore. She was smiling, little giggles slipping out, humiliated but the unhappiness fading away. “I’ve just been having a rough night. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you like this. That wasn’t why I called.”

“I’m glad you called.” Inuyasha immediately stated. She looked up at him, dazed, her cheeks red from her consistent wiping and the blood pooling beneath her skin, evident under the lamppost they stood beneath. “If something’s wrong, I want you to be able to turn to me. Unapologetically. What’s going on?”

He pulled off his sweater, twirling it over her shoulders and holding it steady so she could slip her arms through. His body heat was still soaked into the cloth, warming her arms, smelling so much like him the trembling in her muscles almost instantly stopped from the way it quelled her nerves. If she had just been paying attention all along, if she had just taken a step out of her confined box, she could have probably avoided all of this. Inuyasha had been trying to be more open toward her. For her. Now, here he was, unabashedly tending to her in the midsts of her breakdown because she’d gotten so deep into her own head that she just couldn’t handle it anymore. She was the cause of her own misery while Inuyasha had been right there all along. How stupid. Again, she laughed at herself. All she had to do was listen, and she would have understood the way he communicated. Just like her mom said.

“It was just one of those nights.” Kagome said, not wanting him to know the true reason behind it all. It was unnecessary at this point. She wanted to let it go. She wanted to let everything go and just feel the way she wanted without holding herself back anymore. “Everything was going wrong, but it was my fault.”

“What do you mean?”

“I-I was thinking so negatively and I just couldn’t stop. I felt really insecure, so I went for a walk but it wasn’t helping. And, that’s why I called you. I wanted to hear your voice so I could calm down.”

There was a hitch in his chest. Was it his heart or his lungs? His face grew hot, and mild embarrassment washed over him faster than he could process the words she’d spoken. She likes his voice. It’s soothing to her. A part of him wanted to retreat behind a cool demeanor and brush off what she’d said, but a larger, more dominating part of him refused to. What she said held meaning. Meaning he understood loud and clear. This was what he’d wanted from the moment he’d realized he’d fallen for her. This right here, being in her comfort zone, being the one who runs to her just to make sure she’s okay, responsible for holding her when she wasn’t, and adhering to her smile. The dull ache in his torso when she spoke in such a low voice was significant, and if she was going to so honestly rock his core with a single statement of her vulnerability, he wasn’t about to turn away from it.

“I was gonna come up with some stupid homework question to get you talking,” Kagome continued. “But, I blanked. I’m so sorry.”

Inuyasha reached over, gently petting her hair, flowing along her black waves to lay his hand on her shoulder. “What can I do for you right now? How can I help?”

“You already have.” She smiled. 

His fingers curved around the back of her neck, pulling her back into his body to tuck her safely into his arms. She relaxed against him, hugging his waist, and god dammit, he shouldn’t have been so happy just by the way her chest gave a minor hitch to adjust and follow his own breathing. In a moment of boldness, he rested his mouth against the top of her head, muffling the small kiss he gave.

“Thank you.” Kagome shyly said as they just about reached the front of her house. Inuyasha had been adamant on walking her home. He didn’t even have to argue with her on how she was stupid for saying he didn’t need to; all he did was give her a stern stare that effectively shut her mouth and shut her up. The entire walk home, he kept close, their arms occasionally brushing. A few times, if their paces ever accidentally differed, he’d pinch the baggy sleeves of the sweater he’d lent her, pulling her back to his side. 

That was never there before. She could only be grateful for the new development.

“Don’t worry about it. Are you okay now?” Inuyasha asked, giving a small cock of his head.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Hey, look at me. Are you okay now?” He repeated, wanting to see it in her eyes when she spoke.

She smiled, nodding. “I’m really okay. Embarrassed, but okay. I promise.”

“You’ll let me know if you need me, right?”

“Yeah.”

“You promise that, too?”

She let that one sink in for a moment, taking in the sweetness of his gaze. He wasn’t joking, or teasing her. He wanted assurance that she’d trust him. “I promise.”

“Good. Get inside.” He said. Kagome wiggled her shoulders to remove his sweater, but he swiftly stopped her by reaching behind and pulling the hood over her head. “Keep it. It looks good on you.”

“Won’t you get cold?” She blushed, pushing the hood back and biting her lip.

He gifted her a crooked grin, taking a few steps backwards. “Half demon, remember?”

“Right. Impervious to the elements.”

“Warmer blood, dummy.” He chuckled. “Go.”

“Will you, um, will you text me when you get home?”

“Sure. Whatever you want.”

Kagome bundled herself further into his sweater, enjoying the way his scent still engulfed her. “Good night.” She smiled, heading inside.

| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 |

[startwithbrooklyn]

THE GREAT ND REWATCH OF 2021 / SEPTEMBER 30, 2019 // larkspur lane/the whisper box

this post is a double whammy cause they have 2 eps happen in the same day if u can believe it (thats how awful judging timelines in this show is!!)

-"hi josh..." LMAOOOOOOO

-BESS just breaking in lmaooo how many god damn times does bess just shit the bed in this show

-LOVE her frowny face at nancys closet ("my expectations are low" lmfaoooo but this would totally be me)

-"bet she meant it metaphorically" okayyy but then why did lucy say that at all? i feel like theres defo more to this story, combined with josh's cagey behavior (part of which is to get nancy to stop looking into shit d/t him and karen but still)

-"they dont accept visitors unless they're family" .....🙂

-ace "youre really good at that" to bess i fuckin love this friendship with all my heart (also love their talk at the claw mirroring nick & nancys talk in the last ep)

-also PINK AND ORANGE BESS ARE U BLIND (also 1) why tf would nancy own this and 2) where would she wear it??)

-okay wtf is vampire dip

-"boss??" see this is what i meant yesterday about nancy ruining everything for nick/george

-god DAMN she sucks at dealing with this news lmaooo that emotional competency babey + love george literally agrees to help bc she feels bad (AND nicks immediate look of "you just reprimanded me for helping her last ep and i know why youre doing this rn" lmaoooo)

-LOVE george noticing nick "shout out to jean valjean" lmaooo once again nancy would never have noticed/commented on something like that

-"get the hell out of here" was this foreshadowing for an epic dad joke for these two eps? "how do you make holy water? you boil the hell out of it" 😂😂😂😂

-so what i dont get about the whole haunting is the ball + kids' laughter but its all the emphasis on "mr roper" the adult? wtf like what kind of entity is this

-"how did you ever have a solo career??" 😂

-okay amaya's hair is gorgeous here (also "you feel like a snack" ....👀) *ahhh so the reason bess feels so off balance is bc its like a top vs a top scenario

-has anyone who's ever been to prison confirmed this is what it looks like?

-love how ace is the only employee there when they all leave so he had to fucking close the place when he goes

-why does she take the whole file? time constraints? it'd be smarter to take pics + replace it (better sleuthing) but this place is clearly not well run anyway 😂

-so this is a pretty decent cover she invents but theres no way she would get away with it so easily for a real guard

-love how ace recognizes ryan's car (+ is able to find it by driving around)

-"my father wouldnt do anything like that" LMFAOOOOOO SIS WHY ARE U DEFENDING HIM ironically, ace is actually the best person suited to engage w ryan here d/t the car accident + connection with laura being ryans SIL. its a unique set up

-i am fascinated by the concept of priests + holy water being so effective here combined with mcginnis' beliefs and basically nondenominational ghosts/seances etc after that. the show is very clearly big on diversity but definitely steers clear from too much WASP stuff yk? wonder if other stuff from christianity works against the ghosts/demons like taking refuge in a church "holy ground" or using silver etc

-"did this start after the night of sept 10?" *this is where you get the time line for the seance if you didnt know

-this is so fucking funny when u realize that patient sal talks to is actually a ghost so sal really is psycho i guess 😂

-bitchsplain/tall jar of mayonnaise 🙏🏻😌 2gether 4ever

-how did ace get this van? also heart attack when he yells at carson (but then grins at him like a goofball lmaooo)

-"for nancys sake and yours" damn she owes ace big time for all this shit

-"what do we do for 7 minutes?" ...ummm play 7 minutes in heaven lmaooo 👀🥵

-was not expecting ace to look this sexy holding an axe but okay (*ah, its his short sleeve shirt showing his arms. usually hes a sleeves guy)

-"desperate for attention" nancy (from gomber) vs "bc she's starved for attention" patrice --> lucy (and candace also...) we know nancys detective work makes her seem like an attention seeker, but what was lucy doing to make them all think that? she was trying to hide her relationship with ryan, not expose it. unless they just mean the rumors about her?

-so is patrice hiding lucy's "truth" talking about lucy being a whore or lucy being a ghost? what is lucy's secret? did patrice guess she was pregnant or did patrice's somehow garbled mind remember tiffany trying to show patrice the video with lucy on it?

-wonder what captain thom thinks of this stand off w ace lmaooo

-"like you do?" top v top shenanigans

-how awko for carson to talk to karen again like this

-"oh no" ACE 😂

-love how amaya says "be a human" like shes kind of admitting people in rich circles typically arent (^this is an interesting focus in s2 when bess's rich family rejects her, thus making her human again, but nancy embraces her rich fam and experiences subsequent moral struggle which is predicted with the wraith)

-wonder what ryan thinks he could get from the marvins (which he cant get now lmaooo)

-this damn whisper box. so many questions. who named it the whisper box? why are the ropers' old possessions still there? who decided to build a mental hospital on top of it? and patrice! she "hid lucy's secrets" hannah gruen thinks tiffany tried to show patrice video w lucy on it, which patrice then specifically says she hid in the thin mans book. so patrice knows of the thin man? can she see him? does she know he was a ghost/supernatural? she must have a supernatural sense to know about him (unless sal told or some shit) so then when tiffany shows up w/ lucy being supernatural in it patrice hides it to protect her? is this why she is "crazy" kinda like victoria? supernatural elements or ability to sense ghosts makes her unstable? this is why lucy being a ghost/nursery rhyme that she repeats makes patrice worse/"stroke"? how did patrice even get into the whisper box to put the key in the bible and get out without getting trapped? also, her dementia --> lucidity is really fucking off, some people mildly switch like that but usually with dementia they cant even register new shit anymore

-...so did bess take the ride? 👀

-interesting how celia says "your father will be disappointed" but nothing of her own opinion. wonder how much celia truly puts up with to keep everett calm and nonhomicidal

-like george asking nick follow up questions that nancy never really would have asked

🥞🥞🥞(ep13)🥞🥞🥞

-is this bitch just eating a plain pancake with her bare hand?

-"extra case load and excessive volunteering" ugh. nancy's family here are like, gross in how "good" of people they are // unrealistic, trying to paint carson in the best light/ no way ryan could ever compare (but the reality is theyre not that good of people for lying about nancy) **and shes arrogant to think shes better than everyone else ie the only one who truly lives virtuously, thinks she can do no wrong sometimes even tho using sex to cope, breaking and entering, etc is not morally "good" stuff she still thinks she is the only one who doesnt lie and plays fair (like in the pilot she lists everyone else as a suspect but herself- obviously we know she isnt guilty but no one else does. (i mean in theory we really dont, what if nancy was an unreliable narrator and was actually guilty, that would be a hella cool show)its reactions like that where she cant understand why others like the chief suspect her

-ooooh ironic that in the Good Place carson readily agrees to pay her for helping with cases as opposed to s2 in reality

-nick's house has "problems" so why does he need a lawyer? as opposed to an interior designer, plumber, or realtor?

-in the Good Place nick and george realize they are not going to work out after one date. does this failure in the Good Place predict failure in reality, or merely an easier way of figuring out the truth? does this mean that the "opposite" of the Good Place is reality, or only an opinion of what is better? (nancy says "you all like me" as her opinion of them liking her is skewed; does this then only reflect nancys version for what is the "perfect life"?)

-why is bess a hippie??? and love how george curls her hair and wears pink lipstick here

-if this dream is so realistic then why is the one thing it cant conjure smoke? like how random

-love the locket being a key realization bc with things like jewelry you dont notice the weight of them until theyre gone

-"you all like me" in her perfect life nancy means they "like" her objectively/regardless of circumstance even though liking her is still an objective choice (like they "like" her because of other reasons instead of her working at the claw? (like how you make friends with coworkers/people at school every day but after you leave the job/graduate you never speak to them again) and her "thanks for showing up!" as if theyre not doing exactly that in reality 😐like where is she getting this shit? she sort of acknowledges in earlier eps she is hard to like/that she puts mysteries before friends, but also pushing them away to avoid danger like the previous ep "why do u show up" etc

-is it just me or does the inside of nicks "house" look like the drews'?

-nick has a dick scar lmaooooo (or more likely was hit in the balls or smth)

-love how nick + george match their anger in confronting sal 100% on the same level

-so when did ace go back to work after having such a busy day earlier?? lmaooo

-damn father shane is a creep (casting defo hired him for his voice) and how tf did he just poof + escape? and what did he request???

-love bess's white hair bow here 😌+ her jacket, whole outfit on point as usual

-like how bess is right that nancy has to find her way out but thats kind of a nonstarter for a room full of panicked people wanting to help

-in the Good Place theres no bad blood between drews + hudsons bc nancy is really theirs

-"the only one who has the key is you" in the Good Place nancy has the key (smaller picture, to finding out what happened to lucy but bigger picture, post-reveal) but ryan has the clues nancy needs- following the Good Place's mirroring, this just means that in reality ryan will either be completely useless or an active hindrance (but you KNOW this is a dream bc in what universe would ryan remember clues like that 😂)

-so in a perfect universe ryan acknowledges his family's "criminal empire" as opposed to reality where he only makes under cover jabs about disengaging with being an "entitled corrupt legacy criminal" ie finding the bonny scot relics but does nothing about them, etc

-"strippers" 😂

-okay what is nancys obsession w her beanie?? bc her mom made it? "wear beanies do crimes?" idk

-making the call: nancy -unable to make up for lost time/both her mothers had to find out/suffer alone / in the Good Place nancy was able to be with kate while she called, and in reality she had carson; somethig about seeing the mother looking to the daughter for strength in the Good Place instead of the reverse (which is what reality sounded like, kate being strong for nancy through the illness despite the struggle)

-concept: nancy & nick "let's wait out the storm"

-"i believe that you believe it" nick in the Good Place + owen in reality both trust nancy when she says she's seen things (owen's is the teeth) but nick in reality (and not really knowing details) doesnt think much of their "moment" bc it wasnt real (so she had to leave the Good Place to save carson- but if she had known then he wasnt her real dad, would she have stayed to be w nick?)

-stranger - suede james 💙👌🏻

-"really anxious as a kid" v telling bc of her desire to know everything to remain in control of situations like she always does now

-"the medicine or the metaphysics?"/"you cannot beat supernatural with science"

-i love nancy playing with her pinky while saying goodbye 🥺

-"always seek out the truth even if it hurts" this is straight irony bc kate never told nancy anything. like does that include the truth about nancys parentage? they taught her to seek out the truth, but who taught her that the truth is the only thing to live by? ie things dont count anymore like carson and kate straight up raising her is tossed out bc she finds out its not "the truth" like all that work/stress to protect carson + she just drops him? with kate maybe shes just upset thst she spent all that time mourning for someone who lied. and would she do the same to ryan if needed? probably

-bess and ace head tilt 💙

-like how for all the time she spent there nancy only has a subconscious memory of blue curtains

-YESSSSS i LOVEthese beautiful overhead shots of hannah's hands. so out of character for the show lmao but so gorgeous

-i feel like future eps/grand future will be nancy going through the lock boxes to help people who asked hannah for help

-the video is officially dated Aug 22, 2019

-soooooo in the first ep nancy breaks into the hudsons house and finds tiffanys secret drawer w the nail polish and finds the amulet with a note that says "for your protection HG" yet on this video tiffany says she talked to a medium who gave her the amulet sooooo am i just confused? HG is hannah gruen obvi so is the address for the medium what hannah gave her? or was the address on the amulet which nancy dissolved in salt water to see? so how would tiffany know where to go? its chicken and the egg which came first hannah or the medium?

and lastly:

i close these two eps with a thought that everything in this show is sealed in death. all the lies, the imagery, the fake constructs people put up to get by all crumple the second someone dies- all the secrets come clean just like these doors have been unsealed.

[sirfluffig]

(Sir) Silvio Durante

Chosen of Laverna

"I'm dishonest, and a dishonest man you can always trust to be dishonest. Honestly. It's the honest ones you want to watch out for, because you can never predict when they're going to do something incredibly … stupid."

- Captain Jack Sparrow

Silvio Durante is the first son of a rather big family which originates in Rome itself. While their family tree is able to spread into hundreds upon hundreds other families, there is one consisting line of Durantes throughout almost all of history and it doesn't seem like there is going to be much change in the future. It is a family tradition that the children of said family branch are sent to the locally very known Olympia School of Magic to get educated under a specific gods guidance. While Family Durante is known for mostly being guided by the gods Mars and Iuno, there always were a few outsiders. Nonetheless, they accept any honorable Guide with welcoming open arms.

As part of this particular family branch, the young Silvio Durante was born in Rome and was homeschooled in fight and wisdom by his respective tutors, seeing that his parents never got the time to actually care for him. But these tutors were merely anyhow successful in their work and ethics. Silvio is a rather mischievous and cunning student, his overly developed charisma allowed him to charm his way out of problems, for example when he forgot to do his homework or mocked the teacher... while his bright and resourceful mind helps him coming up with a plan B if his silver tongue won’t be enough. 

If not forcefully tutored, Silvio spent a lot of time alone in his dark and shadowy room reading, drawing or partly also singing in foreign tongue that he picked up along the way. He also is very fascinated by muggle stage magic which lead him to train cards tricks and other classical manners of illusions and manipulation.

While many people may consider it unhealthy, Silvio actually did a lot of things under the cloak of the darkness, which can be dated back to the earliest days of his childhood, when he turned off the lights as soon as he entered a room, claiming that he would see better that way. 

Later on, when Sir Cyrus Durante and his wife Lady Fiona Durante got suspicious of their son's unique behaviour, they took him to see a children's doctor. Said doctor discovered that bright and pure lights lead to unspeakable painful headaches for the noble adept. From this day on, Silvio mostly slept through the day and rose to act at night. When he was awake during daytime, Silvio often wore and still wears sunglasses to protect his sensitive eyes. The general lack of sunlight made the boys skin turn very pale and prone to sunburns if not covered in cloth.

Now you might think that such an extroverted character shouldn't be all alone every day, only having himself around and even though he appears to be a social chameleon, Silvio prefers to keep away from the warm and bustling cities.

So it is indeed no wonder that when he attended the Olympia School of Magic, upon the sorting he was chosen by nobody less than the infamous and often quite mistrusted  Goddess of Lies, Trickery and Darkness: Laverna. Also known as the Matron of Criminals, Mother of Thieves and Protector of Charlatans.

The Durante family had to endure a lot of outsiders in their noble family, where honored warfare and educational wisdom are the top priorities and yet they gladly accepted these breaks but being chosen by such a disgraceful and unhonorable deity, couldn't be left unpunished in the eyes of Lord and Lady Durante.

Silvio was disowned and renounced all connections to his yet so "loyal" family that very day. Who takes care of him now, is broadly unknown and not an easy to access information. Some students mumble about the rumour that Silvio has been taken in by the Darkness or Laverna herself, but these are all just theories.. 

While receiving the blessing of said generous trickster, Silvio got a lot of helpful abilities bestowed upon him. For example, his most used talent is Shapeshifting. The possibility manipulate his Appearance or his voice to appear to his bidding. Bending the reality to his will and making people believe what he deems them to believe. He already stopped counting the amount of friendships he destroyed and hearts he broke. Because if the entire school judges and villainize you from the start, why not giving them what they ask for?

This pairs well with the fact that he is almost impossible to be spotted when standing in the shadows, engulfed in the darkness, Silvio is accustomed to live in. It is almost like he is invisible and decides himself who is allowed to see him and who is not. These two abilities of Laverna have been proven more than handy for tricking other students or teachers, countless of times. And the tendency is still rising

Alongside other minor traits and talents that may prove valuable for a trickster, Laverna granted an irresistible charm on the young student, making his already honeyed words, sound even smoother and trustworthier. This trait was one of the few things that lead Silvio to become one of the more infamous and generally mistrusted students.

Silvios deepest desire is love and acceptance but due to his parents betrayal and general lack of empathy, the jokester has no idea how to achieve this wish and uses his nefarious abilities to gain attention of people that he likes, often making his Chance of friendships even worse.

The pendant which was granted Silvio when he was sorted into the house of the ones chosen by the Matron of Thieves, takes the form of a rather big open lock in various silver tones and adorned with countless jewels across it. Silvio not only wears this sign around his neck, but also has it engraved on his belt buckle. As for his appearance, there always are a few violations of the dress code, that he has to talk his way out, but all in all, his uniform looks like everyone else's. 

While he still wears the long draped robes, he is supposed to wear while being in class, he somehow gets through with having the pieces of cloth magically coloured in a darker and more purplish burgundy than other students alongside with having long sleeves, covering the entire arm. But this is not the only difference to a uncustomized school uniform. Unusually for other students, Silvio's long and fine adorned robes don't end in fancy golden sandals with ornamented straps, the trickster is known for wearing more steadfast and secure brown leather boots around the courtyard. Seeing as he is almost allergic to sunlight, the teachers dont see s problem with that at all.

Thank you very much @kathrynalicemc for this amazing school and this even better challenge. It is my obligation to Tag @upset-hufflepuff because I know you will forget this otherwise. Anyways. Enjoy my Bastard boy, who will steal your kneecaps.

[idiotpotters]

Cedar Wood and Galleons

Harry Potter x Draco Malfoy

Word Count: 2.8k+

Summary: “Crush culture makes me wanna spill my guts out. I know what you're doing, trying to get me to pursue you.” - Crush Culture, Conan Gray

Warnings: Angst

Author’s Note- This is for @hufflefluff-writer ‘s writing challenge from a g e s ago! I completely forgot I had this in my drafts so now I’m finally posting it. This is the first writing I’m posting on this blog so I hope y’all like it. I know the amortentia story line is way overused in this fandom, but let me have my fun. Let me know what you think! And thanks so much to Amelia for putting this together!

-

Harry’s temples were shining with sweat. His sleeves were haphazardly rolled up, red and gold striped tie loosened. He leaned over his potion, stirring carefully as purplish steam swirled from its pearlescent surface. The fumes of treacle tart, and the polished ebony and hazel of his Firebolt filled his nose. He tried to ignore it, but the third fragrance dug its heels into his senses the strongest, cedar wood hair gel and the familiar metallic scent of galleons.

Harry rubbed at his nose with the back of his hand, as though it would banish the smell. Nothing seemed to help, it was filling him up, stinging his nostrils, hot and steaming down his throat. He pushed away the desire to breathe in ever so slowly and deeply so that it filled him up, and the craving to do it again. To lean down so the tip of his nose nearly touched the shining surface of the potion and breathe it in, to savor the feeling of it inflating his body, pushing into his head and making him dizzy.

Instead, he leaned back and raised his hand, catching Slughorn’s eye. As the professor made his way to Harry’s cauldron, he made an effort not to turn his eyes toward Malfoy. He didn’t even notice Hermione’s furtive glance of jealousy at him for finishing first, a tiny voice in his head was begging him to turn and stare. To watch as Draco leaned over his own potion, wonder if he smelled woody broomstick handles and smoking fireplaces.

He shook himself free of the thought and met Slughorn’s cheerful eyes.

“Beautiful execution of the amortentia potion, Mr. Potter.” The professor applauded, patting Harry’s shoulder. “Ten points to Gryffindor. Pour a vial and place it on my desk, then go ahead and clean up your cauldron.”

Harry sighed with relief, eager to get the scent out of his head. He ladled his potion into a glass vial and corked it. He then wound through students and cauldrons to leave it at Professor Slughorn’s desk, along with a slip of parchment that had his name written sloppily across it.

When he turned to come back to his cauldron however, his eyes caught Malfoy’s, who was leaning ever so casually against the table where Harry potion sat, still waiting to be cleaned. His heart jumped up to his throat, fingers tingling with nerves as he bit down on the inside of his cheek. Strands of Malfoy’s hair fell into his eyes as he met Harry’s gaze unwaveringly. Harry expected to see a familiar smirk pulling at Malfoy’s thin lips, but his face was locked in an expression Harry couldn’t identify. He would’ve said it was indifference, but Malfoy’s eyes looked so determined, focused, even conflicted.

Harry walked quickly to his desk, forcing himself into a resentful frown.

“What are you doing here?” He ordered more than asked, avoiding Malfoy’s eyes as he carefully gathered leftover rose petals. A bubbly, excited feeling was crawling up his center, threatening to boil over and fill his chest, soak him with giddiness at the sight of the pale, pointed face ahead of him. He pushed aside, the dread that it was even there was enough to bring its raging boil to a feeble simmer.

“What do you smell, Potter?” Malfoy drawled under his breath next to Harry, who could feel him standing close, too close. Harry tensed as he felt Malfoy’s long, pale fingers graze his forearm.

“None of your business, Malfoy.” He snapped, daring to turn and look at Draco after he deposited his petals into a jar. Harry could no longer tell if the scent of hair gel and coins was coming from his cauldron or from the boy in front of him.“Get out of my face.” He said through gritted teeth, having to turn his eyes slightly upward to meet Draco’s gaze.

“Harry,” Hermione’s voice sounded from next to him, her tone filled with warning, as it so often was. Harry ignored her, unwilling to back down.

Malfoy only stared down his pointed nose at Harry, as though waiting for him to say something else. Harry’s heart was racing in his chest, pounding against his ribs. It would be so easy to hold Draco’s face in his hands and pull him into a kiss, harsh and passionate, feel Malfoy’s lips against his skin, run his fingers through his hair. 

He’s playing a game, Harry thought to himself, he knows, he can tell, and he’s using it against me.

Time seemed to freeze as Harry flattened his hands on Malfoy’s chest and shoved him backwards, hard. As Draco stumbled, that ever familiar smirk found its way onto his lips. Malfoy hooked his fingers onto the edge of Harry’s cauldron, unaffected by its heat, and with a gentle pull, sent it careening off the edge of the table. Thin silvery purple liquid arced through the air, the candles that filled the dungeon with dim light shone off of it and flecked through it. The yellow light turned pinkish as it filtered through the potion, speckling peachy light across Malfoy’s nose for a fraction of a moment before the liquid splashed over Harry’s clothes. Hot potion soaked his pants, turning the bottom of his white shirt purple as the cauldron clattered to the ground. The heat of the amortentia stung, and he knew that beneath his clothes, his skin was turning red.

Without a thought of doubt, he reached for his wand, whipping it from his back pocket and pressing it’s tip into the center of Malfoy’s chest. The dark holly point dimpled Malfoy’s emerald and silver striped tie as Harry wracked his mind for a hex. Time restarted and Draco only smiled, his wand still tucked carefully in his robes.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Ron reaching for his wand as well, his ears turning scarlet as he glared at Malfoy.

“Mr. Potter!” Professor Slughorn’s voice sounded from the front of the classroom as he rushed toward the two boys. Ron tucked his wand back into his robes. “Lower your wand.”

“I would’ve expected better from the two of you.” He said, having to place a hand on top of Harry’s wand and force it down to his side. “Ten points from each of your houses.” 

Harry huffed in frustration, not able to tear his gaze away from Malfoy. Silvery eyes bore into his own, still full of emotion Harry couldn’t put together. Conflicted and mischievous, innocent and decisive all at once. “And detention!” Slughorn added.

“Professor-” Malfoy started calmly, breaking the unintentional staring contest himself and turning his eyes to the professor.

“I don’t want to hear it.” Slughorn swished his wand and Harry’s potion disappeared from the stone floor. “Potter, get yourself cleaned up and visit the hospital wing if you must.” 

With immense effort, Harry tugged his eyes away from Malfoy, picked up his bag, and pushed his way to the door without so much of a goodbye to Ron and Hermione.

He sped down the corridors toward Gryffindor tower, fuming. Malfoy’s scent still surrounded him now that it was soaked into his clothes. He would have torn his own heart out through his mouth if it meant this infatuation would go away. And Malfoy only knew how to make it worse, loosen his tie and unbutton his shirt only one button too far, wear his tightest black trousers, run his hand through his hair, roll up his sleeves and stretch his arms in the middle of class, bite on his bottom lip when trying to concentrate. It was as if every day he was trying harder to tempt and manipulate Harry, pull him deeper and deeper into drowning in that scent of cedar wood and metal.

Harry thought about this all the way to his dormitory, while he changed out of his soaked clothes and into clean robes, while walking to his next class, while eating lunch, he thought about it straight through to the end of the day, and it wouldn’t be the first time.

-

By the time he reached Slughorn’s classroom at 5:00 that evening for detention, Harry was exhausted. All he wanted was to draw the thick scarlet curtains of his four-poster and curl up under his blankets. All day, conflicting thoughts had been swimming through his head, and it didn’t help when Malfoy arrived and stood next to him at Slughorn’s desk. There was that scent again, hair product and money. Malfoy had taken off his button-down and was dressed in a simple white t-shirt tucked into his belt. However simple, the outfit still sent Harry’s heart pounding again, his eyes flitting around the room in search of anything to look at other than Malfoy’s exposed arms, or his chest and back outlined perfectly by the thin fabric.

When Slughorn entered the room, Harry’s gaze snapped to him, watching him walk the perimeter of the classroom and sit at his desk. “Alright.” He started, straightening a stack of parchment and digging a quill and red ink from his bag. “I’m going to grade papers.”

Harry and Malfoy nodded almost simultaneously, waiting for instructions, not daring to look at each other. “You two,” continued Slughorn, “Are going to organize the closet,” He pointed at the stores in the corner of the room, where the door hung open. “Two capable potions students like you should have no trouble doing it quickly.”

They started to turn, resigning themselves to the task of standing together in the tight closet and sorting jars of various potions ingredients. Slughorn caught them before they could take a step toward the stores, “And try your hand at getting along for a minute while you’re in there.” He waved his hand dismissively and Harry and Malfoy made their way to the closet.

Several minutes of jars clinking against one another and sliding across shelves passed as Harry and Malfoy worked with their backs to each other. Harry tried hard to ignore him, his scent still harsh on Harry’s nose despite the lack of love potion. He tried to focus his mind on his Defense Against the Dark Arts essay, pushing away each thought of Malfoy that snuck into his mind. It wasn’t easy, every few moments, Harry would bump into him because of how small the closet was.

“Can you mind your space?” Harry snapped finally.

“Am I in your bubble, Potter?” Malfoy shot back sarcastically. Still, they didn’t turn to look at one another, Malfoy avoiding Harry’s eyes just as much as Harry avoided his.

A few more moments of silence passed before Malfoy opened his mouth again, “You never did answer my question.” He said softly, voice lacking it’s usual haughty aire.

“What question?” Harry frowned, pushing a jar of snake hearts out from behind a vial of ground unicorn horn. As much as he had tried to snap, the question had come out just as soft and curious as it felt.

“What did you smell on your potion today?”

Harry sighed in irritation, why did Malfoy care what he smelled off of his potion? “Treacle tart and broomstick.” He answered, sorting stink sap and valerian leaves. Malfoy was trying to manipulate him into spilling his feelings, and he wasn’t going to let him win. 

Another few moments of silence, Harry could feel the stiffness of the air pressing in on his throat.

“I smelled broomstick handle too.” Malfoy said finally. Harry’s brow furrowed, Malfoy had quit quidditch earlier that year. In fact, he never really seemed to have much of an interest in the sport, he only ever wanted to enjoy the feeling of winning. “And a fireplace.” He went on.

Harry’s breath quickened, and he listened as Malfoy stopped sorting jars and turned to face Harry’s back, “What do you think that means, Potter?”

Harry didn’t answer, reading the label of a jar over and over again. He tried to rationalize it, maybe the broomstick reminded Malfoy of winning, and maybe he enjoyed sitting by the fireplace just as much as Harry did. Maybe it all meant nothing and he was just trying to force something out of him.

“I can’t seem to place it.” Malfoy went on. Harry wouldn’t see it, eyes focused on the jar of morning dew in his hands. But Malfoy was lifting a hand, hovering beside Harry’s shoulder, hesitating to grab him and turn him around.

“What do you smell?” He asked again, this time in a whisper. Second guessing, he drew his hand away and let it drop to his side.

“I told you.”

“Did you?”

This is his game, Harry told himself, daring to set down the jar on a shelf, leaving his hands empty, he wants me to admit it.

Against his best judgement, he turned to Malfoy, who’s face held a certain sincerity Harry had never seen on him before. He’s going to wait until I say something, then Crabbe and Goyle will come out to laugh at me.

Harry stared down at Malfoy’s chest. He wouldn’t dare meet his silvery eyes, that would be how he’d pull him in, it always was. Draco’s eyes were what set Harry’s heart skipping beats, his guts twisting and knotting, his stomach pooling with something hot and pleading, something like want.

He’s going to get me to say something, then I’ll see he’s brought Ron and Hermione here to watch me betray their trust.

Malfoy reached up carefully, so carefully. His fingers pushed through Harry’s hair, his palm resting on the back of his neck. He tried to ignore how soft the strands felt on his hand, suppressing what he really wanted to say, I think I smell you on my potion, Potter. I think sometimes I can’t get you off my mind. You make my pulse race, you make my face go red.

“Cedar wood hair gel and galleons.” Harry said finally, meeting Draco’s gaze. 

Jars clanged against one another as Draco pushed Harry back into the shelf behind him, capturing his lips in a bruising kiss. Malfoy pushed Harry’s cloak off of his shoulders, letting it fall to his elbows as his hands hovered, hesitating.

Pins and needles rushed through Harry’s limbs, the feeling of kissing Draco was nothing less than he imagined. His gut pooling with anticipation, heart racing in his chest. Harry’s hand fell on the small of Malfoy’s back, pulling him closer. His left hand reached up, fingers twining into the hairs at the nape of his neck.

They slotted together so perfectly, flawlessly pushed together in every place they needed. It made their skin tingle with energy, an electricity winding through their bodies, the absolute connection finally igniting the fuse.

Malfoy moved to cup Harry’s cheek, but pulled away. As quickly as he had crashed into Harry, he drew away. Harry leaned against the shelf, hair and robes disheveled as he watched Malfoy, waiting for the explanation, the moment his friends��� laughter would start to echo around them. But it never did.

They stared at one another for an everlasting moment, catching their breaths.

“I-I’m not falling for you.” Malfoy stuttered out finally, his voice suddenly so familiarly cold and harsh and quick.

Harry’s breath quickened, he knew it. “Manipulative bastard.”

Malfoy didn’t reply, he pushed open the door of the storeroom and slipped out before speeding from the classroom.

-

Detention had lasted hours longer, Harry carefully sorting jars by himself while Slughorn graded papers. He was numb, pushing away every thought and every emotion that tugged at him until he could hide them safely behind the curtains of his four-poster. He wasn’t sure if Slughorn had even noticed Draco leave, or if he had simply decided to deal with it another time. 

The way back to the dormitory was automatic, he didn’t need to think about where he was going, or anything really. He stared blankly ahead of him, droned the password to the Fat Lady, and climbed through the portrait hole. He didn’t greet anyone in the common room, though most people were still up, doing homework or talking with friends. He ignored them, and climbed the stairs to the dormitory.

The hardest part was accepting that he’d let himself get caught up in the moment, he’d let himself fall. He’d given in to the belief that somehow Malfoy could sincerely fall for him. 

Reaching to the floor to pick up his potion soaked shirt, he fell into bed and drew his curtains. Curling into a fetal position still atop his covers, Harry finally let tears free to roll across his face. He held the shirt to his chest and breathed in the scent with slow, deep breaths. Cedar wood and coins overwhelming his senses just as it had when Malfoy had kissed him. The potion was cold now, a chill creeping down his fingers from where he gripped the shirt. 

He had pushed away this constricting, aching pain for months, but now it was sharp, stabbing agony. It wouldn’t be ignored anymore. Harry choked on a sob, pushing his face into the soaked fabric. He breathed it in again and let it fill him. It all made him want to spill his guts out.

-

Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you thought!

[parasite-core]

You've been visited by the random OC question fairy! :D ~☆

How easily does this character trust their feelings with others? Has anyone ever betrayed them? How has their past affected their ability to trust?

Thank you for the ask 😊 I’m going to throw a couple of OCs into the ring for this one.

Umbrolus: Trusting baby boy. Umbrolus wears his heart on his sleeve. He’s friendly and loyal and excessively honest with people he likes, as well as being fiercely protective of them. He’s also anywhere between passive aggressive to outright aggressive with people he doesn’t like. If he just met someone, he tends to assume the best and is friendly and open until given a reason to be otherwise. He’s very sheltered and hasn’t experienced much betrayal. He was taught by his parent to be suspicious of humans and that they are treacherous creatures buuuut...the lessons didn’t really take 😅

Kaius ‘Hawke’ River: Kaius is a silver tongued liar. He puts on the face that’s most convenient for a situation. Sometimes this is for a good reason: to protect his family from the enemies he’s made, to make a new past for himself so he can have a brighter future, or to keep a friend safe from an uncomfortable truth. Other times he just likes to screw with people. His past has affected his ability to trust, in an interesting way. He doesn’t generally trust the people around him with anything about himself because he feels it could be used against those he loved. But he also trusts in the ability for people to choose to change, to choose to reinvent themselves and to be better. So long as someone hasn’t wronged his family specifically—and even then he’ll make exceptions for people he feels were young and manipulated (*coughGabbycough*).

Roland: Roland is very careful about what he shows. He’s very much a think first talk second sort of person, who is very precise with his words. He might also just be a little emotionally repressed. He only really shows his emotions in any big way when they’re especially overwhelming. Namely when he comes in contact with his ptsd triggers. He’s a little more emotional when one-on-one with people he loves and trusts too, but really most of his emotional tells are very subtle. He spent much of his young life with an emotionally and physically abusive friend/later boyfriend, so that almost certainly played a big part. He also has a pretty big guilt complex and until late game didn’t feel like he deserved happiness of any sort, so these things didn’t help him to be very emotive. After the time skip he’s likely going to have loosened up a little bit, although he’s never going to be someone who wears his heart on his sleeve. In part because he doesn’t actually have a heart but that’s a whole other subject 😂

Sai: Sai wears her heart on her sleeve too. Much like Umbrolus, Sai had a very sheltered upbringing. Unlike Umbrolus, she took the lessons that people are scary and would hurt her to heart. She is very cautious of new people. But also openly very cautious, she’s scared and shy of people, and openly resentful and aggressive towards people who she feels threatened by. But she’s also very openly friendly with people she likes, and doesn’t try to hide her opinions of any of them, good or bad.

Lucien: Lucien is interesting in that he’s very bright and positive and seems like he wears his heart on his sleeve, but actually he’s very dishonest about his emotional state. Lucien is one of those people who is extremely depressed, but who puts on a smiling goofball face to cope, and to keep others from worrying. His childhood taught him that he’s a burden and useless, so putting his actual emotions (or worse, numbness where those emotions should be) on display and being more of a burden is out of the question. No, he’d rather throw himself into constant danger and distraction and situations where only luck can get him out alive, and forget for a little while that he doesn’t feel right, and let everyone else just see the idiot goofball, because that’s more convenient for everyone.

[harrypeglar]

black sails gift exchange 2019

my recipient is @illgiveyouallofme! hope you enjoy this fic since it uh.... got out of hand very quickly. 

posted on ao3 here

Flint has no fucking idea what Silver is doing. What he even thinks he’s doing. His second “daily address” went about as well as the first one. Now he thumbs at a few parchment notes with reluctance, and yes, he’s going to try it again. Twice he has not learned his lesson.

“If you’re trying to impress me, it isn’t working,” Flint tells him, although it isn’t wholly true. He is impressed at how little an apparent sailor can know about sailing, and that Silver is in fact capable of using a compass.

The man sighs as if the beatings he receives from the crew are minor inconveniences, and stands to take center-stage in the mess. Flint raises his brow at the sauntering steps he takes to reach his non-existent pulpit.

It begins like it usually does, with a weather report and a few resigned groans from Silver’s audience before he gets into more pressing matters. Flint, despite his better judgment, had thought that grown men wouldn’t entertain his gossip, but it seems Silver’s estimation of their maturity was accurate. Dooley is quick to blows, dropping the smaller man without pause. Flint winces.

But when he staggers back to his feet, they’re listening.

This one is undeniably worse, and Silver’s beating corresponds with the seriousness of his accusation. The crew member kicks him while he’s laid out on the floorboards, hard enough to bruise, at least knock the breath out of him in the best-case scenario. Flint nearly stands to exchange blows with the goat-fucker, since it appears that Silver can’t do that for himself. (And it’s no wonder; he wasn’t able to fight the Spaniards effectively, not to mention that his frame must be one of the smallest among the men.) But he realizes that he’s still disgraced, and that to get into a brawl would only hurt his chances for captaincy. As the man hauls Silver up by his hair, Flint’s stomach twists, despite reminding himself that Silver too will be better off in the long run if he doesn’t cause a scene.

He briefly wonders when he began taking Silver’s interests into account.  

Then the crew is raucous with insults and laughter, and Silver is left alone as the other man is harassed by his mates to what seems like no end. Flint has no interest in it. Instead, he watches the corners of Silver’s lips pull back, revealing blood-stained teeth, into a satisfied smile. His gaze darts over to Flint for- what, approval? Even more surprising is that it’s given to him freely. Flint snorts incredulously and offers a curt nod, meeting his wild eyes in a rare gesture of respect. He’s proven his plan to be effective, something that Flint wouldn’t have believed if he hadn’t witnessed it.

Later, after a whirlwind day, he sees the beginning of a solemn evening. The ship’s company associates Dufresne’s name with a bad taste in their mouths, and then he’s captain again before the night is through.

He’s thoroughly studying his new cabin and its contents when there’s a knock at the door. “Come in.” Silver peeks in first, almost as if afraid to enter, but quickly recovers with a sly smile, closing the heavy cabin door behind him.

“Congratulations, Captain. I’m glad I can call you that again; Mr. Dufresne was a stickler about my habit, but I don’t think I could accept him as a-“

“Take your shirt off.”

A pause and a soft frown. “Beg pardon?”

“You have a bootprint on your chest, for fuck’s sake.” Flint huffs and approaches Silver, who has gained a sort of blank, dumb look on his face. His sleeve is speckled with blood, and there’s a dried line of it still under his chin. “You can’t wear this.”

Silver gives a little shrug, but his breath is shallow from pain. Flint’s heart twinges with sympathy, despite having a damn good case as to why he shouldn’t feel anything for the thief. “I don’t have much else to wear. That striped shirt took quite a beating too…”

“Be mindful not to strain yourself so much, and you can take one from here for the time being.” He turns away, both to find a shirt in the cabinets he’d snooped in earlier and to indicate that he’ll hear no argument. A sigh emanates from behind him, but a rustle of fabric tells him Silver is complying. When he goes to hand off the garment, he’s frozen at the sight of Silver’s mottled torso.

Silver delicately snags it from his hands, glaring. “You know, Captain, I have been beaten before.”

“I’m not surprised,” Flint retorts, and Silver goes curiously silent at that. He doesn’t let the moment linger. Having found a tin of comfrey salve in the desk drawer, he passes it over as well once Silver has the shirt over his head, wincing a little at the stretch. “Take this and use it.” He wants to do the job himself, but that would have dangerous implications, and he doesn’t feel up to analyzing his actions after such a day. Even so, his inspection pauses at Silver’s collar bone when he’s too busy tucking the oversized shirt in to notice where Flint’s eyes are. So maybe he still has some soul-searching to do.

A more cheerful smile plays at his lips now, and he pockets the salve without protest. “Yes, Captain.” At this point, the shit is clearly mocking him, but it feels warm, affectionate. “Anything else?”

Flint’s eyes flick up to meet his. “No. If you would excuse me, Mr. Silver, I do have a course to plot.”

“Of course, Captain. Thank you for the provisions.” He doesn’t stay long enough to see Flint pinch the bridge of his nose in annoyance.

When Silver returns the next afternoon to loiter while he meets with De Groot and Dufresne, he smells faintly like dirt and lavender- an oil probably used to combat the comfrey’s strong scent. Flint doesn’t smile, or make a comment, or inspect Silver head-to-toe the way he wants to, but it’s a near thing.

-

The next time Silver is injured, it is something that not even he can fix. Much like the other things taken at Charlestown, he has no remedy for it.

He thinks that Miranda wouldn’t want him to cry, not for her, but out of regret and shame for everything he hadn’t done. But he never listened to her concerns before, and it’s all pointless without her anyway. Silver is unconscious for the next week, and the crew steers clear of his cabin. Flint has the freedom to weep for as long as he wishes. 

The week is not a long enough mourning period, but he has a ship to run, and John Silver is back in the world of the living. He greets the other man with good news, bad news, anything but discussion of what he’s done, what they’ve unleashed. Flint hates to admit it, but he’s happy to see him, to speak to him again.

And the first piece of information Silver offers him is that the location of the gold has been betrayed to another crew. Flint detects something dishonest in the explanation almost immediately- which part of it, he doesn’t know- but Silver hasn’t even the courtesy to look sorry about it.

He storms out with this revelation, anger fresh and renewed as he reports the account to the crew on behalf of their bedridden “quartermaster”. He reminds himself that they don’t know what a lying shit they’ve voted in and works himself up all over again. Miranda gone, Charlestown gone, Gates gone, the gold gone, and a fucking urchin left in their stead to convalesce in Flint’s cabin.

After days of taut silence between them, Silver spending the whole of it staring into space or looking at Flint when he thinks the other man won’t notice, there is a gentle interruption while Flint is writing in the ship’s log.

Silver clears his throat. “Uh.” His voice is rough with disuse. Flint pauses in dipping his quill. “Captain, would you mind getting a book from the shelf for me? Any one is fine.”

There’s something in his words that just makes Flint more enraged, perhaps the propriety of his request, or the title.

He makes his way to the shelf and picks at random, a heavy leather-bound book that could be handwritten for all he knows. He carelessly tosses it toward Silver, with more aggression than is truly deserved, before pulling his chair out to continue working. Then he hears a gasp. 

Unwittingly, he twists to look, concerned even now, and he sees that the book is sliding off of Silver’s lap and down between his thighs, positioned just so that Flint can imagine one of the book’s corners had clipped his bandaged leg. He opens his mouth to apologize, to hastily explain that he wasn’t trying to hurt him, but all that comes out is a thin, panicked noise. And it’s only fitting that he can’t say it, as he knows that he wasn’t trying not to hurt Silver either.

The man clutches at what remains of his left leg, eyes welling up at the pain, shoulders heaving as he waits for it to pass. The tears finally begin to fall when he screws his eyes shut, and Flint wants to shoot himself.

“I’m sorry, I-“ He takes a step closer, and is interrupted by Silver sobbing. It’s when his grip on the stump loosens that Flint realizes that it isn’t about the book or the pain anymore. He sits down facing the window, silent, repentant, as Silver beats his fists against the window frame and cries in a way he’s never seen a man cry before. Like it’s being ripped from him, like the wailing itself hurts. 

Flint is quiet, listening for men above and below to make certain that Silver can have this private moment. Not for pride, but for him to be able to perform for no one. That this should not become another stage for others to look upon when he’s in such agony and turmoil.

He rubs his eyes raw while the tears seem to almost choke him. He must have no qualms with such a display of emotion- or more likely, Flint thinks unbidden, he can’t stop himself. It takes forever for it to subside to a more controlled weeping and finally to silent tears, when he begins to regain his breath. Silver’s chest still rises rapidly where he leans against the window frame, but as it appears to calm, he slides down so his head can rest on the cushion below. 

It’s only now that Flint reflects on what Silver wanted from their relationship: freedom. Guilt rises in his throat at the thought. Between losing Miranda and remembering how he goaded Silver into loyalty to the crew, tears prick at his own eyes. He has much to regret, it seems.

Silver’s slack hand, the one closest to Flint, trembles after he’s tired himself out. He thinks the man might have just brought his own fever back, and he reaches out to the clammy palm unthinkingly. Silver almost recoils, but he quickly replaces his hand on the seat after flinching away. Flint takes it between his own fingers and presses his lips not to Silver’s skin, but close enough to warm him somewhat.

“Christ, I’m so sorry.” For the book landing on him at the wrong time, for reminding him of this helplessness and the feeling of imprisonment, for asking him to secure votes, for going to Carolina in the first place.

Silver sniffs and swallows thickly, almost nodding off after his episode, but awake enough to know whose hands are on him. “We make quite a pair, don’t we?” He keeps his eyes closed, and his voice is nearly inaudible. He can’t manage a smile, but he hums when Flint encircles his wrist, at least tolerating the contact.

He doesn’t answer, unable to see how they could ever come as a pair after what Flint has done to him. And more than that, with the weight of the gold on their minds. He’s unable to see anything in their future but war and destitution.

Silver falls asleep then. Flint releases his hand and positions it at his side before moving the book to lean against the glass. He feels as though he’s preparing a corpse, pulling the blanket up around Silver’s limp form and gently dabbing at his wet face. Then he sits back and watches the man breathe until the sun has vanished beyond the horizon.

What have they done?

-

It takes everything in him not to wrap his arms around Silver, and squeeze. Only the presence of the bearded guard dog of a man stops him from following through. It’s a curse that their chances of being alone will only dwindle further after the battle to follow.

Somehow, they’ve both managed to rise from the dead.

Flint can’t take his eyes off him as they walk, Silver hobbling on a crudely-made crutch in the sand beside him. He squints so that it should look like he’s simply avoiding the sunlight. If Silver notices, he doesn’t say anything. And Flint is certain he hasn’t noticed. He would have commented on it by now, probably to tell him to keep an eye out for rocks that the crutch might snag on. It’s unjust that he can read Flint so well and yet cannot see Flint’s nearly senseless love for him. 

Silver’s eyes find Madi, and he stays back to allow them a private reunion, but he averts his gaze as their lips meet. He knows well enough it’s not for him to see. 

During the fight, Flint is still watching him, ensuring Silver’s safety above his own. He tells himself that it’s only because of his awareness that Silver is the future of these pirates now (whether he wanted to become that or not), but it’s never so simple. He watches Hands slaughter Rogers’ captain, and horribly, he realizes that he envies the man for receiving a go-ahead from Silver. God help him. All the same, the governor’s mansion is theirs, and Nassau is teetering on the brink of safety.

The sky darkens until all they can do is prepare for tomorrow. When they’ve all but rehearsed the expected attack on the governor when he arrives, when they’ve taken stock of their losses and acquisitions, most everyone returns to their places as if nothing has happened at all. The only indications of turmoil are bullet holes strewn about, tattered banners on the streets, and a few men sent to camp out on the beach and keep watch. It still amazes him, how quickly a tide can turn.

Silver is restless as they finish up what they can; he taps his fingers on the governor’s desk as if they itch for something more to do. Flint stands from his perch at the dilapidated window sill to console him.

“We would do well to get some sleep before dawn,” he says gently, cupping the other man’s shoulder. “Where will you and Madi be staying? Where has she gone anyhow?”

He’s almost startled out of a reverie. “Yes, well. She’s catching up with Eme. I doubt they’ll join us until late tonight, if at all. I… don’t know where I’ll sleep.”

“Why don’t you come up to the guest room and lie down?” You’ve been on that crutch all day, he doesn’t say, but the implication is there, as well as the threat that Flint might drag him up if he refuses. Silver wisely nods, and the stairs creak with their combined weight as they ascend to a far-off corner of the mansion. It’s a small room that looks incomplete, with lavish bedding but old walls and furniture. Flint had been looking forward to sleeping in a stationary bed again, but he gestures for Silver to take it instead. He sits down in an armchair in the corner, close to the bed’s headboard.

Silver blinks but takes the offer. They’ve grown close enough, Flint realizes, that this situation does not strike him as strange. His crutch falls gently to the floor once he sits (with a hushed sigh of relief, as usual), and Flint stares at him.

“What?” Silver’s eyes are full of mirth as he looks up from unlacing his boot. Like he knows what, or like he doesn’t want to know. “Something wrong?”

Playing stupid again. But no, he isn’t. He genuinely doesn’t know what’s wrong- Flint can hear it in his tone. There’s nothing smug there, just innocently amused by what he must think to be Flint staring into space.

“No. Nothing wrong.”

His smile softens around the edges. “Are you sure, Captain?”

Flint is not a praying man, but if he was, he’d be praying for God not to let him give himself away. But he isn’t, and God doesn’t do shit for him. “Yes, I’m sure. We’re both alive, aren’t we?” Silver nods in understanding before his mouth betrays him. “You’re alive,” he says in the silence.

“I am.” Silver’s lip quirks up, almost in confusion.

Flint removes himself from the musty armchair and slides down to his knees. They’re only a few feet apart anyway, so he shuffles closer to push Silver’s hair out of his face, tuck it behind his ear. He doesn’t smile or laugh or duck away like Flint expects him to. Instead his hands go to splay over either side of his captain’s face, and he studies Flint’s expression. For what, he doesn’t know. “You’re alive and sitting here with me.”

“I know.” Not that he’s alive, but he knows what it means for Flint to say such a thing. “I know.” Then he leans in until their breaths mingle and shudders, eyes closing involuntarily. “It’s alright,” he whispers, near inaudible, and Flint can’t help himself as his palm trails to cup the small of Silver’s back. 

Their lips meet chastely with rigid apprehension at first, before Silver urges him forward, palms pressing flat below his cheekbones as they come back together with more conviction. Flint sucks the other man’s bottom lip between his teeth, grabbing at his hips uselessly until he has the leverage to pull Silver flush against him. 

“You fucking scared me,” he says when they pull apart for air. His voice breaks traitorously. “When I thought I’d never get this, that you’d never know… Fuck.”

The corner of Silver’s lip tugs up as if to form a smirk, but his eyes are so earnest as he presses tight to Flint’s chest. Being able to not just see him again but also to hold him like this is a privilege. “Captain,” Silver starts, but Flint captures his lips again before he can say anything else, and the way they both clutch at each other suggests he doesn’t mind the interruption. His hands go to Silver’s curls, gently tugging and settling to cradle the back of his skull.

Silver breaks the kiss and tilts his head back into the touch. His eyelashes flutter briefly, and Flint is enthralled. 

“Madi knows, doesn’t she?” Silver nods as well as he can while still reclined, and Flint mouths at the hollow of his throat. “And she doesn’t mind sharing?” 

“What do you think?”

He pauses, considering. She had given him a look on the beach when they were waiting for John to turn up as the injured man found in the water. Almost like she wanted to say something to him and hadn’t. Flint isn’t sure he would have been able to hear her out then anyway. He withdraws from Silver just slightly, ignoring his reedy whine at the loss of contact. “I think I should find her in the morning and have a chat.”

Silver nods with a barely-suppressed smile. “And I’m sure she’ll be amenable to it. I have a feeling it will be shorter than you’re expecting.” Flint swats at his knee and stands as Silver huffs a laugh.

“Move,” he instructs, sitting at the edge of the bed. His coat came off a while ago with the warm night breeze picking up, but now he removes his boots as well, Silver’s hands splayed over his shoulders while he waits for the other man to join him.

When Flint turns about to face him, he’s absolutely besotted. Silver, reclining luxuriously in the governor’s guest bed, hair hanging loose and wild, his chest smooth and tan and freely on display under the low-cut neckline of his shirt. His heart aches, and at the same time, he wants to fucking jump Silver more than anything. 

“What?” Silver asks, trying to meet his eye with a small, nervous smile. Flint stares at him openly and tilts Silver’s head up to give him a kiss, which quickly becomes filthy. He lets out a soft moan as he opens up for Flint’s exploring tongue, and then an exhale when they separate.

“Nothing. I like to look at you.”

Silver says nothing to that, but his cheeks darken as he lowers his head onto the feather pillow. While he tries to find the edge of the blanket for a hiding spot, Flint stands to lock the door. This one, luckily, was not busted during the initial raid of the governor’s mansion, as the door was already wide open. While he doesn’t think anybody knows which room he’s sleeping in (and nobody would have reason to barge in), he’s not going to take the comfort of privacy for granted.

Once he’s back in bed and under the thin white sheets- probably marring them with whatever grime is left on him from the day- he thumbs at Silver’s cheek with no small amount of adoration.

“I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you,” he murmurs. “I don’t want to think about what I’d become.”

“Then don’t,” Silver replies quickly, touching his forehead to Flint’s. “Think about what we’ll do together now. What we’ll do after all of this is over.”

After. He nods. He hadn’t thought about after, hadn’t thought about surviving this war. But now he finds that the idea of having a life with Silver, finding the peace he’d sought for so long- it is tempting. The desire to follow Silver wherever he goes, mixed with the hatred of this new legend, is strong enough to make him tremble.

Silver places a hand over Flint’s where it cups his face. “It will be finished someday. We’ll not find our end when that day comes.”

Flint nods and holds him tight, as though he might float away, until Silver goes lax in his arms with sleep. His own rest eludes him, but he finds he doesn’t mind. After all of this is over. The same images play in his mind over and over, of a cottage in the countryside with four mugs on the table; Silver being scolded out of the kitchen, and a warm breeze filtering through unbroken windows.

[cosmicmoved]

" sorry i'm so hard to deal with sometimes. " ( lays this at ur feet bc mun loves pain ) ( / . \ )

✨✨ ANSWER from TOMO ✨✨ / ( @rareblooms​ )

“If you’re hard to deal with then what does that make me?”  He says it with a scandalised gasp, although the reassurance is dulled somewhat by that movie star sparkle of his. These sorts of jokes, these hey, I’m no better quips always tend to fall flat when they’re spoken through the mouths of rich, pretty young stars. Y’know, the sort of people who aren’t supposed to complain because, again, they’re supposed to exist as a paragon of human worth. Tomo remembers the reading the articles when his father died, the comments demanding to know why, given he was rich and famous? What did he have to complain about? Something about it feels tacky, laughing out disparaging remarks about himself when he’s stood there, taking in the clear frustration in her face, while he’s decked out in expensive affectations of real silver and those designer jeans, the tastefully-distressed jean jacket that had debuted on some catwalk, the name of which Tomo hadn’t even cared to remember. That grim sigh escaping him is probably designer too.

The cigarette that hangs limp from his fingers does nothing but pollute the air with its smoke, he’s half-forgotten it’s even there. Although he’d been wearing that trademark Tomo grin, all flash and glimmer, his voice sounds flat and there’s a distance look in his eyes, like he’d much rather be some other place, thinking about anything else at all. Tomo has always pushed himself forth as somebody reliable, trying to throw advice at people wherever possible, even in spite of knowing full well his advice is always fucking terrible but it has always been a knee-jerk, panic sort of a reaction. Because he cares about other people. And because he knows people left to their own devices can crumple in on themselves. But what did he know about solving problems? Tomo, who never faces up to his own feelings, who nobody ever seems to suspect is much of a reck because, with just enough shining smiles and immature pouts, you can convince anybody you wear your heart on your sleeve. He’d never considered himself much of a faker but there are always going to be things a person doesn’t like to share. It’s just particularly easy to keep people from calling your bluff when pretending is how you make your living. His solutions to his problems were horrible at best and, at worse, they were downright catastrophic.

“No, you’re right, that’s not helpful”, says Tomo, ignoring that she hadn’t said anything, not that he’d really left her enough room to protest anyway, “Or maybe I’m just saying that I’ve had a lot of people tell me that I’m hard to deal with, for whatever reason, and, like, look at me. I’m still here in one piece, right?” He gestures vaguely about himself, trailing cigarette smoke with him as his hand dances about. It’s blown away with a light, if not forced, laugh just a moment later and, when Tomo crushes the bud into ashy dust against the railing on which he’d been leaning, it dissipates as quickly as it had come. The cigarette drops to the floor, soundless, and he takes one glance back over his shoulder at the ink-black cityscape spreading out from the balcony, the lights in distant windows glinting like fairy-lights and blurring into stretching stars as he narrow his eyes, before moving away from the railing. A hand on her shoulder, Tomo flashes her another smile, smaller this time but perhaps the least certain yet.

“Hey, hey, look at me”, he says, in halfway-hushed tones. It feels to him as though it’s an unnatural way to talk but Tomo has never been much good at talking about feelings. Somehow, he chokes up and the actor in him has to come out. Treating these sorts of conversations as scenes that need to be improvised makes him feel less confused. He sits himself down on the floor, legs crossed, and gestures for her to get down with him. Hands on his knees, he braces himself and screws his eyes hut while he gets his thoughts together, before finally letting out a heavy sigh and looking at her proper. “You’re not a bad person for having feelings or for, like, struggling and shit. There’s no such thing as hard to deal with. It’s just about finding the people who care enough to put up with you. Someone tells you you’re difficult or some shit, that’s when you get the fuck outta there.” Tomo nods to himself, seemingly satisfied with himself. “I’m not gonna say anything like that to you and, if anyone else does, you can tell me. It’s not like I can go and kick their ass but I can yell at them, show them what hard to deal with really looks like!”

[enchantedbride]

Chrom/Joanna - Revelation;Beginnings

Tagging: @radiantfluff, @alovestruckmouse, @theautisticselfshipper, @hinatas-wife, @curiousobsession101, @blackquills-wife 

Summary: The story of how Joanna was initially recruited by Chrom into the Shepherds. 

Notes: Takes place before Sumia and Robin/Reflet are members of the Shepherds. (This is more of a rough idea and I may revise/flesh it out later, but I wanted to get the general gist of what happened out there.)

...

Rhea was a sleepy little village in Northern Ylisse. Most of the time, it was peaceful and a refuge along the road that connected to the main way to Ylisstol, the halidom’s capital. For several years now, it was the place where Joanna had made her life and called her home. She was able to practice trade as an apothecary, healing the villager’s ills and injuries. In the couple of years or so, she’d even taken on an apprentice to help her with the work, and in time she had become well acquainted with the people there.

How she had been so lucky to find such a place full of kindhearted humans, she didn’t know. But she had been more than happy to care for them. They in turn, were more than happy to have her and would even help her keep the shop well stocked with supplies. 

The only regret that she had in the matter was that she had to keep certain things to herself, and that she couldn’t simply remain here forever. Well, not without certain secrets being revealed. 

But, in the meantime, she would stay as long she could. Today would not prove a peaceful day, however. 

Joanna had dressed, hiding the ears that gave away her true nature under the cloth wrappings she wore day in and out. ‘It was part of her practice of religion’- it was always the excuse she gave for them, and it was one that was respected more of the time. She had then proceeded with preparing and eating her breakfast, followed by the necessary preparations to open the shop.That of course included checking stocks and attending to the animals she kept for medicinal use. But, she was disturbed to find that her apprentice, George, had not come in yet. By now he was usually here, ready to assist in the final checks before opening shop.

That’s strange, she thought. Usually if he’s ill he’ll send word. Is everything alright?

Joanna thought to don her mage’s cap over her head-wrappings, perhaps put together a small kit in case George was in bed ill. If the boy would not send her word, perhaps she would go to him. The shop could afford to remain closed for a little bit.

However, she started to hear noise from outside. From the sounds she could discern shouting, and clanging of steel. Her heart began to beat a little faster, anxiety beginning to bubble up in her stomach. Is that the sound of... fighting?

“What’s going on?” she asked aloud, jumping to search through her things for a spell tome. Was there trouble going on outside? Is that why George wasn’t in yet?

She then heard closer sounds, the stamping of feet and the sound of breaking glass. It was coming from the front of the shop, and that only heightened Joanna’s anxiety on the matter. Her hand found purchase on a Wind tome on her bookcase, and she opened the book, readying her hand to cast a spell just in case.

“George? Are you there?” she called out. The mage quietly stepped through from the back towards the front of the shop, listening carefully. Unfortunately, things became uncomfortably quiet inside at that moment, though she could still hear sound from the outside. 

“George? What’s happening? Is everything alright?” 

She fell silent once more, listening for even the slightest creek of the wood. Joanna stopped short of the doorway leading to the front counter, her eyes falling closed as she listened.

Very faintly, she could hear the subtle huff of someone breathing. She opened her eyes, spying a cast shadow from the other side. The inky silhouette of a horned humanoid form stretched to her feet. She could also see the faint outline of her shop’s window broken.

No, that most definitely wasn’t George out there.

Joanna took one step forward, beginning to recite the incantation. As soon as she looked up, she recognize the form of a tall and muscled man with an animal pelt draped over his head readying a weapon. 

“That’s far eno-”

Joanna continued the incantation, extending her hand to unleash a whirlwind that pushed the strange intruder back towards the shop’s front window. She gave him no time to get another word in as she recited another incantation, another blast of wind pushing him back once more with enough force to force him out into the street.

In the light of day that came through, Joanna could see much more clearly what she was dealing with.

Just outside, the village was under attack from a group of brigands, and it seemed one of there lot had found his way to her shop.She could hear the shouts, and see wisps of shadows dancing from the alleyways across the street.

“Argh!” The brigand attempted to regain his composure as he picked up his weapon, a hand axe, and tried haphazardly to swing. “Of course I’d have to deal with a village wench who can fight back! Come’ere you-”

“I don’t think so,” she retorted as she ducked under the attack and send another gust of wind towards him. “Away from me, ruffian!” This time, the wind sent him flying back into the side of another building, giving him a large smack before he tumbled to the ground unmoving. 

Joanna didn’t bother to check too closely to see if he was dead or simply incapacitated. On short glance it seemed like he might be the latter, but she had more important things to worry about. 

She briefly looked back, seeing the shop was in worse shape than she thought. In addition to the broken window the storefront had been messed with. Things were tossed on the floor and supplies were scattered. Her main concern above all, however, was people.

I have to fight, check on the others and save who I can. That’s why I learned magic after all, she thought to herself. There are times like this I wish I could use my dragonstone though.

And George... she hoped he was alright in all of this, wherever he was. 

“This way! We’d better hurry, I heard a window break.” Joanna perked up and turned towards the sound of another unfamiliar voice. She kept her tome at the ready, anticipating what was to come.  “Keep your distance!” she warned. “If you mean to harm me or the people of this village, I won’t hesitate to strike.” “Oi, lads! This way.” Another voice called from behind her. She knew it would be dangerous for her to be fighting on both sides. Joanna turned around with her back to the shop, stepping back a few paces as she looked from side to side.  I might very well be outnumbered if I’m not careful, she thought, possibly even surrounded.

“Joanna! Master Joanna, are you hurt?” She knew that voice.  “George!” she called out impulsively, hearing him in the direction she heard the first unfamiliar voice. “I’m alright, but what about you?” Surely enough, from around the corner came the scrappy looking young man she recognized as her apprentice. His red hair and simple tan vestments were in disarray, and he had the expression of utter worry etched into his features. He swiftly came to her side, clutching his knees as he attempted to catch his breath. “Scared half to death. If it weren’t for... the Shepherds... I’d be a dead man.” Joanna’s eyes widened. “What happened? Were you attacked, George? Are you injured?” “Thankfully no. Like I said, I was saved in the nick of time. I told ‘em I was worried about you and I came with their Captain to help.” That must be who I heard before. 

“Shepherds you said?” The name seemed familiar. There had been talk of a royal militia or sorts by that name that traveled the countryside and helped the citizens of Ylisse. But, she had not encountered them as they were too recently formed for her to have passed them in her travels.  “Yeah, that group of nobles who roam the land helping where they can.” “There aren’t just nobles in our ranks, although it certainly started with a few from the noble houses. Mostly because that’s who I knew at the time.”  There they are. Joanna looked behind her apprentice to see who it was who had spoken. A flash of dark blue caught her eye, causing her to instinctively lean to the side to get a better look. Approaching from behind George appeared to be a man somewhat taller than him, wearing ornate and vividly colored clothing, whites accenting deep blues, with trim of silver and gold. A sword hung in its scabbard at his side.  He certainly dresses like a noble, although the lack of a sleeve on one side is a bit odd, she observed of his garments.  He also had a shock of blue hair on his head and eyes to match in shade. After a quick once over, she guessed were she human he’d be only a few years her junior. Of course, in reality the gap was quite more vast than that.  What was she now... 1500 or so? Sometimes it was hard to keep track, especially going the the measurements used by humans.  “So you must be the Captain then?” she asked. “I must thank you and your fellows for looking after my apprentice. I was worried when he didn’t show up to help this morning. But I’m glad he’s safe.” “Yes. We were lucky we got here when we did,” he replied, looking over a moment at the brigand lying face down on the ground. “Although it seems we’re more lucky still you’ve been able to fend off some of the brigands yourself.” “Just one so far. But, I know how to fight, sir. I was trained in magic and it was during that time I learned by trade as an apothecary,” she explained. “Are there any wounded of yours in need of help? Perhaps I can grab some Vulneraries from the shop.” “We have our own stock. But we may have need of them later,” he gently declined. His eyes temporarily flitted to the shattered window and the mess therein. “I’m sorry for the damage. But as long as you weren’t hurt, that’s what matters.” “Yes. A window can be replaced in time and a mess can be cleaned,” she agreed. “If that’s the case then, perhaps I can help you clear this lot out?” She paused for a moment, realizing she hadn’t properly introduced herself. “My apologies. If my apprentice hasn’t told you already, my name is Joanna. Might I know yours or will ‘Captain’ suffice?” He smiled briefly, seeming amused by her lightly teasing remark. “My name is Chrom. I certainly would welcome the help, Joanna. A trained mage can certainly be a formidable ally. But be on your guard. Even brigands shouldn’t be taken lightly.” “Of course not.” She took a deep breath, keeping her tome open and at the ready. I’ve dealt with their like enough times on the road.  I know what to do. “Well then, Captain Chrom. I suppose we should go.” She turned briefly to George, who still looked fretful. “George, you need to get somewhere safe, why don’t you-” “Well! Look at what we’ve got here boys,” called the other unfamiliar voice. “A pair of mice along with one of them blue bloods who think they can come in here and disrupt us...” This mouse can turn into a dragon as big as a house. It was a shame she couldn’t just intimidate him with that. No, she had to keep undercover. But fight to rid the village of this menace? She could do that.

Captain Chrom proceeded to unsheathe his sword. Surely enough, in a mater of moments, a group of the brigands swarmed in. None hesitated a moment, coming in for an attack hard and fast.

“At ‘em, lads!” “George, run!” Joanna hurled another whirlwind, batting back the swath of them and slowing their approach. Her apprentice was reluctant to follow her command however. 

“But what about you?” “I said I know how to fight. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I’m a trained mage and have a trained soldier at my side. Now, go!”

Hesitantly, George looked away, searching for an escape route before he acted at her insistence. He vanished from view, leaving her alone with the captain as her ally against the gang they faced.

A sphere of air began to gather in her hand as she prepared to attack again, trying her best to dodge the swings of axes and swords alike. Unfortunately she wasn’t fast enough for one and she was sure that she was to take a blow. Instinctively she shut her eyes and put up a hand in defense.

But the blow never came, instead replaced by the screech of steel grating. 

She looked up to see that the captain had come to her rescue, pushing back to give her some room. 

“Captain Chrom! You have my thanks yet again.” Another wind spell from her whipped past him and hit the brigand, sending him hurtling into the side of her shop with a loud crash. 

“It’s not trouble. We’re not done yet, though.” Chrom quickly felled another of their enemies that was closed in, bringing down his blade in a powerful arc that for a moment captured her gaze. He moved with a certain swiftness and power she’d scarce seen in humans, even ones of good strength and military prowess. 

The gruff shout of another brigand attempting to get the upper hand on her broke the spell however, and she loosed her magic on them the same as the rest that came in her path. During the flow of the fight, she failed to notice her cap knocked from her head. Swings made at her also left scratches in her clothing, including her head-wrappings.  “We should try to cover ground. We should make sure the other villagers alright.” Joanna piped up as she took a step and keep up her elemental barrage. 

“Good idea. The rest of the Shepherds could probably use our aid.”

The two of them each attempted to carve a path, and they managed to moved down the street until they turned to the next over. 

Slowly, the number of brigands dwindled, either defeated or compelled into a fearful retreat. Eventually they reached another cluster of them, engaged with what seemed to be another group of combatants. They stood out among the lot, even from the villagers who had tried to take up arms. Some were obviously soldiers, fashioned in bright armor and atop horses, while others seemed to be dressed in rather well-made and vividly colored attire with staves in hand.  Joanna even managed to spot the familiar black robes and pointed caps of of a pair of mages among them.  The rest of the Shepherds, no doubt.

The group was quite able against the brigands on their own, but Joanna did not hesitate to follow Captain Chrom’s lead in lending a hand. He continued to display incredible speed and strength, and an impressive persistence.  She did not relent in her attacks either. Wind cut through and tossed brigands every which way. Joanna paid no mind to the fact that a strike from the enemy had left a strip of fabric in her head-wrappings loose. Though it still clung to her head until she sent another powerful blast of wind hurtling towards what remained of the lot.  Lances and swords clashed against axes. Fire and thunder crackled from fingertips. Slowly but surely those that meant harm to the village were either subdued or relenting and retreating into the shadows. In the din of it all, Joanna failed to noticed the slip of cloth and the feeling of air against her ears. All that mattered was driving the brigands back.

The last of them were overwhelmed by the combined mind of the Shepherds against them, and in a flurry of blows the chaos settled. 

Joanna’s first thoughts were of George and her fellow villagers. There was no doubt the village elder would have been a prime target, as well as anyone who could have been used to coerce those who could put up a fight into submission. There would be injured, and there would be a trail of destruction to survey.

“I need to head back to my shop... and I need to find George,” she thought aloud. “Healers can only work on so many people at a time, but I can provide tonics and vulneraries in the meantime to help treat the injured...”

“Master Joanna! There you...” She heard George call to her from one of the side alleyways before his voice trailed off. 

“George! Good timing. Did you keep yourself safe?” He emerged approach with an elderly woman that Joanna recognized as the village elder, Guinevere. George looked rather surprised and concerned, and she feared something might be wrong.

“I’m fine! Elder Guinevere took those who couldn’t fight into the shrine to Naga since it’s a sturdier and safer structure.” He replied. “We came to see if you and the Shepherds were alright...Master Joanna... you’re...”

“I’m...?” Joanna frowned, confused by his hesitation. But after a moment, a gust of wind whisked past her, tickling her bare ears and causing them to reflexively twitch. Her eyes immediately began to widen as realization dawned on her, and she dropped her book to cover her ears. “Oh gods! No! No no no no no!”

“Well, I’ll be!” The elder attempted to hurry past George to get a closer look. “Our village apothecary is a dragonkin! No wonder you don’t appear to have aged a day since you got here.”

“Hold on!” She could hear the voice of Captain Chrom behind her, followed by a couple sets of footsteps approaching from that direction as well. “By the gods! You’re saying Joanna is a manakete?”

“I-I’m sorry...” Joanna began back away from her, starting to quickly devolve into a panicked state. “I’m sorry!” She felt fear and dread starting to swallow up her thoughts. Even if they’re not, I’ve put these people in danger now. If word gets out that a dragon lives here, they might become a target to slavers. I’ve put myself in danger, too! You careless, stupid air for brains!

“You’re sorry?” Elder Guinevere grew closer to her as well, feet shuffling in the dirt. Joanna felt a hand reach out and attempt to comfortingly press against her back. “My dear girl, no. Please, it’s all right...”

Joanna jerked away from her, startled by the sudden touch. “No! Don’t touch me!” she snapped. After a second however she realized she sounded more aggressive than intended, and for a moment in her state she attempted some level of calm. “...I don’t like being touched, Elder. Not without warning or permission.”

“Oh, dear! I’m so sorry. I forgot. I will try better to remember.” The elder immediately withdrew her hand. “Is there something I can do to help you, Joanna, dear?”

Joanna shook her head, coiling away ashamedly. “No. There isn’t anything you can do, elder. I’m sorry. This is all my fault, I should have been more careful...”

“About what? Hiding your true nature?”

“Yes!” Soon the footsteps of the captain and the others with him stopped. Joanna jerked her head away from them too. 

“My dear. In Ylisse we worship the Divine Dragon, Naga. Dragonkind are more than welcome-”

“With all due respect, Elder Guinevere, you don’t know what we face,” Joanna retorted. In the midst of her fear and dread, she took umbrage with the elder’s well-meaning but uninformed remark. “There are still people in Ylisse and beyond who hate us, even as they praise Naga after all she did for humankind. Or they see what few of us remain as prized trophies. And they’ll not hesitate to kill whomever stands between them and us. I couldn’t let myself be captured or let anyone suffer for my sake. I just want to be free and for my friends to be safe.” 

“That’s... oh Naga’s breath, that’s awful! Most folk don’t hear anything of how dragonkind fares now that there are so few left. I’m so sorry, dear.”

“It’s truly terrible what you’ve had to live through if this is true. But is it freedom if you must spend your entire life in hiding?”

Joanna recognized that it was Captain Chrom who interjected.She hesitantly looked over to see him approaching. A mixture of concern and amazement were evident in his features. Trailing not far behind was an older heavily armored knight with a stern expression and a young girl with blonde pigtails and a bright yellow dress. They were probably fellow Shepherds of his, were she to guess. 

“Maybe not. But what choice do I have? I must run and disappear and hide again, or doom this village to be targeted by slavers.”

“There’s always another choice,” he gently rebutted. So, he’s an idealist, she observed. She had to admire young ideal sorts, untainted by time and trauma. Hopefully, he would keep that outlook, even were dark times to visit him. “I’m sorry, Joanna. I can’t stand by and do nothing in light of what you’ve said. But even were that not the case, you were a great help to my Shepherds and your village both. I am indebted to you, and I would see that repaid.”

Hesitantly, she attempted to meet his gaze as best she could without making herself uncomfortable. “You’re very kind, Captain. But I’m afraid I’m uncertain what you have in mind. Unless you plan to petition the Exalt for protection on my behalf.” She began to lower her hands away from her ears reluctantly. “I’m tired of running, Captain.”

“Well, maybe you don’t have to this time. Not if you’re with me.” He paused for a moment, before extending a hand and smiling. “You’re a clearly talented mage, Joanna, and you care for the well being of others. My Shepherds could use someone like you.”

“You’re...? You want me to join your militia?” Joanna blinked. “Wait, are you using my circumstances as leverage to get new blood for your army? Because if so...”

“No. I wouldn’t ever press someone into joining the Shepherds,” he replied with both firmness and reassurance. “I can still offer you protection should you refuse. I will see to it that both you and Rhea are safe from slavers, you have my word. And I will speak to the Exalt about the plight of your people.”

“Yeah, we promise we’ll help no matter what! But it’d be nice to have you along if you do join up.” She heard the girl pipe up from behind the captain. Joanna looked over, seeing she was clearly in awe and eagerly wanting to approach her. She felt both a mixture of flattery and mild annoyance, though she was fairly certain the girl meant well. 

“You’re very kind,” she replied, feeling herself coming down a bit from her panic. “Though being able to speak with the Exalt would be a tall order, would it not? Then again, George mentioned members of your royal militia were nobility. I suppose it’d be easier for you than some others.”

“It would be much easier than you think,” the knight behind the captain remarked. “After all, milord is the Exalt’s younger brother, you see.”

Joanna paused, stunned as another wave of realization hit her. “The Exalt’s brother... then you’re a prince?” 

“That would be the case,” Chrom confirmed, perhaps with the slightest hint of laughter at the end of his agreement. “As prince, I myself can confer royal protection. But I can also speak to my sister about the plight of dragonkind.”

“I could too, in theory,” added to the blonde girl. “But he offered first. But just so you know I’m willing to put my weight behind it too. We’ll make sure any idiot who tries to enslave you or hurt your village will be in big trouble.”

So the girl must be a sibling of the Exalt as well, then.

“I... I don’t know what to say.” Joanna found herself having trouble processing what was happened. “B-but who will run my shop if I’m gone? And the building has been damaged! What about the animals I use for my work? Who will look after them? Would I be able to return to Rhea if I choose?”

“Master Joanna! I can take care of the animals! I’ve gotten the hang of it by now and can run things here, I think,” George finally piped up, “You’ve taught me well. And I reckon after all the years you served as our apothecary and helped us I think people around town would be willing to help rebuild the shop. Wouldn’t they, Elder?”

“They surely would. Joanna has been a friend to our community for years. And you have also stood up to defend us now.” The elder turned to the manakete. “We are indebted to you as well, my dear. For all you have saved, through your medicine and your bravery today. You will be missed if you go, but you won’t just be helping us if you do.”

“What do you mean?”

“The prince of Ylisse has offered to speak to the Exalt on your behalf. If you go, you might get the chance to speak to the Exalt yourself. And if you fight for the crown, you might just save a lot more than just our little village as well as yourself. Others across Ylisse may have yet need of you,” explained Elder Guinevere. 

“This is true,” agreed the prince. “This all depends on what you wish to do, Joanna. You may have been pressed into certain choices in the past. But I promise you here, this is a choice you are free to make as you wish. And I can assure you, if you join me, you are still free to return to Rhea later. It’s all your choice.”

Joanna looked away, her eyes fixed to the ground. “My choice?” She clenched her hands, her face twisting in serious contemplation. Silence filled the space, until she moved to recover her tome from the ground. She blew on it, dusting off the dirt from its cover. “I want to be free, and I don’t want to hide. Maybe if I walk a different path I can change things, for myself as well as for my people, and the people here I call my friends.”

“So does that mean you’ll come with us?” asked the girl, now known to Joanna as princess. 

“It seems l have very little to lose and much to gain if I do. I don’t know if this is fate or coincidence. But it is fortuitous nonetheless,” Joanna replied. “Captain Chrom, or prince as it were. I wish to make some preparations and speak with my apprentice and check on some people in town before I go. But... I will go with you and your compatriots.”

“Lissa!” The princess corrected. “...My name is Lissa. The big guy here is Frederick. This is going to be amazing!”

“Thank you for joining us. I daresay I never thought I’d meet one of your kind. In this matter, I feel inclined to agree with milord Chrom. Though, I am concerned about how much will be put into protecting Rhea. But... I may have a suggestion on the matter.”

“A fair concern, I must admit,” Joanna remarked. “But you are welcome, Sir Frederick. It is nice to meet you, as well as your highness Princess Lissa.”

“I would certainly welcome a suggestion if you have it, Frederick. But in the meantime...” He extended a hand out to Joanna, waiting to see if she would take it. “You may make any preparations you need, Joanna. We may have need to stay here for the eve before setting out.” He smiled genially. 

“Which you are certainly welcome to, your highness,” the elder briefly interjected.

Joanna slowly extended a free hand, giving Chrom’s a firm shake.

“I look forward to working with you, Captain Chrom. You seem the very trusting and generous sort. That definitely is a point in your favor with me.”

“Well, some would say too trusting,” Chrom replied with a laugh as he briefly glanced over as Frederick, “But I am glad. I hope one day you will not only count us as allies, but as friends.”

“A warm sentiment. I hope it proves true in time.”

[holy-fate-worse-than-death]

Red has a new chapter!

Chapter 13 is here! That’s right, it’s the Jaydick fluff chapter you’ve all been waiting for! (No? Just me? Okay...)

As always, you can read the whole fic here, but I feel like this chapter can be read as a standalone bit of Jaydick fluff (with some Superbat mentions), so I’ll post it below the cut.

Word count: 3966 because I’m a long-winded bitch who likes describing Dick Grayson’s face a whole lot

Content Warnings: Swearing, mentions of death, mentions of sex, mentions of canon-typical violence

He was waiting until Bruce got back, Jason told himself. But his fingers, tapping impatiently against the steering wheel in front of him, told a different story. Maybe it was this damn car, a silver Porsche 911 that was older than Jason was. It was small, sleek and low to the ground; not the sort of car Jason would usually drive, but he’d picked it from the garage that morning because he remembered that it was the one Dick had taken his first joyride in. It had seemed appropriate, given that he was driving to Blüdhaven and back. The plan that was slowly coming to life in his head, unfurling like blueprints across the Batcave’s conference table, was fuelled by the type of sheer ego that only Bruce Wayne could pull off. Bruce Wayne and all his shiny cars, and even shinier gadgets.

Jason sighed, reaching out and flicking off the radio with a short, frustrated noise. As if the lasts few days hadn’t been enough to wind him up, every radio DJ in Gotham had seemingly forgotten what taste was while he was gone.

He fished his phone out from the centre console and jammed it into the mount on the dash. It connected to the car’s radio automatically. Jason was planning to play some of his own music, but when his fingers touched the phone he found himself calling Dick’s number instead.

I was going to surprise him, he thought as he set the call to speaker.

It took a few rings for Dick to pick up, and Jason found his heart skipping with each one. A knot formed under his diaphragm and it seemed to siphon off some of his air, leaving him not-quite breathless.

“Jay?” Dick asked mildly, a hint of surprise in his voice.

See the thing is, Jason never calls first. He isn’t – has never been – the one to initiate these things. It was always a one-word text from Dick to Jason’s cell; just the word ‘now’ or an address. Jason never replied to them, but he always showed up. But then that night had happened- and god, Jason couldn’t think about it without wanting to scream or cry or something. How had he gone from ramming Dick’s ass once or twice a month to I hate you for making me fall in love with you, all in one night?

“You driving?” Dick asked after a while, when Jason didn’t say anything.

In retrospect, he probably could have at least said ‘hello’. But there was blood rushing in his ears and someone had just cut him off on the highway. He hummed in affirmation, wondering if Dick could even hear him through the speaker.

Dick’s voice dropped lower then, more serious. Jason pictured him sitting down, tensing his shoulders and worrying at the hem of his sleeve like he always did when he was nervous.

“How’s Damian?” he breathed.

Jason smiled then, despite Dick’s sombre tone. Perhaps he should have been worried, but truth be told the kid was bouncing back like a champ. He’d even had the Kent kid over yesterday. They’d squabbled over ice-cream flavours like real kids, and Jason’s chest had been full to bursting. The Kent kid – Jon – had helped Damian feed all his animals, even his cow and the two-dozen battery hens that now roamed Wayne Manor’s hedge maze (and Jesus, Jason would have to ask Dick later how the fuck that had come to be). It had been weird, seeing these two miniature versions of Bruce and Clark chase each other around the Manor, but it had also felt so spine-tinglingly right.

“He looks like his mom when he smiles,” Jason murmured, not realising he’d spoken out loud until the words were already hanging like a warm cloud in the air.

“How well did you know her?” Dick enquired.

Dick was always so inquisitive, so full of questions. For a long time, it had annoyed Jason, pissed him off to the point where he’d yelled at his older counterpart about it a time or two. But these days he’d just resigned himself to it; understood that it was the natural companion for Jason’s (no doubt equally as infuriating) brevity.

As if to hammer that point home, Jason replied with a single word: “Well.”

Dick hmmed at him then, just as Jason turned onto the Blüdhaven off-ramp. Now or never, he thought to himself.

“You at home?” he asked gruffly.

“Yeah,” Dick replied easily, a smile creeping into his voice, “Night off.”

“I’m coming over,” Jason told him, not bothering to phrase it as a question.

Dick’s breath hitched on the other end of the line and Jason chewed on his lip, wondering if he’d pushed his luck too far.

“Okay,” Dick eventually breathed, letting out a long, shaky breath that Jason wasn’t sure he was meant to hear.

Jason smirked to himself, relieved that he could still take the guy’s breath away when he wanted to. Emboldened, he asked, “So… what are you wearing?”

He’d figured the question – which was the sort of thing only straight men in their forties ever asked their dates – would have earned him a laugh from his jovial older counterpart. Instead, silence tore a schism between them, and Jason was left feeling like all the air had been sucked from inside the car.

When Dick finally spoke, he wasn’t even angry, he just sounded sad: “Jay, please don’t make fun of this.”

Jason’s stomach sank so far that he could feel it in his knees. In his mind’s eye he was seeing Clark, in that abandoned hospital on the outskirts of Smallville, flinching at Jason’s joke and trying desperately to hide it. That moment had already broken Jason’s heart, and somehow this one was so much worse.

He wanted to grab Dick’s sweet, scared face in his hands and kiss him until he forgot every stupid thing Jason had ever said; until he could feel Jason’s feelings pulsating between them. He wanted to breathe new life into this tired, terrified boy who’d been the only one brave enough to call this what it was. The one who’d been brave enough to call Jason’s name since the very first night they were together. The one who’d kept letting him in, piece by piece, knowing that the Red Hood would almost certainly break him; run him through and pierce his heart like he’d done to so many men before him. Admittedly, those men had been criminals, not lovers, but sometimes Jason felt like his whole being existed to cater to criminals.

“I’ll be over in fifteen,” Jay croaked, fumbling to hang up the phone before Dick could protest.

He looked at himself in the rear-view mirror; eyes downturned and sad under a grey-white fringe that had been neatly combed to one side. His eyeliner was smoky, and a little too thick, because he’d applied it in the car to avoid having that conversation with Damian. Not that he was ashamed, it just seemed like something that his brother didn’t need to be thinking about right now, especially with the way the Kent kid made him blush. Jeez, he thought, they really are their father’s sons.

Jason had pulled a crisp white tee from Bruce’s closet (all of Jason’s were stained or torn) and paired it with his tightest black jeans, throwing his usual jacket and boots on with it. Somehow the shirt was enough to clean up his whole look, and he was glad; he wanted Dick to know he’d put in a little effort.

For fucking once, Jason thought bitterly, glaring at his own reflection.

Dick’s loft in Blüdhaven was an intimidatingly light and airy place, with none of the Gotham gothic style Jason was used to. Even in the various short-term rentals Jason had lived in over the years (including a few here in Blüdhaven), Jason had maintained the greyscale colour palette of Wayne Manor and The Penthouse. Here, everything was shades of warm brown; wood-panelled walls and unpolished floorboards, with a modest chipboard kitchen and huge windows with lace curtains that danced in the afternoon breeze.

Dick’s clothing was draped over everything; a salmon-pink button-down over the back of the couch alongside a half-inside-out pair of pale blue jeans, a denim jacket hung over the back of one of the breakfast bar’s stools, a pair of discarded boxers on the living room floor. Everything smelled so much like him, and Jason spied some black-and-red Kevlar mesh poking out from between the couch cushions. Jason snorted at the discarded uniform and sauntered towards the bedroom where he’d heard footsteps. Better than a glass case, he thought.

Come in! It’s open! Dick had called at him when he’d knocked, so Jason did.

Jason swung the bedroom door open and dropped his shoulder against the doorframe. It was darker in here, and Jason spied the rubber-backed curtains on the window that blocked out the sunlight. He smirked at them, the contrast between these curtains and the ones in the living room serving as a reminder that Dick was still the antisocial little cave-dweller they all were.

His eyes fell to Dick then, soft hair curtaining his face as he desperately tried to yank on a pair of jeans that were entirely too tight. Jason was familiar with his plight and had to stifle a laugh as Dick desperately tried to force the offending denim over his ass. His back was turned, and Jason could see the way all the muscles in his shoulders tensed as he hopped up and down, fingers hooked through his belt loops.

“Take it easy, D,” Jason chortled.

He pushed off the doorframe as Dick spun around to face him, a half-hearted glare sent in Jason’s direction. Jason figured he probably deserved it, but he ignored the sinking feeling in his stomach.

Instead, he barrelled into Dick, gripping the back of the acrobat’s waistband and yanking his jeans up over his ass easily, inadvertently lifting Dick into the air in the process. Without thinking it through (and gee, there was a surprise) Jason snaked his hands around to the front of Dick’s jeans to do up his fly for him. There was a joke in there somewhere about the irony of Jason helping him put on his jeans instead of taking them off, but Jason left it unsaid.

Dick’s hands had fallen limp to his sides as Jason manhandled him, and now he rolled his eyes.

“Thanks mom,” he said, shoving Jason away playfully so he could bend over and retrieve his socks from the floor.

Dick sat down on the edge of his unmade bed to put them on, and Jason stood over him, grinning like a maniac. He looked good like that, still shirtless and leaning backwards onto the bed, one leg in the air as he tugged a bat-symbol-branded sock over his foot.

“You still wear the matchin’ panties too?” Jason asked, inching just a little closer to Dick as he began to tug on the other sock.

Dick blushed then, and Jason’s smirk got even wider. He’d just seen Dick putting on his pants, so he knew the answer was yes. But it reminded Jason of so many other times – and the first time, where he’d cracked some lame joke about daddy issues and then torn them off with his teeth.

But this wasn’t about sex, and it wasn’t just about Jason distracting himself from the ludicrous plan he was setting in motion in Bruce’s absence, either. This was meant to be about something else, so Jason sank into Dick’s lap, startling his older counterpart, and pressed his lips gently against Dick’s.

Jason had never kissed like this before. Usually when he kissed somebody it was a jaws-clashing, teeth-gnashing, go-until-you’ve-got-spit-on-your-chin affair. And Jason loved that, of course, but this was something else.

Dick’s lips were soft and pliant under his, tentative and quivering just a little. Unlike last time, neither of them was crying now, and Jason had all the time in the world to work Dick’s mouth open and explore it tenderly with his tongue. He wrapped his arms around Dick’s neck like a girl might and pulled back playfully so that Dick had to chase his mouth to continue the kiss – which Dick did eagerly. Their lips made that sound that happened when people kissed in movies and Dick weaved a hand between them and up to Jason’s face, cupping his jaw and rubbing circles on Jason’s cheek with his thumb.

The kiss never deepened, but when they pulled back to rest their foreheads together they were breathing as though it had. Even so, there was a stillness in the room, a comfortable silence that embraced them as they embraced each other.

Jason opened his eyes first, Dick’s relaxed, gently-smiling face coming into focus. Dick’s dark eyelashes dusted his cheekbones, and his lips were red and shiny now, pulled up into the ghost of a smile and still parted slightly. Jason settled properly onto the bed, knees still bracketing Dick’s thighs, and wondered if he could stay like this forever.

The soft afternoon light filtered in through the bedroom door over Jason’s shoulder, casting the perfect shadows over Dick’s face. His jaw was strong and square, his cheekbones high and angular, but set into an exquisitely masculine shape. His nose was wide at the nostrils, the bridge of it sunken back into his face and crooked from at least a half-dozen broken noses. The first hint of a beard peppered his chin and Jason had to resist the urge to nuzzle his own face against it.

Eventually, Dick’s eyes opened and he sighed contentedly, wriggling with lazy pleasure as he wrapped his arms more firmly around Jason’s waist. Jason thought that it was nice to be held like this (though he’d never say it out loud). He was still tense with the knowledge of what was coming next, but for once he felt safe in someone’s embrace.

It reminded him, perhaps perversely, of the first time Bruce had ever held him; sheltering Jason from the storm he’d been weathering on his own for so many years. And it reminded him of how he’d held Damian and Tim over the past few days, though he’d been in Dick’s role during those moments. Is it supposed to feel like this all the time? he wondered.

Dick was staring up into his eyes now, their haziness disappearing as he scrutinised his younger counterpart. Jason knew what he was looking at, and he wondered if Dick – or anyone in the family – had ever seen him with makeup on before. Jason squirmed, somewhat despite himself, but Dick’s lazy little smile never faltered.

“So,” Dick began carefully, “What’s the plan.”

Jason chewed on his lip as he contemplated how best to answer that. Jason hadn’t come here with an explicit plan, but somewhere between the Gotham on-ramp and the Blüdhaven off-ramp, Jason had come to know exactly where he’d take Dick. It had seemed silly at that point, to drive all the way out here to pick up Dick, only to drive right back to Gotham, but somehow it had seemed right. Old fashioned, he thought to himself. But it had seemed like the type of thing that Clark Kent would do, and so Jason had done it.

“There’s this old Italian place down by Amusement Mile,” Jason started, climbing out of Dick’s lap to sit next to him on the bed.

He swivelled his head to face Dick, giving his older counterpart a look that hopefully conveyed his seriousness. Instinctively, Jason reached out and took Dick’s hand in his, giving it a little squeeze. Dick didn’t respond, but he didn’t jerk his hand away either – though he was looking at Jason with a calculated sort of confusion; brows knitting together as his eyes flew across Jason’s features, trying to read him.

“They have the best ossobuco in the city,” Jason continued, swallowing down the ache that came from how much he sounded like his Sicilian mother whenever he said anything more Italian than ‘pizza’.

Jason had never been to this Italian place himself, but a long time ago Dick had told him about it. More specifically, he’d told Jason that it was the last place he’d eaten with his parents before their deaths.

Dick had stopped breathing now, and Jason pre-emptively flinched, ready for Dick to wrench his hand away and throw Jason out of the apartment. Which was why Jason nearly choked when Dick squeezed his hand instead.

“Have you ever been back?” Jason asked softly, knowing that Dick had caught on to his plan now.

“No,” Dick whispered, turning his face away from Jason’s to scrunch his toes in the carpet.

Dick took several long, steadying breaths before he spoke again. Jason waited patiently, never loosening his grip on Dick’s hand. He’d wait for Dick Grayson for as long as it took. Had been waiting, he realised, maybe since before his death.

“Is this a date?” Dick asked after a while, eyes flickering over to Jason briefly before returning to the carpet.

“Yes,” Jason answered firmly, utterly determined not to give Dick any cowardly cop-outs this time – not this time, and never again if he could help it.

Dick’s breathing had gone shallow again, but Jason felt suddenly emboldened to press on. Maybe it was the candour with which Clark had apologised to him back in Smallville that inspired him. After all, when Clark had done it, it had earned more of Jason’s respect than anything else could have. He figured he owed Dick at least that.

“But it’s also an apology,” he said, perhaps not as confidently as Clark would have, though he imagined Clark had had far more practice at this during his time as Superman (and during his time dating Bruce Wayne).

Dick turned to him, like he was about to ask, ‘for what?’ but Jason was already answering him.

“For… everything.”

Dick’s tears this time are gentle and quiet. They roll down his face like rain on a windowpane, and it takes a beat before Jason even spots them. When he does, his eyes begin to prick as well, and he reaches out automatically to cup Dick’s face in his hand and turn the older man towards him. Dick’s eyes are wet and glistening, but the hopelessness that Jason had seen in them that night outside Damian’s room is (mercifully) no longer there.

Licking a tear off his lips, Jason smiled weakly and asked, “How do you do this?”

He was half-asking how Dick could stand to cry so often when Jason usually cried about three times a year on average, and half-asking something else, which he voiced as best as he could:

“It’s like every time you cry, I have to cry too.”

Dick laughed at him then; a wet, sunny little laugh that ended in a sniffle.

“That’s called love,” he said easily, his tone as breezy and incredulous as if he was explaining to an alien what a toaster was.

“Well,” Jason said, wiping his tears away and laying back on the bed with a sigh.

He pillowed one of his arms behind his head, using his free hand (which was still in Dick’s) to tug his older counterpart down with him. Dick complied, rolling onto his side and resting his head on his elbow. From his vantage, he stared down at Jason while Jason stared thoughtfully up at the ceiling.

“There’s a first time for everything,” Jason said after a while, finishing the thought he’d left hanging in the air.

Dick’s tears were gone now, and he’d perked up considerably. The amicability between them was unlike anything either of them had had together since before Jason had died, and if Jason had been asked to describe it, he might have called it freeing.

Dick certainly seemed free, as he asked, “You’ve never been in love before?” as unabashedly as a middle schooler might.

Jason chewed on Dick’s words for a while. The question ought to have made him anxious, but he felt nothing but an honest fascination that mirrored Dick’s. Never really thought about it before, he said to himself, deciding that wouldn’t be a good enough answer to satisfy Dick’s insatiable curiosity.

“Once,” Jason finally settled on, letting the story flow out of him before he was even sure where it was going. “He was hot,” he stated matter-of-factly.

He turned his head to give Dick a gratuitous look that said, ‘he was very hot’.

“And smart,” Jason added, “and sweet, and caring.” Jason scrubbed a hand over his face idly. “He was everything I wanted to be back then.”

Jason let out a puff of air from deep in his tightening chest, turning his head back to the ceiling so that he didn’t have to deal with all the emotions muddying Dick’s perfect face.

“This guy inspired me,” Jason continued, quieter now. “He made me want to be a better person.”

Jason smiled, memories that he hadn’t allowed in since his resurrection flooding his mind. But for once they weren’t flashbacks, they were like a warm breeze blown across his face, and he was heady with the sensation of it.

“This was before I died,” Jason clarified, for once not feeling torn apart by the mention of his own death. “How I felt about him changed everything. It made me who I am.”

Jason’s head lolled to the side, still resting on his arm, and he smiled easily at Dick; a smile that reached his eyes, because Jason felt like he was really looking at him for the first time ever.

“I wanted to be good enough for him,” Jason said. “And in the end, you know, I think I almost was.”

Jason sighed wistfully, and Dick shifted on the bed beside him with what might have been discomfort. He was faintly aware that Dick should be uncomfortable, surprised by Jason’s sudden candour, maybe even a little jealous. But he felt good, for once. His chest was light, and he felt like he could take the weight of the world. Or, at least, the weight of Dick and his brothers.

“Did I mention hot?” Jason asked with a laugh.

There was silence after that for a while, as Dick processed, and Jason continued to revel in old memories.

Memories of soaring through the air, and refitting the Robin suit, and eating McDonalds on the corner of Cornerstone Court and Third Avenue at the end of a patrol. Memories of stupid puns and witty one-liners; of aborted jokes, and stories that always got cut off by the blaring of an ambulance siren or the chatter of a police scanner. Memories of pillow forts in Wayne Manor, and ice-cream sundaes made hastily behind Alfred’s back. Memories of raucous laughter and boyhood. Memories of his childhood best friend.

Memories of Dick Grayson.

“You should tell him,” Dick said firmly after a while.

At some point his hand had slipped out of Jason’s, and now Jason felt the ache of its absence.

“Whatever is between us,” Dick continued slowly, holding Jason’s gaze, “You should tell him that he was loved.”

Jason’s smile unfurled alongside the great python in his chest that had been constricting his heart since that night all those months ago, when he’d caught Dick’s eye across the floor of The Black Cat. His grin was untameable, taking over his whole face until his eyes crinkled and his cheeks were sore.

He rolled up onto his side, pushing Dick down onto the bed so that they were a mirroring their previous positions. He tried to wrangle his smile and hold Dick’s gaze with some amount of seriousness, but he failed outstandingly.

“I think I just did.”

[georgiastudyz]

Chapter One: Restraint

Check out my wattpad for more: https://my.w.tt/JMAnP7b4OY

Moonlight streamed through the window, illuminating a fraction of the room in its clean silver glow. There were no clocks on the walls, nothing to tell the time, and Elliot wished there was, because the stillness of the room, the way moonlight hung listlessly in the air, made him feel as if time were standing still. He had no idea how long he’d been lying there, or even if any time had passed at all. The room itself was white, startlingly white. It looked almost like a hospital room from the time before, sans medical equipment. He was almost surprised that he couldn’t hear a heart monitor beeping away. Maybe they still had hospitals here. After all, it was nicknamed ‘Paradise’ by some. It had to have earnt that moniker somehow.

 Slowly, carefully, he sat up. He didn’t want to make any sudden movements. What if they were watching? They might think he was planning some kind of attack, shoot him down before he had the chance. Preventative measures. His eyes darted quickly around the room. It was so different to anywhere he’d ever been before. For one thing, it was silent. Elliot wasn’t accustomed to silence. In the wastelands, if it was quiet, danger was coming. But there didn’t seem to be any danger here. The room was empty. No visible cameras either. So these people were either very trusting, or very well hidden. Elliot wasn’t sure he wanted to find out which. 

Still on guard, he ran his fingers through his curls. Only then did he realise that he wasn’t wearing any handcuffs. In fact, he wasn’t restrained in any way whatsoever. Theoretically, he could just get up and walk out. Were these people really that naive? They go through all the trouble of finding him, only for him to walk out completely undetected. No, he reasoned. He was definitely restrained somehow, he just wasn’t entirely sure how. And that was far more dangerous. These people were far more dangerous. But he had to know what he’d gotten himself into. 

He climbed out of bed, a task easier said than done due to frankly ridiculous amount of pillows and blankets he was encased in. Back home, he had a single frayed blanket, and he used his hoodie as a pillow. He’d never been in a bed like this, never felt the need to. However, almost as soon as he got out of bed, he was hit by a wave of cold. It felt strange, foreign, like ice cubes pressed against his skin, like he’d been doused in cold water. It felt like how he felt when he had a fever, delirious, when Lucy held him in the lake and wouldn’t let him out until he cooled down. Heat, he was used to. Heat was suffocating, but cold felt isolating, the opposite of an embrace. It made him feel like he was on his own. Which, he realised with a start, he now was. 

Out of habit, he reached to grab his jacket, only to realise it wasn’t there. Of course it wasn’t, they must have taken it. He looked down at himself, to see he was wearing white pajamas. He felt the fabric of the sleeve between his thumb and forefinger. It was soft, delicate, unlike anything he’d ever worn before. The white was harsh against his dark skin and, as he inspected his hands, he realised his hands looked different too. Free of calluses and cuts, they were smooth, almost childlike. How long had he been asleep? What else had they done to him? Tentatively, he turned his hand, exposing his wrist. He pulled the sleeve back with a shaking hand. There had been a scar that slashed down the side of his wrist, angry and raised. It had been there since he was fourteen. But now it looked like it had never existed at all, and things like that don’t just vanish overnight. At least, they didn’t before. Who knew what was possible inside The Bubble?

Shaking off any potential answers to his questions, Elliot took several heavy steps towards the door. His legs felt like they hadn’t been used in days, and had grown steadily accustomed to their sedation. Feeling unsteady on his feet, Elliot sunk down into the floor, running his hands through the carpet like sand. What the hell was wrong with him? He walked miles and miles, every single day, and nothing had exhausted him quite as much as those five steps. He took a few deep, steadying breaths and stood back up again. “Okay,” He whispered to himself. “I’m okay.”

He turned towards the door. It must be locked. It had to be locked. Maybe they didn’t handcuff him, or tie him to the bed, but that’s because they wanted to give him the illusion of freedom, right? But if they left his door unlocked, leaving him to freely roam around this… whatever this place was, then that would be crazy. Certifiably so. He put his hand on the doorknob. Froze. What if it was alarmed? What if he opened the door, and a thousand guards rushed out and dragged him down into the real prison? But what if it wasn’t? He could leave, go home, find his dad and Lucy. Picturing his little sister’s face in his head; confused, scared, wondering where he was, spurred him on. He twisted the doorknob roughly, and frowned in bewilderment as the door opened with a soft click.

Elliot stepped out into the hall, feeling the strangest sense of deja vu. Everything, from the walls, to the floor, to the high ceiling, were the same shade of white as the room he had woken up in. The only break from the avalanche of white was the silver furniture, all perfectly, minimalistically, symmetrical. The strangest feeling of unease took route in his stomach. As Elliot started walking, he felt almost like he was walking the same five feet over and over again. He would pass a set of drawers, then an empty bookshelf, then a mirror. Drawers, bookshelf, mirror. Drawers, bookshelf, mirror.

After walking past what could only be described as his one hundredth mirror, he decided to take a quick break. He felt as if he had been walking for eons, but he was still stuck in this corridor. There had been no stairs, no other doors, no turnings. Just this corridor, over and over. He turned to face the mirror, wondering if this, too, was some kind of illusion. At first, he thought the reflection in the mirror was someone else. But as he took a hesitant step towards the mirror, and the figure moved with him, he realised with a start that it was, in fact, him.

 He’d never seen himself looking so… young. Free of wounds, of scars, even of dirt. He stroked his hand across his face. Smooth. Soft. Weak. He didn’t look like he’d be out of place in The Bubble. If only his father could see him now. Or worse, his grandparents. They could remember the time before, after all. They remembered the construction of The Bubble, and they remembered being cast aside, deemed unworthy, not valuable enough for a spot in paradise. Elliot remembered their stories, their bitterness, their hatred of anyone inside those clear blue walls. And now he was about to be one of them. 

“I thought the candidates were supposed to stay in their rooms until morning.” A cold, haughty voice said from behind him. Elliot turned round to face him. The boy looked like he was around Elliot’s age, but ever so slightly shorter, and thin. He had pale skin, straight, ice blond hair, and a smirk that clearly conveyed the general sentiment of ‘I’m better than you.’ He too, wore white pajamas, but unlike Elliot, they seemed to suit him, in some sort of strange way. 

Elliot didn’t answer, but the boy kept staring at him, through grey eyes that felt the way cold air felt. He raised a singular, manicured eyebrow. “Well?” The boy said.

“Who says I’m a candidate anyway?” Said Elliot, trying to come across as offended, but it sounded stupid even to him. Of course he was a candidate. How could he possibly convince this boy, clearly a Bubble native, that he wasn’t from the Wastelands?   

The other boy clearly agreed, as he gave him an incredulous look. “Please,” He said harshly. “Who else could you possibly be?”

“Maybe I live here.” He said, shrugging. One glance from the other boy was all it took. “Fine, so maybe I am a candidate, what’s the big deal? Who even are you, anyway?”

“That’s not any of your business.” The other boy said. 

“But, I-”

“Run along now.” He said, making a swatting motion with his hand as if getting rid of a particularly irksome fly.

Elliot stared at him soundlessly. “I’m sorry, what did you just say to me?” He said. 

“I said, run along.” The boy said, seemingly unperturbed. “You don’t want anyone to catch you out of bed now, do you?” 

Elliot gave him a quick, calculating look. The smirk plastered onto his mouth was almost frozen in place, and Elliot realised that this wasn’t just some random kid. He’d seen this face before, heard this voice he just couldn’t remember where from. Why was he here?

“It’s not a crime to walk down a hallway.” Said Elliot, trying to match the other boy’s nonchalant, yet poised, tone. 

“It’s not,” Agreed the boy. “But it raises suspicions, don’t you think?” 

“What about you?” Said Elliot. “You’re doing exactly the same thing as me.”

“Exactly.” Smiled the boy. “And are you not suspicious of me?”

Elliot didn’t answer. They stared at each other for a moment, an almost companionable silence, tinged with unease. Then, in the distance, footsteps. The other boy closed his eyes with a hint of resignation, and retreated slowly away. 

Elliot waited until the boy was completely out of sight before making a mad dash back to his room. He silently shut the door and clambered back into his bed, heart beating out of his chest. Why was he so afraid? Of what?  Who was that boy?

As he lay there, staring resolutely at the ceiling, willing himself to stay awake, a dark thought crossed his mind. They didn’t need to handcuff him. They didn’t need to lock his door. They didn’t need to restrain him. He was restraining himself.