#sorry if this is absolutely incoherent i am about to have a nap but i can't decide if i should have my lunch before or after.

[jupitersflytrap]

sometimes i think of the time i was driving somewhere with my parents and we'd left quite early in the morning and packed lunch. and from about 10:45am my dad was saying "i'm thinking of that sandwich. but i can't have lunch until midday". and he kept saying that about once every ten minutes until literally the second the clock turned to 12 and he IMMEDIATELY started eating his sandwich. normal man.

[norarigby]

Iwaizumi Hajime - The Little Things

The Little Black Box Masterlist

Pairing: Iwaizumi Hajime x reader

Warnings: Just Iwaizumi Hajime (27) Athletic Trainer being a big, clingy baby

Word Count: ~1.2k

A/n: Day 1 of the Little Black Box series complete! Even though I don’t want to focus on proposals with this series, I loved this idea so I feel like it’s fine. Enjoy and I’ll see you tomorrow with some Sakusa!

Iwaizumi’s keys jingled as he unlocked the door to your shared apartment. He sighed as he took off his shoes and set down his bag. As he stood back up, his eyebrows furrowed. It was oddly quiet in the apartment. Where were you? Even if you couldn’t meet him at the door, you’d usually at least shout a welcome home.

Iwaizumi walked around the front of the apartment to try to find you. You weren’t in the kitchen making dinner or on the couch taking a nap. Iwaizumi then padded softly to the bedroom. When he got to the door, he stopped and his features softened as he saw you deeply enthralled by whatever book you were reading. He couldn’t wait to have you tell him about it later.

He watched from the doorway at your face contorted with concentration. You were even chewing on your thumbnail, hooked on every word.

Iwaizumi loved these moments. He loved watching you when you thought no one was looking. Sometimes it was during the first light of morning just before he would get up for a morning jog. Sometimes it was when you two would be watching a movie and you would get just a little too into the scene that was playing. Whenever it was, he cherished the moment always taking a mental picture before it was over. You’ve caught him a couple times and every time you teasingly called him a creep. And every time he would just smile wider and attack your face with kisses.

But as much as he loved this moment, he wanted to cuddle with you just a bit more. So he walked over to the bed and plopped his body on yours. He tightly wrapped his arms around your waist and snuggled into your stomach.

You raised an eyebrow and lifted up your book so you could see the top of his head, “Well hello to you too.” Iwaizumi just grumbled an incoherent response. “When did you get home?”

“Couple minutes ago.” He mumbled.

You sighed and marked the page you were on. The book would have to wait. Iwaizumi was definitely not a clingy type, but a tired Iwaizumi meant that you had a very clingy Iwaizumi on your hands. And he could get very upset if you didn’t give him enough attention. So you set your book down on the dresser, laid down further on the bed so you were more comfortable, and began to gently run your fingers through his hair.

You hummed, “I’m sorry I didn’t hear you and come to say hi. How was you’re day?”

Iwaizumi recounted his day while stealing one of your hands so he could play with your fingers while he talked. These softer moments were rare, usually saved for mornings that were slept in or when one of you had a bad day. And while he hadn’t necessarily had a bad day, he must’ve missed you especially today. You hummed in response to his stories and even interrupted every once in a while to add your own commentary.

After he finished his account of his day, he propped his head on your stomach to look at you, “How was your day?”

“I had lunch with some of the executives and I think it went well. They liked my pitch and we’ll start really working on making it happen tomorrow, so I took the rest of the day off.” You stopped running your hands through his hair and cupped his cheeks, “Speaking of, aren’t you home a little earlier that usual?”

Iwaizumi frowned, “No? I pulled in at about 5:30 like usual.”

Your eyes widened before you groaned, carding your hands over your face, “I meant to start dinner at 5! I must’ve lost track of time!”

Iwaizumi shifted so that his forearms propped him up just above your face, “No worries. We can always just order takeout. It can be a celebration of your work accomplishment today.” In all honesty, a night in with some takeout and some dumb movie sounded really good to him right now.

Your hands lifted from your face and you lit up in excitement, “You mean it?”

He couldn’t resist smiling at your reaction, “Of course I mean it. Pick whatever to eat and we can even watch one of your movies if you want.”

“Iwaaaa,” You whined. “You’re too nice to me! What did I do to deserve you?”

“I could ask you the same question.” Iwaizumi planted a kiss on your lips before getting up to change into something more comfortable, “Order something delivery. I’ll even pay for it. I think my wallet’s in my bag.”

You bounced up from the bed an placed another kiss on his check before going to get his wallet from his bag. You checked the main pocket. No luck. You checked the big side pockets. No luck.

“Hajime, what pocket is it again?” You shouted.

“It should be in the small front pocket.” Was his response, but it barely registered in your head. When you opened the front pocket, you quickly realized that it was definitely not the right pocket. And you definitely should not have seen what was in that pocket.

“Babe? Did you find it? It’s just in the front-“ Iwaizumi had peeked out to see if everything was alright and instead was met with you standing above his bag, staring at something in your hand. You turned fully towards him and looked up slowly. Iwaizumi’s eyes immediately saw what you were staring at and his eyes went wide. They darted between the small box in your hand and your eyes.

The two of were absolutely silent, just looking at each other. A minute passed. Then another. Finally, the two of you bursted into laughter. He came over and hugged you as you both continue to laugh. He should’ve known he would never get to properly propose to you. As your laughter died down, he pulled back and held the box between the two of you, “Well this is not how I saw it playing out, but I was going to propose sometime soon anyway.”

Iwaizumi opened the box, planning on showing you the ring, but found the ring missing. He looked at you again in panic, but softened when he saw you showing the ring on your finger. You smiled as you wiggled your ring finger in his face, “Had to make sure it fit.”

He rolled his eyes and smiled, “You tease me too much.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and his hands settled on your hips, “But you know you’re going to have to properly propose to me at some point, right? My mother will never let me live this down if she found out this is how we got engaged.”

Iwaizumi leaned down so your foreheads were touching, “So does that mean you’re saying yes?”

“Iwaizumi Hajime. I cannot give you a proper answer until you properly propose to me.” You cupped his head in your hands, “I’m going to get in some sweats. Find your wallet and then join me so we can decide what to eat and watch, okay?” You returned your head to rest against his. “I love you.”

Iwaizumi made a mental note that you were still wearing the ring and hadn’t even made an attempt to take it off. So even if you didn’t give him a verbal answer, he knew.

He smiled and spoke softly, “I love you too.”

(Posted on February 22, 2021, 11:03 AM) 

[husbandograveyard]

I thought my mind is angst free but le nope, here I am. Hazel, my precious ray of sunshine, may I ask for some angst torture with Sanji and Zoro (not poly, lmao) and fem s/o who hid severe medical condition from them. One day it suddenly gets much worse and Chopper is not available; boys can't do nothing much than watching her fading away in their arms and begging her to not go where they can't follow (ah yes, lotr reference). But happy ending plz, if possible T^T Thank you UwU

Some Angst for Bas! :Hellmo: I tried not to angst it up too much, and they ended up about double as long as I intended. I hope you like them and thank you for your insane patience! Sending you love! 

Having an S/O who hides a severe medical condition HC - Sanji, Zoro 

2nd person. Female reader. tw: illness, mentions of illness, light angst 

Sanji 

Sanji is quite observant. He keeps an eye on his lover, and he knows you better than you sometimes know yourself. So he definitely knows something is up: the visits to chopper, the sudden breaks you need to take in the middle of chores and training. But you never talk about it and he respects your privacy. 

No matter how much he wants to help you, no matter how much he really wishes you would open up to him about whatever is going on, he knows that you want to tackle this by yourself. 

That does not mean he lets you do everything by yourself all the time. He finds many ways to help you around, disguising it under his gentleman attitude. 

He cooks you special dishes that are filled to the brim with all kinds of vitamins and other nutritional elements that will help you keep healthy and strong, even though he has absolutely no idea what part of your health is the one that is stopping you. 

He carries everything that might be too heavy for you, not wanting to over stress you. Even if you’re plenty strong, he will just say that it’s a men’s duty to carry his lady’s stuff. 

Even when you're training, he will bring refreshments, make sure you take plenty of breaks, draw you a nice bath after and massage any aching muscles if you will allow him. 

Sanji is near you when you have the worst episode of your illness you’ve ever had. You feel weak, everything hurting, and you just collapse in the middle of the deck. Sanji would catch you right before you fall, worriedly asking you what you need, but he realizes you’re already unconscious and cannot reply. 

Chopper is out with some other crewmates to get supplies, so Sanji is immediately panicking, torn in between leaving you on the ship to go get Chopper as fast as possible and staying with you in hopes the others will return soon. He eventually settles for the first, deciding that your chances are best when Chopper is involved. 

He picks you up and carries you to your bed so at least you’re in a comfortable spot, but when he turns to leave, there’s a soft tug at his sleeve and he can hear you very faintly whispering to stay. Your eyes are barely open and you’re wincing with every little sound and movement around you. He kneels down next to the bed, tears now falling freely as he begs you to stay with him and not to give up. Chopper will be there soon. 

You have fallen unconscious again when Chopper returns. Sanji races outside the moment he hears them arrive and drags Chopper over to the room, explaining as quickly as he can. He insists on staying with you as Chopper looks after you. 

Luckily, Chopper is already aware of your situation, and he’s able to help you swiftly. 

You wake up not that much later, still in loads of pain, Sanji holding your hand as tight as he can without adding to the pain.

“Please y/n…. let me help next time”

Zoro

Zoro notices something is off rather fast… but much like Sanji, he is not one to pry. You tell him you’re fine, he will believe you.. up until a certain point that is. 

For the most time, you can just dismiss him by telling him there is nothing seriously wrong, trying not to worry him, and assure him that you can handle it. After all, Zoro won’t needlessly hurt your pride by being overbearing or smothering you when it’s unnecessary. 

He’s still picking up on some cues. Just because Zoro is pretty routine-oriënted, he will notice it when things are out of place or not going like they should. On days where he notices you’re struggling, he will pull you with him for an extra nap, bother Sanji for some extra healthy food… the small things that let you know that he cares, he just doesn’t want you to be bothered or feel bad that he’s helping.

He’s training when he hears a loud crash, and even though it’s not that rare for things to fall and break on the ship, he has to do a double take, seeing as the only ones on the ship are you, Usopp and him. The latter usually just spends time tinkering away, and wasn’t supposed to emerge from his room until an emergency happened or the others returned. Weights are swiftly dropped as he shouts down from the crow’s nest. 

“Y/n? Everything all right there?” 

When there is no response, he rushes to where you are supposed to be. He knows you’re not one to joke, especially since you very well know how overbearing he can get when there’s serious danger involved. 

He finds you on the floor, a little scrape bleeding from the fall, but otherwise you seem unharmed. 

He almost lets out a sigh in relief when he notices tears silently streaming over your face. Your expression is contorted, laced with pain and he feels his heart sink all the way into his shoes when he rushes over, easily picking you up and cradling you, his actions a little more rough than intended, only because he just wants to make sure you’re helped as soon as possible. 

You let out a yelp as he picks you up. It’s loud, but not as intense as he’s used to from you. You’re visibly weak and he curses himself mentally for not saying anything earlier today or staying with you when he noticed today was another one of your ‘off days’. 

“Y/n, what’s wrong? What can I do?” 

You open your mouth a couple of times, but find that even talking has become hard, if not excruciating, and you can barely choke out “Chopper”. 

Zoro holds you as close as he can without crushing you or causing you any more pain, and yells out to Usopp to hold the fort. He needs to get you to the doctor, ASAP.

His sense of direction is not really helping, but fortunately, the rest of the crew doesn’t take too long to hear of a ‘green haired man frantically looking for his crew while practically running in circles’. 

The rest of the crew finds you guys relatively fast, but by then you’re slipping in and out of consciousness. Zoro had been cursing about them getting away, and simultaneously kept talking to you, panic apparent in his voice as your answers are incoherent or altogether absent. 

Chopper, as the only one aware of you condition, manages to help you faster than any other doctor would be able to, but you’re going to need some extra medicine and rest for letting it come this far. 

Once he gets the ok, Zoro carries you back to the ship, ignoring all your protests. He will see it as his personal responsibility to make sure you rest and get your meds in time. 

He kisses your forehead as he puts you down on your bed to rest once you’re back at the ship.

“Sorry y/n, some burdens cannot be carried alone. I will help, even if you don’t want me to.”

[thebiscuiteternal]

“Competition”

Reverse Age Nies, One-Sided Attraction, Sexual Harassment, Ancient Chinese Roofies (but nothing happens), Nie Mingjue is this close to committing murder. And his friends might help.

__________

"What has you so troubled?" 

 Nie Mingjue blinked and looked up from adjusting the fletching on his arrows to find Lan Xichen watching him with concern. A short distance away, his friends from the Jiang sect were also studying him with expressions a bit more tense than usual. 

"Nothing. I'm fine." 

Wei Wuxian openly snorted. "You usually kick our asses way easier than this. Something’s got you off your game." 

He rolled his eyes, then scratched the back of his neck with an annoyed growl. "He's doing it again." 

Lan Xichen’s eyes went wide. “Oh, no. I thought that would have stopped by now.”

"Wait," Jiang Cheng cut in. "Who's doing what again?" 

"Every time they're in the vicinity of each other, Wen-zongzhu starts eyeing my brother like a particularly nice dish at a banquet." 

Wei Wuxian's nose wrinkled. "Seriously?"   

"Watch this." 

Turning, Nie Mingjue waved to his brother up in the stands. Nie Huaisang beamed and enthusiastically waved back, and, just a couple seats away, Wen Ruohan turned his head slightly in the middle of a conversation with one of the minor sect leaders. 

There was no missing the way his gaze tracked from Nie Huaisang's raised hand down his back and then back up before he resumed whatever he and the other sect leader were discussing. 

"Oh, that's fucking creepy," Jiang Cheng muttered in disgust.

"How long has this been happening?" 

"Seven fucking years. Ever since their first meeting as fellow sect leaders. Sang-ge insists he's only doing it to provoke us into embarrassing ourselves by making accusations we can't prove." 

"Yeah, no. If that were the case, he wouldn't be doing it where other people can see it."

"Unfortunately, no one seems willing to actually call him on it," Lan Xichen pointed out, disappointment written on his face. "Even shufu only reminds him of propriety every so often." 

"Which is why I told the disciples that Sang-ge has to have at least one guard at all times until we get the hell out of here. I trust that bastard as far as sect Leader Jin could throw him."

“A fair assessment.”

---

It was well after dark when a pounding on the door startled Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng out of bed. 

"Wen Ning? What are you doing here so late?" Wei Wuxian asked, ignoring his shidi's hissed question as to how the hell he knew a Wen. 

 "I am so, so very sorry!" Wen Ning stumbled over the words and nearly his own feet as he bowed low. "But there is a problem and your room was the closest!" 

 "What kind of problem?" Jiang Cheng asked, immediately suspicious. 

 "This way." 

 The two of them glanced at each other, then followed. 

Whatever possibilities they had been considering, finding Nie-zongzhu slumped against a pillar in a daze, barely able to stay standing, wasn't it. 

"Drunk?" Wei Wuxian asked. 

Wen Ning shook his head. "I checked his eyes. This is something much worse. He needs to see a-jie, but-" 

"We'll help," Jiang Cheng said roughly. "Wei Wuxian and I can get him to his room, then one of us can keep watch while the others get Mingjue and your sister."

They took up positions on both sides, slung the barely-conscious sect leader's arms over their shoulders, and put their own around his waist. Even with the sluggishness of the drugs, one of them probably could have carried him easily, and he made only the smallest incoherent mumble of protest as they started down the hall. 

"Wasn't he supposed to have a guard already? Why the hell is he out here alone?" 

"I have a feeling that no matter what answer to that question is, we're not gonna like it, and Mingjue's gonna like it even less." 

Nie Huaisang's room was empty of anyone when they arrived. At the sight of the overturned table near the door, Wei Wuxian cursed softly. 

"What?" 

"And was already addled enough to get lost. Damn. Lucky he came our way, instead of running into a Wen guard." 

"He must have tripped over it trying to get out of the room." Which would have meant he was aware of the drugs starting to take effect. "He wasn't just wandering around, he was trying to get help." 

Actually getting their burden onto the bed proved more difficult than getting him down the hall. Whatever it was he'd been given had progressed enough that it was more like moving an oversized noodle than a person. 

But they managed, and when Wei Wuxian turned, Wen Ning had already vanished. "Okay, so who has to break this to Mingjue?" 

Jiang Cheng winced, then sighed. "I'll do it. If someone shows up to make trouble, you have a better chance of defending Nie-zongzhu." 

Wei Wuxian clapped his shidi on the shoulder with a grin. "You're a brave and noble man." 

"Shut it."

---

Nie Mingjue stood beside the bed, a positively murderous scowl on his face as he watched Wen Qing work. "Well?" 

He didn't bother fighting the urge to growl. He had absolutely no illusions as to what this was about. There was only one reason that someone here would so obviously want his brother alone and entirely unable to defend himself. "Can you purge it?"

"Frankly it's a miracle he was still on his feet at all," she said as she finished running her tests. "The combination of sedatives and muscle relaxants should have put down a horse." 

"Qi circulation would help, but with that dosage, it'll still take hours. Since there's no danger to his breathing or his heart, it would probably be better to just let him sleep it off." 

"Why not?" Nie Mingjue asked bitterly. "He has been for almost a decade." That earned a round of flinches from the rest of the room's occupants. "But I know what Sang-ge will say," he continued. "And as much as it pisses me off, he's right. We have no way of proving that it was actually Wen Ruohan or someone on his orders. It could have been Jin-zongzhu or one of the vassal sects looking to settle a score." 

"What do we do in the morning?" Jiang Cheng asked. "Sect Leader Wen can't just... get away with an attack on another sect leader." 

"If that were the case, it says nothing good about the security here," Wen Qing pointed out archly. "Wen-zongzhu would still take offense." 

Wei Wuxian looked absolutely galled. "So we have to keep quiet about this? That's horseshit!" he protested. 

 "It is horseshit," Nie Mingjue agreed. 

Wen Qing sighed. "You're... not wrong. But you're also in the middle of a stronghold not your own, with only a few disciples to back you up. Can you actually afford to piss him off?" 

Nie Mingjue gritted his teeth, and for a moment, he was damn well willing to try. But... if he lost, that would leave Huaisang alone to face someone who'd already shown he'd use the worst of underhanded tactics to get him into bed. 

He forced his jaw to unclench and his hands to relax. "No. We can't. Not yet." 

Wei Wuxian looked like he had something to say about that, but Jiang Cheng elbowed him sharply before he could run his mouth. "So what do we do?"

"I'll tell Sang-ge what happened in the morning and see if I can find out what happened to the guard. And then I'm taking over guarding him myself. There's still another day and night to go before we can leave, and if that bastard had the stones to try once, he'll probably try again." 

 "If you don't mind other sects assisting, we could take a couple of shifts," Wei Wuxian suggested. "I bet Lan Xichen would, too." 

"I'll consider it. For now, the rest of you should get back to your rooms." He hesitated for the briefest moment, then saluted sharply. "Thank you all for your assistance and good night."

---

His brother was still sleeping when the door cracked open and Jiang Cheng poked his head in. "The first event for today's at si shi, do you need one of us to take over so you can get a bath and some sleep?" 

"I bathed before bed last night," Nie Mingjue replied. "But I suppose I could use an hour nap or so." 

The other boy nodded, then vanished. Roughly a fen later, the door opened again and Lan Xichen entered with a breakfast tray. "The others explained what happened," he said as he set it down on the bedside table. "Is he alright?"

"Hasn't so much as twitched, but his breathing evened out a few hours ago. It's just a waiting game, now." 

Lan Xichen shook his head a little. "Horrible. I knew Sect Leader Wen was brazen, but this-" 

A tiny, confused noise from the bed caught their attention, and when he turned his head, Huaisang's eyes were slitted open. They still looked cloudy, though, and when Huaisang tilted his head to look at him in turn, his brother blinked several times before registering his presence. "Jue-er? What time is it?" 

"Still early," Nie Mingjue murmured, gently sweeping mussed bangs out of his brother's eyes. "Do you remember anything from last night?" 

"Anything after the banquet?" Lan Xichen clarified. 

"N... no." Huaisang put an unsteady hand to his forehead, then rubbed his eyes. "I don't. Gods, did I seriously drink that much?" 

"No!" Nie Mingjue snapped vehemently, then at the startled looks from the other two, he took a deep breath to get his anger reined in. "You didn't. Someone gave you drugged wine." 

Huaisang stared at him, the color slowly draining from his face. "What?"

"Nothing happened!" he quickly elaborated. "Some of my friends found you and got me and a physician." 

"Still... Wait, what happened to Zhang Fai?" 

"I'd like to know that myself." 

"I overheard Liu Hei telling your deputy that he didn't report in this morning." 

Huaisang groaned softly. "Fantastic. So he's either in a dungeon or a ditch somewhere, or he left on purpose." 

"He better be in a dungeon or a ditch," Nie Mingjue muttered. "And I'm taking over guarding you." 

"No. We're not arguing about it. My friends-" he nodded to Lan Xichen, "-have offered to help when I absolutely have to take a break, but I'm not letting that asshole get near you again." 

"Jue-er-" 

Huaisang sighed and reached up to swat lightly at his cheek. "Stubborn brat," he chided fondly. "Fine, then. I'm in the capable hands of you lot until we leave for home." 

"Good. And on that note," Nie Mingjue said as he rounded the bed to flop on the other side, "You're up, Xichen. Don't disappoint." 

Lan Xichen smothered a laugh with his sleeve. "I'll do my best," he said with a teasing salute as Huaisang rolled his eyes.

Satisfied, Nie Mingjue settled in, and sleep claimed him surprisingly quickly. 

[loversamongus]

Friends, Fevers, Family Movies

a/n: first one shot for @fromthewatertribe‘s 1k follower event! This turned out to be A LOT longer than I expected and it was also originally for a whole other prompt??? And then just??? Evolved into this??? I knew I wanted to write something that featured a Sokka friendship (and a Katara one!) but also feature good ol’ Zuko fluff. So here ya go. Word vomit. TO CELEBRATE NINA BEING AWESOME.

Also important: written as a world without covid, but does mention the flu. prompt: go to bed, you idiot.

words: 2k

relationship: Zuko x reader

Sharing an apartment with your best friends has its highs and lows. On the bright side, you truly lucked out between the epic prank wars, overly competitive game nights, and the bureaucratic division of chore responsibilities. However, there’s also the constant paranoia that someone can jump out of your closet in a gorilla costume, the frustrated search for the last blue Sorry piece after a certain sore loser flipped over the coffee table, and Katara’s insistence on hand washing all dishware even though the kitchen has a perfectly good dishwasher. The three of you never experience a dull moment.

And you’re so grateful to be living with them. Sokka and Katara are your best friends but now it’s like having a brother and sister of your own. Due to the smaller size of the apartment, you and Katara share a bedroom but neither of you would have it any other way. Though you both have your own corner of the room, you’ll spend hours laying on the gray shag rug in the middle between your beds just talking.

“Today, at the diner, a man had the AUDACITY to call me ‘pretty girl’ and like, yes I am pretty but I don’t need an old coffee-breathed, wrinkly limp noodle to tell me that so I assumed he was just stating the obvious and that I should also call him by obvious nicknames in order to better communicate with and understand the customer, as my manager puts it.”

“And what did you call him?”

“When I came back with their food, he said, ‘Can the pretty girl also get us some mayonnaise packets?’ And I said, ‘Not a problem, ‘crusty man.’”

Katara tried her darnedest to flash you a severe look but couldn’t help choking on a fit of giggles.

“Suki approves of it and we spent the rest of our shift calling each other different names when we crossed paths!”

The rest of the night would linger on with more work day stories, giggles, and Sokka occasionally pounding on the door for you both to shut up already because he is trying to sleep goddamnnit and can’t do that while the apartment is filled with your shrill girlish squeals.

Finally, when you both struggle to fight off sleep, you wave the white flag and drag yourself into bed. But just before you drift off, you hear Katara whisper your name from across the room. You’re not even sure if she’s awake, you’re both so tired, but you answer anyways.

“Hmm?”

“What do you think of Aang?”

“He adores you (yawn) it’s so sweet. I like him for you.”

There’s a silence and you think you’re free to finally fall into your dreams until Katara speaks again.

“What do you think of Zuko?”

“Hmm? I dunno, he’s our (yawn) friend and I like when he brings over (yawn) fireball for game night (yawn) why?”

Your exhaustion overpowers you before you could hear Katara respond, “Because he adores you, it’s so sweet. I like him for you.”

Although also your best friend, living with Sokka feels much less sweet and much more chaotic. Somehow you’re at each other’s throats more so than he is with his own blood related sister. It may have started when the Sock Battle started, a game in which Sokka made it his mission to hide his stenchiest pair of socks somewhere in your stuff. By now, you’ve found his socks in your pillowcases, in textbooks, in your gym bag, and in a picture frame next to your bed. You deliberately retaliate in any way you can during game night. While these instances often have you second guessing your friendship with him, you and Sokka could both put the bickering aside with a Disney movie and a bucket of buttered popcorn.

You could have killed him though when he gave you the flu. Katara was spared thanks to her daily regimen of vitamins and obsession with cleanliness, and Sokka had even recovered rather quickly. But you were not as lucky. Even though it was only the beginning of October, you had Katara dig out your flannel holiday pajamas to warm you up from the chills. The darling that she is, Katara made you her famous homemade soup and set it by your bedside table before heading out to see Aang. In the meantime, it was time for payback.

“Sokka, I need you to refill my water bottle.”

“Do it yourself.”

“Fine and when I get over to the kitchen I’ll lick every bag of beef jerky you own.”

“Oh my god, fine. Give me your water bottle.”

“Sokka, I need to charge my phone. Give me your charger.”

“No? Yours in your room, go get it.”

“If only my legs weren’t so weak from this terrible flu I’ve contracted from someone I trusted to be more hygienic.”

“Here, take it.”

“Sokka, you need to light a candle in the bathroom. Ooh do the rose petal one.”

“Ugh, no. You know I hate yours and Katara’s girly scented candles.”

“Okay, but then don’t complain about the smell when you go in.”

“It can’t be that bad— OH MY GOD DID SOMETHING CRAWL OUT OF YOU AND DIE?! OH MY GOD IT’S TRAVELLING. IT’S TRAVELLING THROUGH THE APARTMENT.”

By the fourth day of having the flu, Sokka was sick. Not of the flu. Of you. Katara had been spending as much time with Aang as she could to avoid catching anything from you so the responsibility of taking care of you fell on Sokka. And he was finally reaching the breaking point after you left used tissues all over “his side” of the couch. You snuggled into your pile of blankets as you watched your best friend grumble about the living room, every so often glancing at you while muttering incoherently.

After picking up the last of your snot filled, flu infected tissues, Sokka stood in front of you and took a long, exaggerated breath.

“I am leaving this Land of Disgusting to eat at the diner before driving Suki home.”

“Sokka, you had me at ‘I am leaving.’”

“Shut up. You still have a fever so I’ve called in reinforcements to look after you while Katara and I are both out. They’ll be here shortly after I’m gone. Can you handle yourself for 10 minutes?”

“Aye aye, captain.”

Before leaving, Sokka grabbed one more blanket from your room to bring to you on the couch. You realize how lucky you are to be such a pain in the ass and still be so loved by your little family. These happy thoughts, along with the utter amusement over the possibility of Toph being the one taking care of you, lulled you into a short, soft nap.

When you open your eyes next, the living room is dark, save for the small lamp in the corner of the room. As you go to stretch out your legs on the couch, your feet kick into something that wasn’t there before.

“Sokka?” you ask wearily, assuming your friend is back from dropping Suki off home.

“Nope.”

It wasn’t Sokka’s voice. Nor was it Toph’s. Trying your best to sit up under the weight of five blankets, you turn your head to see Zuko’s face illuminated by his phone’s screen as his thumb continued to scroll.

“Oh. Hi.”

He looked over at you. “Hey. Can I get you anything?”

It takes you a moment to get over the fact that Zuko is the reinforcements, the one called to take care of you while your roommates are out of the apartment. But finally you respond, “Actually, my throat is really dry. Can you grab my water bottle for me?”

He reached over to the coffee table to grab your water bottle for you. Then, after handing it you, Zuko went back to looking at his phone.

“Katara says you have to take your medicine once you’ve woken up.”

“Ugh noooooo. I don’t want to.”

Taking pills has never been your been your strong suit. Maybe it’s your irrational fear of choking on them or just your innate ability to be stubborn about everything but you try to put up your best fight.

“You have to. Or else we’ll have to cancel another game night or you just won’t be able to play with us. And then who would kill Sokka first in Among Us.”

“You’ll have to continue my legacy, that’s all.”

“Just take the pills. I already cut them up for you.”

“Fine... thank you.”

After you swallow the last pill, you lay back down on the couch but Zuko gets up.

“Where are you going?”

“Since you’re up now, let’s watch a movie. There’s nothing else you should really be doing in your condition.”

“I have my DVDs on my shelf in my room. Pick me a Disney movie?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Oh my god, please? I am very sick and frail and only the nostalgic joys of my childhood can cure me.”

“....fine.”

You muster up a squeal that quickly turns into a cough as Zuko leaves the room. After a few minutes he comes back with Toy Story 2, a choice that makes you raise an eyebrow considering its heartbreaking song is not something you’d expect Zuko to want to watch. Nonetheless, you hardly protest as the two of you settle in on the couch for the movie to begin.

To your surprise, the animated movie managed to steal a couple chuckles from Zuko. After all the bickering throughout the week with Sokka, it was a welcome and pleasant sound ringing in your ears. Despite your better judgment, you shift closer to him, especially when you know Jessie’s big song is getting closer. He doesn’t move away though and even wraps an arm around you. When a chill runs down your spine, you wonder if it’s due to the fever.

“Are you crying?”

“It’s just SO sad, how could you not, Zuko?! Somebody needs to LOVE HER AGAIN.”

Grinning, he hands you the tissue box, which you fully accept both for your tears and flu-inflicted runny nose. But once the song ends and you’ve let out a good cry, your eyelids start to feel enormously heavy. Zuko must sense this because he scoots a bit closer to you, allowing you to rest your head on his shoulder. You hesitate for a moment, not wanting to pass the flu onto Zuko, but for some reason he feels warmer than the mountains of blankets you’re buried under.

The rest of the movie plays on and you struggle to keep your eyes open, often shifting against Zuko to wake yourself back up. You know there’s more to the movie but Zuko picks up the remote and turns off the tv. Before you could even question what he’s doing, he’s lifting you up and walking you to your room.

“But we didn’t see the end of the movie!”

“You weren’t going to stay up to see the end anyways.”

“But you needed to see Jessie and Bullseye find new homes! With Andy! And Wheezy!! Wheezy gets fixed!!”

He helped you under the covers and sat beside you on your bed for a moment. You still feel enough energy to offer up a few more protests.

“Only the end of the movie can cure me with its pure, unadultered childhood joy! You can use some, too! Disney fixes all things!”

He scoffed and rolled his eyes, but before getting up, Zuko leaned in to kiss your forehead lightly.

“Go to bed, you idiot.”

You didn’t even register when he left your side because you were asleep again within minutes. In fact, when the sunlight from the bedroom window wakes you up hours later, you could have sworn it was all just a fever dream anyways. Disney movies cuddled up with Zuko? Definitely sounds fake. However, later on in the morning, you do begin to suspect it was all real when you find your Toy Story 2 DVD still in DVD player and catching Katara and Sokka trying to discreetly give each other a high five.

[shitty-marvel-fan732]

Sleepless in the Tower

Title: Sleepless in the Tower

Pairing: Peter Parker x Barnes-Rodgers!Reader

Requested?: Yes! : Hi can I request a peter parker x reader please where I'm in a relationship with peter and I'm bucky and Steve's daughter and me and MJ go to a night club that we told not to go to and I end up getting really drunk and she ends up having to call peter and he takes me back to the tower trying to wake everyone up but ik being so loud and everyone goes mad that snuck out and got drunk and my dads try to take care of me but I just want peter thanks xx

Warnings: Teenage alcohol use, wild mood swings, Peter being scared shitless of your dads

Word count: hahahahahahahahahahaha...7K

Summary: Y/N’s drunk, Bucky’s angry, and Peter just wants to get some sleep.

    Peter Parker was not one to usually get the of 8 hours of sleep that was recommended for guys his age. Between homework, studying for decathlon, spending time with May, going on patrol, and trying to squeeze in more than just a few spare minutes with Y/N a day outside of school, sleep just didn’t fit into his schedule. Peter didn't dare complain. He loved doing all of those other things, and if sacrificing a few hours of sleep here or there was the price he’d have to pay for them, he’d willingly pay it. 

    Even so, he wasn’t completely tone-deaf to his body’s needs. Peter could tell he’d been running more than a few hours short for the past few days, but he had yet to find a way to get some sleep without letting one of his other responsibilities fall by the wayside. It was getting to the point where he was thinking very seriously about just taking a quick nap right on the roof where he was currently perched. If he was being completely honest, only the mental image of May and Y/N absolutely losing it if they found out about his little rooftop snooze was keeping him awake. Frowning, he yawned for what felt like the millionth time that night as he scanned the mostly empty streets. He was more than used to the constant urge to sleep, and was sure he could make it the next few hours without passing out.

Still, everyone had a breaking point, and Peter was relatively sure that he was nearing his. 

Miraculously, it seemed luck was on his side tonight. His patrol had practically flown by without much of a hitch -- save a few random muggings, Queens seemed pretty quiet. Peter felt a small bit of hope begin to bubble and build in his chest as he realized that he was going to get to go home early for once. Even more exciting was the fact that tomorrow was Saturday, and he had the opportunity to actually sleep in for once. He grinned beneath his signature mask, exhausted body beginning to tingle with anticipation at the prospect as he swung his way home. 

Peter had barely made it in his bedroom window before he flopped face-first into his mattress -- suit, mask, and all. He groaned loudly at the way his soft bed felt against his exhausted and aching muscles, thoroughly pleased and delighted at the welcome comfort. As he grabbed a pillow from the head of the bed and snuggled his mask-clad face into it, it suddenly occurred to him that he was falling asleep at an alarming pace and that he was still wearing his full suit. Peter groaned internally as he pictured all the jabs and jokes Mr. Stark would surely come up with once he found out Peter had fallen asleep in the suit.

Again. 

Peter idly contemplated the effort it would take to remove it before eventually deciding in favor of not moving. Mr. Stark could tease all he wanted -- and he surely would -- but there was nothing on Earth that was going to make Peter move from his bed for the next 12 hours or so. 

Just as he was beginning to drift off, the dull buzzing of his cellphone registered somewhere in the back of his mind. Still too tired to properly function, Peter ignored the annoying sound and stubbornly attempted to fall asleep even faster now, before something could get in his way. Eventually the noise mercifully stopped and Peter smiled a little, feeling slightly smug that he'd successfully ignored the distraction.

“Peter?” KAREN chirped. 

Though the AI’s voice was as smooth and gentle as ever, the sudden sound in his ear breaking through the silence of the room startled Peter. He jolted upwards and yelped in surprise before scanning his bedroom urgently. Realizing that there was nothing visibly amiss, he flopped back down onto his pillows and groaned loudly. Thoroughly annoyed at whatever, or whoever, could be the cause of the interruption, Peter merely grunted in response as he screwed his eyes shut once more. 

“I’m sorry to wake you, but per the protocols you set I’m alerting you that Y/N has called you more than twice and you haven’t responded,” the AI calmly reported. 

Peter muttered incoherently in acknowledgement as he drifted in and out of consciousness, and KAREN fell silent. For a beat or two it seemed the tired superhuman had finally succumbed to the sleep that’d been threatening to claim him all evening -- his body still and breaths slowing steadily. 

Until KAREN’s words sunk into his mind and his eyes shot open. 

Peter gasped -- the hairs on the back of his arms suddenly standing upright and his skin prickling with alarm as he bolted up once more-- this time fully awake. 

“Y/N’s been calling?” he questioned KAREN, heart beating wildly and thoughts racing with the possibilities of what could be causing his girlfriend to call him at… “Also what time is it?”

“It’s 3 am Peter”, came KAREN’s calm reply. “She’s called you three times so far, and it appears she’s calling again right now.”

Peter lunged for his backpack -- it was propped up against the wall where he’d tossed it carelessly earlier tonight as he’d scrambled through the window. Fingers practically vibrating with anxious energy, he dug through the mess in his bag frantically in search of his phone. Finally finding it, he quickly swiped across the picture of the two of you that was flashing on his screen. 

"Y/N?" he questioned breathlessly. "What's going on, what's wrong?"

"PETEYY," you sang through the phone. "Oh my gosh I misssssed you!"

Peter felt his brows crinkle in confusion. You never called this late, knowing that he was usually on patrol at this time. Plus, he could sense that something was off just by the sound of your voice. Your words were just slightly slurred together, and the pitch was a little higher than it normally was. It reminded him of the way you sounded right before you fell asleep, when you were really, really tired. Peter briefly considered that you might actually be calling him in your sleep, but the constant buzz of voices and noises in the background that weren't yours told him otherwise.

"Y/N babe what's going on? Where are you?" he asked nervously. 

" 'm out with MJ and we saw this totally awesome band and OH. Petey you should've seen them they were so awesome! You would've loved it. The guitar player was...," you chattered excitedly through the phone, completely oblivious to your boyfriend's obvious concern. Peter's brows furrowed deeper, and he felt his face contort into a look of pure confusion. 

"That's great babe, but I'm confused," Peter cut off your rambling abruptly. "Where are you?"

"Mmmm I'm not really sure!" came your thoroughly unbothered reply. "Somewhere in the city maybe? Yep. Definitely in the city."

Peter sighed, a gloved hand coming to rest on his covered head in exasperation. 

"What? Sorry -- no MJ, it's Peter!" he heard you mumble to someone else. "Petey? MJ wants to talk to you, 'kay?"

There was some shuffling on the other end of the phone before Peter heard MJ's voice. 

"Hey."

"MJ? What the heck is happening?" he questioned for what felt like the hundredth time in just a few minutes. 

"Y/N just showed up at my door tonight and dragged me out to see this show," she explained casually. "It was actually pretty cool, but anyways people have been buying her drinks left and right the entire time. So now she is wasted and, don't get me wrong, it's hilarious, but I have absolutely no idea how I'm going to get her home."

"Wait, Y/N is drunk?" Peter exclaimed, shocked. Never in all the years that he'd known you would he have ever thought that you'd be calling him at 3 in the morning, drunk. You were only 17! You were incredibly smart and goal-driven -- underaged drinking was just not something Peter would've expected from you. 

"As a skunk," MJ replied in her deadpan voice. The knot of concern twisted deeper in Peter's belly as he realized the potential danger of your situation. 

"PETEY! Is that Peter? Tell him I love him!" Peter could hear you yelling from somewhere around your phone's speaker. Ignoring the light blush that always seemed to creep up his face whenever you said things like that, he asked again where the two of them were. MJ calmly gave him the address, and he instantly grabbed his backpack, scrambling onto his fire escape and out into the night. 

"Okay, just stay there, I'm coming," he grunted as he swung from building to building. 

"I'll do my best, but you might want to hurry," MJ agreed cautiously. "Your girl is about 10 seconds away from throwing a punch."

"She's what -- why?!"

"No, I told you I don't want another one! You are being so pushy right now!" Peter heard your irritated voice, slightly muffled in the background. 

Anger and panic started to burn in his chest like acid as he realized that someone, probably some dude, was making you feel uncomfortable. The anger churned and mixed with the concern in his belly, creating a fire the likes of which he'd never felt before. He'd been angry before, sure, but this feeling was entirely new. The protective feelings only intensified as he pictured you, alone and vulnerable as some creep was pushing his way into your space. 

"I'm coming," Peter growled as he increased his speed. 

MJ ended the call, and Peter started throwing himself through the skyline as fast as his muscles would physically allow. He wasn't sure who you'd been arguing with or why, but the pit of anxiety in the bottom of his stomach was only growing bigger the longer he wasn't with you. 

All he knew was he needed to find you and find you fast. 

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

Even though Peter's mind was screaming for him to get to you as soon as possible, he realized that him trying to find you while still wearing his suit was problematic at best. So he changed as fast as he could, throwing his regular clothes over his suit, just in case. 

Nearly tripping over his own feet in his attempt to get out of the alley quickly, Peter's eyes scanned the busy street. His eyes washed over the crowd, desperately searching, before they finally landed on your face. You were swaying your hips to an imaginary beat and singing quietly to yourself near the street. MJ was sitting on the curb near you, watching your performance with amusement written all over her features. Relief surged through him at the sight of your cheerful expression, and he swiftly jogged to your side. 

"Hey, you finally made it," MJ remarked sarcastically as he reached the two of you. Peter rolled his eyes, but couldn't help the small grin that was rapidly taking over his face at the sight of you. You looked so happy, so free, that the feelings radiating from you combined with the lingering relief Peter still felt made the poor boy let out a breath for the first time since he'd taken your call.  

You, however, still hadn't noticed that your much beloved boyfriend had arrived. Though you'd been whining to MJ about wanting to see him for the past few hours, you were extremely distracted at the moment. Save the few sips of scotch you'd snuck from your dads every now and again you'd never really drank before, and now that you were decidedly tipsy you were feeling great. You weren't really sure what the source was, but your body felt like it almost couldn't help but move. It could be the leftover adrenaline from the concert, the thrill of sneaking out late, the five (or ten) drinks you'd had, or some combination therein, but you felt incredible. 

Your body felt like it was practically buzzing with energy. Humming along to your favorite song, you hopped one foot onto the curb gracefully-- or more likely clumsily -- and began taking slow, wobbling steps down the narrow path. You idly wondered when Peter would arrive, the sudden thought causing the butterflies in your stomach to kick up in excited anticipation. As you walked the curb like a tightrope your brain was filled with images of his handsome features, and you felt your face break out into an even wider grin. Surely he must be getting close by now? It felt like years since you'd talked with him on the phone, and -- 

Your thought abruptly cut-off as you felt the foot closest to the street slide suddenly out from underneath you. Reflexes all but non-existent at this point, you only managed to let out the briefest gasp before you tumbled off the curb completely.

“Whoa,” a voice sounded in your ear. Someone was gripping your body tightly, arms supporting your entire weight to prevent you from toppling face-first into the street. The voice sounded familiar in a way your alcohol-infused brain couldn’t place right away. Scrunching your face in confusion, you quickly scrambled your way out of the stranger’s arms and put some distance between the two of you. Turning suddenly, you spared a glance at your savior, internally hoping it was someone you at least knew. A brief look was all you needed, confusion giving way to pure excitement as a jolt of recognition ran through you. 

"PETEY," you squealed, happiness bubbling up in your hazed mind as Peter's face came into your line of vision. You threw your arms open expectantly, and Peter chuckled lightly before pulling you into his embrace once more.

"Getting into all kinds of trouble, huh babe?" Peter whispered fondly into your hair, the gentle feeling of his breath tickling your scalp and making you smile. You let out a girly (and very out of character) giggle, snuggling deeper into your boyfriend's arms. 

"Mmm nope, no trouble here," you hummed playfully, grin widening as you felt Peter's chest gently vibrate as he chuckled. Unbeknownst to either of you MJ rolled her eyes incredulously. 

"Yeah right," she snorted. "Tell it to that guy."

Peter followed her jutted out thumb to see an older guy, standing near the bouncers of the nightclub with a surly expression and a prominent welt forming under one of his eyes. Peter pulled himself out of your death grip just far enough to send you a curious glance.

"Y/N...?" he questioned, clearly hoping for an explanation. Your eyes traveled to the man in question, irritation blossoming in your chest as you recognized him. 

"I don't like him," you huffed. MJ chuckled. 

"You don't say" she drawled sarcastically. "I would never have guessed, ya know, by the way you punched him in the face."

"You did what," Peter exclaimed.

"Punched him!", you piped up from his chest, smiling proudly at yourself. 

Peter took a slight step back and stared at you, wide-eyed and slack jawed. He couldn't picture you, his intelligent and sweet girlfriend punching anyone, much less a grown man, in the face. He sputtered incoherently, unable to formulate a response. 

You giggled at the look of pure confusion on his face for a moment before deciding you should probably explain. 

"Mhm, he was being really obnoxious! He kept, like, insisting -- no demanding-- to buy me a drink, and I obviously told him no way cause I didn't want one. And also I told him that my boyfriend was coming, but he didn't believe me! Fucking jerk, right? So I went to walk away, 'cause I was getting really annoyed, and he grabbed my arm really hard and wouldn't let go! So I punched him," you babbled, annoyance and pride lingering on your face as you recalled the encounter. 

Peter just stared for a moment, the adorable dumbfounded look still overtaking his sweet face as you told the story. An all too familiar feeling of complete adoration for him washed over your intoxicated brain like a wave as you watched him try to process things. How you came to deserve someone like Peter was still beyond you. 

"Yeah it was pretty awesome," MJ agreed, a sly smile taking over her features. "Guy was a total creep."

You huffed again, childishly shoving your face back into Peter's firm chest. 

"He was mean."

Peter’s protective hold over your body tightened as soon as the words tumbled from your lips. It seemed he'd finally broken past his complete shock and was now in full defensive mode. You looked up to find his normally peaceful, chocolate-brown eyes turned suddenly dark with anger, and you could feel the way his muscles tensed as he shot the man a glare. Guilt wormed its way into your chest as you realized how things probably sounded to your over-protective, chivalrous-to-a-fault boyfriend. 

Trying to think quickly, before Peter did something he was sure to regret later, you grabbed his face with both of your hands. He hesitated for only a moment before willingly allowing you to turn his face back towards yours. Smiling deviously, you peppered kisses all over his quickly reddening face in an outward show of affection. 

The effect was almost instantaneous. Peter's eyes softened and his cheeks heated with a light blush that made your tummy erupt into butterflies. Best of all, his lips quirked up into your favorite sweet, crooked smile. 

You gripped his body a little tighter, suddenly wobbly on your feet. The sight of Peter in all his lovely, shy glory never failed to make your knees weak, and this moment was no exception. Even though you admittedly probably wouldn't have been able to stand upright without Peter's support regardless. 

"Hey, s'okay Petey, I took care of it," you reassured him in between kisses. He sighed, pulling you closer into the fold of his arms and burying his face into your hair. 

"I know, I just got nervous when you called," he murmured against your head. "And then I heard you arguing with that guy and I couldn't stop picturing all the terrible things that could be happening. And I was just so scared because I wasn't there, and if anything ever happened to you I just… I couldn't…"

Your heart swelled with an overwhelming feeling of pure guilt as Peter trailed off. How could you be so stupid. Of course he was worried, it was Peter. The things he'd been through, the things he still saw on a daily basis. You sniffled, tears stinging your eyes as you realized just how upset you'd made him. You gripped Peter even more tightly, and a small sob ripped through your throat as you spiralled instantly into a pit of self-loathing.

"I-- 'm so s-sorry Peter," you blubbered, your voice muffled by his chest as big, sloppy tears rolled uncontrollably down your cheeks. "I didn't mean to make you worry, I just was having so much fun and I re-really wanted to see you!"

"Hey, hey," his smooth voice cooed in your ear as his hands began rubbing across your back lovingly. "It's okay, you're safe now and that's all that really matters. Please don't cry Y/N/N, it's okay angel."

His sweet words of reassurance did little to quell the tsunami of tears now flowing freely from your eyes. In fact, the idea that he was now comforting you when you were the one who'd caused this problem in the first place was only making things worse. You openly sobbed against his chest, too drunk on alcohol and self-loathing to really care that every person who walked past was eyeing you both with a mixture of pity and annoyance. 

It went on like this for several minutes (or maybe hours? You couldn't really be sure at this point), until Michelle cleared her throat loudly. 

"Not to break up this cute little love-fest--" she ground out, discomfort breaking through her disinterested facade. "-but I'd really like to get home now."

Peter's face flushed instantly, the adorable pink flooding from his neck to the tips of his ears. He backed from you a little but kept your bodies linked by threading his fingers through yours. You couldn't help but giggle at his obvious embarrassment, your tears drying as you were suddenly flooded with feelings of adoration for your sweet boy. Peter cleared his throat and nodded at MJ. 

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

Peter considered himself pretty brave. He fought off thieves, muggers, and would-be bank robbers on a near nightly basis. He faced the most sinister parts of his city with absolutely no fear at all, but at the moment he couldn't have felt more like a scared child. Because if he was being really honest, the thought of facing either one of your dads made him feel scared absolutely shitless even during the best of times. 

And clearly this was not the best of times. 

The mere thought of trying to explain why he was not only helping you sneak back into the tower in the middle of the night, but sneaking you back in while you were completely wasted, made Peter feel like he could vomit on the spot. He knew your dads were only begrudgingly okay with the idea of the two of you dating, and the fact that he was now bringing their sweet, innocent baby girl home -- drunk-- in the ungodly hours of the morning would surely do little to endear him to them. But nevertheless, you clearly needed the help, and Peter's instinctual need to protect you outweighed the pure terror he felt when thinking of your dads. 

And boy did you need help. 

If he hadn't been by your side the entire time he would've sworn you'd snuck a couple more drinks on the way home. If he thought you'd been loud beforehand, it was nothing compared to now. The entire cab ride home had consisted mainly of you alternating between singing loudly as you described the concert for the millionth time, sobbing because you 'just love you so much Petey!', or you sloppily planting as many kisses all over Peter's face as you could. If he was being honest with himself, Peter would have to admit that he found your alcohol and sleep drunk state extremely cute; if he wasn't so terrified at the prospect of your dads seeing you like this, that is. 

Getting you through the tower was simultaneously easier and much more difficult than Peter anticipated. Easier because you'd hacked into FRIDAY's system before you'd left and somehow deactivated the security alarm for the two of you. And so much more difficult because getting you to your room quietly was seeming virtually impossible. Outside of the fact that you practically screamed every time a new thought popped into your head (which was frequently), you also continually tripped over nothing at all and landed in a heap on the floor. Even clinging to Peter’s arm with a kind of death grip that was making his fingers feel slightly numb you still managed to find a way to fall over every few steps. 

“Whoopsies!” you ‘whispered’ giggling as you looked up at him from the floor once more . Peter sighed, rubbing a hand over his eyes in frustration. While he was glad you’d taken his note about talking more quietly, the stage-whisper you’d taken to speaking in wasn’t exactly an improvement. As he helped you back on to your feet for the millionth time, he glanced down the hallway to see how far the two of you still had to go. He groaned and cursed under his breath -- you were moving at a near glacial pace, and the pair of you had only made it as far as the common room. Deciding a different approach was necessary, Peter motioned with a finger to his lips for you to remain silent before swiftly picking you up. One of his arms wrapped under your knees and the other around your shoulders as he scooped you up, cradling you like a child against his chest. Ignoring the way you squealed at the sudden movement he started walking towards your room, determination written all over his face. 

“How can you be so cute?” you questioned playfully. Peter’s eyes widened at the sound of your loud voice, internally begging you to quiet down. Evidently you did not get the subtle message -- instead, you attacked his face with kisses, cooing and fawning over him loudly as you did. Fear burned through Peter at the sheer amount of noise you were making and he jerked his head away from you in a futile attempt to quiet you down. 

Peter looked down at you with wide, pleading eyes. He shook his head silently, motioning once more for you to remain quiet. Your face scrunched in confusion as you looked up at him, bottom lip trembling. 

“Y-you don’t want my kisses?”

Peter stopped, eyes widening even more as he caught sight of your distress. Peter's heart broke as he saw the hot, fresh tears springing up in your eyes and the look of utter rejection plastered all over your features. Had you been even slightly more sober you would’ve seen the guilty look in his eyes as he realized just how his small action came across to you, but you were too wrapped up in your own feelings to notice. Those few tears had turned almost instantly to full-blown sobs, and you were now louder than ever. 

“No no no no, that’s not true. You know I love your kisses sweetheart,” Peter whispered urgently. He glanced nervously down the hallway, praying silently that you hadn’t woken anyone and that you wouldn’t get any louder. You scoffed, oblivious to his fear and overwhelmed with that kind of indignation that only drunk people could seem to muster up. 

“You don’t!” you exclaimed loudly, shoving yourself out of Peter’s arms in protest. “You don’t, otherwise you wouldn’t pull away!”

“I’m sorry, so sorry, Y/N/N,” Peter murmured desperately, hands reaching out to try and connect with yours. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad, I just don’t want to wake anyone up or get you in trouble.”

You slapped his hands away, thoroughly enraged and too stubborn to listen to his reasoning. 

“That's not even true, you just hate me! Go ahead and just say it!” you shouted. Peter’s eyebrows shot up practically to the ceiling, complete shock written across his face. 

“What?! No no no no, Y/N/N that’s absolutely not true, you have to know that's not t--”

Peter’s pleading was abruptly cut off as the lights above the two of you flicked on and the entire common room flooded with light. Peter froze, hands still held upwards in defense as he faced you, too scared to turn and face the source of the light. 

    “Underoos?” he heard Mr. Stark’s confused voice from behind him. “Y/N? What the hells going on?”

    Peter swallowed thickly before turning to see the entirety of the team gathered in the doorway, all clearly having woken up to the commotion you were causing. If he wasn’t so completely petrified he might have found their various choices of sleepwear interesting. But he didn’t exactly have time to think about how Thor was wearing large fluffy pajama bottoms embroidered with storm clouds right now. Especially as he caught sight of your dads’ expressions. Arms crossed and clearly fuming with anger, Bucky was sending Peter a glare that could only be described as murderous as he appraised the scene in front of him, and Steve looked to be thoroughly confused. Clearly the slower of the two to wake, he was standing near his husband with sleep-ruffled hair and an expression like he was struggling to process the fact that he was even out of bed, much less the scene in front of him.

    “Yes Parker, please do explain why my daughter is crying in the middle of the night and what you’re even doing here at all,” Bucky barked. 

    “Hey-- uh -- Y/N she was...I-I was just trying to--” Peter stuttered, unable to really muster much of a response. He always thought that people were exaggerating when they said they were paralyzed by fear, but he knew that in this moment that they were right. It felt like he was trapped under the terrifying weight of your dad’s menacing look -- sheer panic swirled and clouded his thoughts, and he felt his mind go completely blank. 

    You, even though you’d been livid with him mere moments ago, seemed to sense his discomfort and threaded your fingers through Peter’s in a show of support. Peter felt his breath hitch just the slightest bit at your affectionate response, the crushing weight on his chest lifting just a little. He glanced at you quickly, sending you a look of appreciation as he squeezed your hand gently. You grinned upwards, all resentment clearly forgotten. 

    “Ahem,” Tony cleared his throat amusedly. Peter felt his cheeks heat up, embarrassment filling his chest and mixing with the fear that lingered there. You, however, seemed completely oblivious to the severity of the situation.

    “Hi guys. Nice jammies Thor,” you grinned sweetly at the team, waving your free hand in greeting. Several people chuckled, evidently amused at your behavior, and Thor yawned widely before shooting you a thumbs up. Your dads seemed to be the only ones still angry, Steve having to seemingly caught on to what was happening. 

    “Y/N Barnes-Rodgers, what on earth is going on here?” he asked harshly, arms coming to rest across his chest. Rather inappropriately and to Peter's extreme discomfort, you giggled loudly instead of an appropriate response. 

"You look so funny with your hair like that," you giggled uncontrollably, the hand not currently entwined with Peter's resting on your stomach as you laughed. Peter closed his eyes, unable to physically stand the awkward tension surrounding the two of you any longer. 

"Kid, level with me. Is she shit-faced?" Sam's amused and slightly shocked voice broke through the silence. Peter's eyes shot open, mouth agape as Bucky's glare deepend and his face turned a concerning shade of red. Steve, much like Peter, simply looked appalled at the accusation. His expression shifted from one of denial, to rage, profound sadness, and finally back to angry as he came to terms with what was going on. Peter opened and closed his mouth several times, wishing for nothing more than for the earth to open up and swallow him whole, when his attention was suddenly pulled back to you. 

"I think I'm gonna be sick," you mumbled, face rapidly paling and both hands flying towards your mouth. Peter's hands were instantly on you, resting over the small of your back and rubbing gently as concern washed over him. You spared him a single wide-eyed glance before darting down the hall. 

"Oh my little дорогая," Wanda hummed sympathetically as she breezed past Peter to follow you. Nat wasn't far behind her, patting Peter fondly on the back as she too disappeared into your room. 

"Parker." 

Peter gulped audibly before slowly turning to face the rest of the team. Sam and Clint were laughing uncontrollably while Thor simply chuckled beside them, Tony had a gleam in his eye that betrayed his utter amusement at the situation, and now both of your dads were glaring at Peter with so much sheer force he was honestly surprised he wasn't already dead. 

"If I were you I'd start explaining. Now." Steve addressed him firmly, leaving no room for discussion. Peter sighed again and started to tell the entire story of how he'd gotten to this point. His hands were shaking the entire time and he was honestly pretty proud that he didn't physically pass out under Bucky's rage-filled stare. 

By the end, Sam and Clint had all but fallen to the floor they were laughing so hard. Thor was nowhere to be seen, having left the room after he lost interest in the topic at hand. Bruce had sent Peter a compassionate look before he too left, presumably heading back to bed now that he knew there was no immediate threat. 

Well, to anyone except Peter that is. 

Though Steve had left mid-way through Peter's recounting, Bucky hadn't moved an inch. He was still standing stoically in front of Peter, eyes dark with anger and distrust, arms crossed tightly against his chest. Peter couldn't take his eyes off your dad's metal arm, fretting silently about the many possibilities the lethal appendage held. 

"So let me get this straight," Tony interrupted Peter's mental musings. "You're saying Y/N snuck out to see some concert and didn't ask you to go with her, but then called you because she was too drunk to get home on her own?"

Peter nodded fervently. 

"That...makes perfect sense to me," Tony shrugged, looking over at Bucky. Turning his icy stare towards Tony for a moment, Bucky's arms finally fell to his sides, fists clenched in anger. 

"No it doesn't." he growled. He jammed his finger accusingly towards Peter. "He's lying."

Tony rolled his eyes, but before he could reply he was cut off by Steve popping his head out of your room.

"Buck. We've got a problem." 

"Yeah, I know," Bucky scoffed, eyes never leaving Peter's face as he replied. 

"Bucky." Steve snapped. "I mean an actual problem."

Brows raised in surprise, Bucky paused only momentarily before rushing over to his husband. Peter shared a quick glance with Tony, worry coating his features as he followed Bucky into your room. 

"Come on doll, open up," Bucky was pleading through your bathroom door. Steve was standing just to the side of him, fingers threading tiredly through his blonde locks. Peter felt his brows furrow in confusion. 

"No!" 

"Nat, what's going on?" he asked quietly as you continued to argue with your dads through the door. Nat smiled knowingly.

"She's locked us all out. Says she won't talk to anyone except you wonderkid."

Peter felt his face flush bright red at the implication, and the butterflies that'd been laid dormant for so long fluttered hopefully in his stomach. They were quickly squashed as he caught your dad staring daggers at him, and he gulped once more. 

"Peter, would you mind?" Steve asked tiredly. Peter's eyes widened and he physically turned to see if there was another Peter he could possibly be talking to. 

"M-me?" he squeaked. Steve nodded, and Peter cautiously approached your bathroom door before knocking lightly with shaky hands. "Y/N/N? It's me, can you open the door please?"

"Petey?" you mumbled through the door. Peter's heart felt heavy at the way you sounded so small. It was clear you'd been crying more, and his hands twitched with the desire to comfort you. 

"Yeah it's me angel," he murmured. "Can you come out? Please?"

You hesitated for a moment, and Peter would've sworn the everyone in the room was holding their breath waiting for your response. 

"No."

Peter sighed, deflating like a balloon and leaning his forehead against the door.  

"Come on sweetheart, Peter's here now like you wanted. Can you please unlock the door?" Steve pleaded. 

"No! You guys are just gonna make him leave as soon as I'm out, and I don't want him to go!" you protested stubbornly. Bucky clapped his hands over his face in exasperation.

"Doll you know the rules, your...friend isn't allowed to stay overnight," Bucky retaliated firmly, glaring at Peter once more. 

"Then I'm not coming out!". 

Peter groaned in disbelief, head banging lightly against the door. This was not how he thought his night would be going. Or rather morning? He realized suddenly that he didn't even know what time it was at this point. All he did know was that you and your dad were two of the most stubborn people on the planet, and he might be stuck outside your bathroom door for the next few days if one of you didn't relent soon. His eyelids grew heavy at the mere thought, entire face pressing against the door in total exhaustion. 

"Okay," Steve interjected, hands raised in surrender. "Okay fine. Y/N, Peter can stay."

"What?!"

Both Peter's confused squeak and Bucky's roar immediately echoed one another, the two of them flabbergasted by Steve's concession.

"Steve. Absolutely not. No way," Bucky growled, eyes wide as he shot his husband a look of pure shock. Steve frowned at him, crossing his arms defiently across his broad chest. 

"Buck. It's late, I'm too tired to deal with this now. They can stay on the couch, in the living room that way we can keep an eye on them," Steve replied. Bucky gaped at him, eyes travelling between him and Peter as his mouth opened and closed wordlessly. "I mean for God's sake look at Peter! The poor kid's about to fall asleep standing up!"

"Hmm?" Peter hummed, too tired to lift his head much from the door. Natasha clicked her tongue, pity written all over her face. Bucky crossed his arms too, face dark as he contemplated things. After a period of tense silence, he finally sighed, arms falling to his sides. 

“Fine,” he growled. “But I’m not happy about it.”

“Okay,” Tony chirped, clapping his hands together and startling the half-asleep Peter. “So it's settled! You hear that Y/N? Spiderling can stay, so you can open up now.”

Peter glanced hopefully towards the door, praying silently for you to finally see reason and come out. The entire team stared for a few moments, everyone wordlessly waiting for you to respond. Slowly the sound of the lock clicking open broke the silence of the room, and Peter outwardly sighed in appreciation. You cautiously opened the door, innocent wide eyes scanning the room before you stepped out fully to sheepishly face the group. 

Your face was still paler than usual, though it was worlds better than the white-and-green color you’d been as you ran away. There were stains from your tears marring the soft skin of your cheeks, and your eyes sparkled with a look of such exhaustion and guilt that it took Peter’s breath away a little. Instinctually, he opened his arms for you and you gratefully stepped into the fold of his embrace. Burying your face into Peter’s chest like a little kid, you rubbed your nose against the soft fabric of his shirt and hummed lowly in comfort. Peter’s face rested lightly atop your head, eyes closing once more as a synchronized wave of exhaustion overcame you both. 

“Barf. Alright, seeing as this little show seems to be over with now, I’m going back to sleep,” Tony’s loud chuckle broke the silence of the room once more. The rest of the team muttered their agreement, everyone filtering out as they said their goodbyes. You detangled yourself from Peter, sleepily murmuring something about changing into your pajamas. Peter took it upon himself to leave your room then, not wanting to push your dads’ patience any further than you already had for the evening. Steve too left the room, clapping Peter on the back as he set out in the direction of his room and quietly thanking him. 

It wasn’t long before Peter found himself lying on the common room’s couch, covered in a mountain of blankets with you wrapped around his body and sleeping soundly. You were sprawled out on practically top of him, arms and legs tangled around him in such a way that he wasn’t entirely sure where your limbs started and his ended. You were lying facing one another with your arms and legs clung around his middle, fingers wound tightly into the small hairs on the back of his head, and face pressed into his chest. His own arms were wrapped securely around your body, still slightly afraid that you would fall off the side of the plush sofa even though you’d clearly locked onto him on your own. Despite the somewhat strange positioning of your bodies, Peter felt immense comfort from your presence; the butterflies in his stomach were dancing around joyfully as he sleepily appraised your features and tried his best to commit them to memory. Your face was adorably squashed a little due to the way you pressed it into his chest, and Peter couldn’t help but find you incredibly cute in this moment. Even with the clear line of drool running from your mouth pooling on his chest. 

Yawning quietly, Peter snuggled a little deeper into your hold and hummed happily when he felt your sleeping limbs pull him in closer. Finally ready to put this day to rest, he closed his eyes contentedly. He was nearly asleep, breaths slowing to an even pace when suddenly all the hairs on his body stood upright. Heart racing, he scanned the darkened room worriedly, wondering what could cause his senses to go haywire all of the sudden. When he could find no immediate sources of danger he almost chalked his body’s response up to a state of pure sleep-deprivation, and he was just about to settle in once more when he saw it. 

A figure, dark and hidden in the shadows of the room that had only the nearly rising sun as a source of light, sitting near the windows and watching the two of you. Peter’s heart rate immediately picked up speed as he willed his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. Slowly, the figure came into focus. 

It was your dad. 

Bucky was sitting stoically in a chair, arms crossed as he sullenly watched the two of you. He caught Peter’s frantic gaze on him and smiled darkly at his daughter’s boyfriend. Motioning for him to continue, Bucky settled back into his chair with a threatening and somewhat gleeful expression on his face. Peter swallowed thickly, snapping his eyes away from the super-soldier and scrunching them closed as his heart thudded against his ribacge. You stretched out a little in your sleep -- completely oblivious to your dad’s presence as you happily cuddled into Peter’s embrace. Peter laid like that for an immeasurable amount of time, heart still pounding wildly and body frozen against yours. He felt paralyzed under the weight of your dad’s stare and wondered internally what he’d ever done to deserve the position he was in now. 

At least he was used to going without sleep, because it didn’t seem like he’d be getting any anytime soon. 

Taglist: @rororo06​

[nostalgic-pancakes]

F is for friends who do stuff together - the awake at 2 AM remix

Joan needs a swear jar, Talyn's a lightbulb, Valerie is tired and valid, and Thomas+Sides are very confused)

Summary- Thomas has had his sides around for... a long time. That's for sure. And he knows that nobody else can see them (except maybe Lilly, but she has sides too, so).

Pairings- Pintroverts, Thomas and friends, Thomas and Sides

Read on AO3

Word count- 2666

Warnings- It has character!everyone, and NOT their real life counterparts. Please remember this.

Other notes- AU where instead of Vine, c!Thomas left chemical engineering for signing with a really dope theatre company with his friends. He still meets Nico at the mall, but Nico's a new writer for the company! All the sides are friends too! Enjoy!

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

Look, the first time was an accident, okay? Joan was tired and a bit incoherent and what was Thomas supposed to do?!! Leave them be? No! So Joan ended up staying the night.

Except, the next morning was when everyone had entered the courtroom together and they'd gotten WAY too dramatic over whether to lie to them about a text they'd made like… two days ago and that Thomas had only seen after combing through a barrage of memes and that Joan probably wouldn't remember, come to think about it. But that was hindsight and after the utter nightmare that was a whole day (A whole day!!) with Aunt Patty the day before, Virgil and Patton were absolutely freaking out, probably giving Deceit (Who, in hindsight, Thomas knows as Janus) a little extra leeway into the conversation that day.

Either way, Joan had stayed the night in order to recover from the utter sleep-deprivation that they'd been going through, and Thomas had forgotten about the fact that Joan was even there for most of the morning, only seeing them after the entire courtroom spectacle (and a suspiciously dire warning from Virgil) at breakfast, and them leaving to see Talyn a little after (with plenty of hugs involved, duh).

Then Thomas told Joan the truth over the call, and Joan had said The Line (as Roman, Virgil and Janus call it with an oddly cryptid-like voice) and Thomas felt himself go frigid.

Since when did Joan know that Thomas talked to his sides?! Had they learned their names? Figured out that Thomas might just have a few extra screws loose than they might have initially thought?

"Maybe they even hate us now because we got so crazed over one little text and--”

“Virgil. Not helping!” Thomas yelps, and Virgil catches himself in his spiel of worst case scenarios, looking a bit sheepish. Patton and Thomas smile at him reassuringly (he hopes) and Logan clears his throat, causing everyone to turn to him.

“Well, Joan seems to be aware enough of the fact that you speak to us, but mostly considers it as you, as they had said, ‘talking to yourself’, and besides, you didn’t name-drop us too many times, anyways. And while it’s not really...ideal, that Joan thinks you talk to yourself for this long-”

“You can say that again, Stephen Hawk-Nerd”, murmured Roman. Logan winces, and Thomas kind of wants to hug him, so he does.

“Yes, Roman, and as bad as that nickname is, note that this is not, in fact a worst-case scenario. This can be put down to the fact that Thomas has some strange personality quirks-”

“Did you just do some wordplay there, kiddo?” Patton beams at the implication, while Logan, currently being shared by Thomas and Virgil, just groans and descends further into the contact.

“No, I did not, Patton, but what I am saying, is that this is not too bad. We can talk about it as a general personality quirk. This is fine.” Logan finishes, and becomes a heap in the total hug-pile of Thomas and Virgil, flopping over. Huh, he (as usual) has a point. Maybe this can work.

The second time was a pretty near miss, but once again, it was unexpected! He and the sides were just watching Mulan together as usual! They were piled up together, blankets in hand, and yeah, it might look weird to anyone who can’t see the sides, he guesses, with the blankets stretched out in places that have nothing to stretch onto, but once again, he wasn't expecting someone to come over! But anyways- whatever happens, happens. He's trying to be better about it.

It really doesn't stop Janus from pulling out all the stops (teaming up with Virgil, even!) when it comes to having to come up with an alibi to Terrence over why the blankets are arranged so strangely, even though there is literally nothing keeping it afloat. In the end, it's not the most believable lie, but Terrence is busy with Valerie just after, so he probably doesn't really think about it too hard. Besides, Thomas has always been a pretty quirky guy! ("Which could be an insul--" "Jack and Sullen, we love you very very much, but please, for the love of all things Disney, please breathe and take out your fidget cube..") So hey, what was a new quirk when added to everything else?

Meanwhile, Terrence is trying to figure out what the fuck he just saw, because he's pretty sure that there were more than one Thomas there, and Thomas only has two other brothers. Also none of them dress like twenties mobsters or are semi-transparent.

Nico was having a good day. In fact, he still is!

He and his (amazing) boyfriend were sitting on the couch- though more draped on top of each other than anything while binge watching ELITE and Tiny Pretty Things, while also being pleasantly high (as opposed to stoned).

Things only entered strange territory when during one of the flashback murder-y scenes in Tiny pretty Things, a strange man who looked like an even more chaotic Thomas with some grey hair on him entered the room from seemingly nowhere, and proceeded to occupy the sparse space on Thomas’s lap with his head, essntially just napping on his boyfriend’s lap while also being kind of see-through (???!!!???AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH). Thomas noticed, waved a small wave and started playing with this weird guy’s hair.

Nico is now a little high from the bong that he and Thomas had shared, but not enough to hallucinate, especially since, when the high was pretty much gone, the guy was STILL THERE. MIERDA. At this point, he’s just going to call it ghosts. Thomas doesn’t seem to mind too much anyways, so they must not be harmful. Nico decides to table this for another day and go back to binge watching crazy maniacs with his very soft and warm boyfriend, and let the remainder of the high coast along.

"We have to talk about the Thomas thing." Is the first thing Joan says without any bullshit, as soon as everyone except Thomas himself, Gavin (because it's two AM) and Quil are packed together in Thomas's living room, where he just binged Parks and Rec with everyone. They've all finally managed to shove Thomas and Quil back to their respective areas of sleep after 42 hours without said sleep, and nobody was allowed to talk loud enough for them to wake up.

"The… Thomas thing?" Asks Valerie. Oh that sweet summer child. Joan once again quietly calls everyone's attention by asking Talyn to shake their hair around like a neon-coloured alarm bell. This was especially effective in the otherwise dark kitchen where they were trying out glow in the dark hair dye.

"Well, as of lately, we've been seeing a lot, and I mean a lot of really weird shit coming from Thomas. Everyone, recount your experiences." Joan says in the most serious voice they've got. "I'll go first."

They wave their hands like Matt Mercer, as if they were setting up a dope DND campaign. Quietly, of course.

"Well, about a month ago now, I was cleaning here, at Thomas's, because I was sleep-deprived and would have crashed and died if I'd tried to go back to mine and Talyn's. So most of the night goes normally, as one would expect, but when I wake up in the morning…" Joan readjusts their beanie. "I hear Thomas in the living room, talking to people called Logan, Roman, someone called Pat, Virgil and 'deceit'. And this debate becomes an ordeal, alright? He re-enacts a whole entire ace-attorney style courtroom scene with these imaginary people? I called him out on it over the phone when he apologized for some random thing- I don't remember, and he kind of just… admitted that he talks to himself? And moved on.

Everyone absorbs this new information. Camden keeps braiding Talyn's hair.

"But that's not too big of a deal, right Joan?" Whispers Camden, tying up the elaborate mini fishtail plait in Talyn's hair. "I mean, thanks Thomas we're talking about. He could have been rehearsing or something- isn't he JD in the next production of Heathers?"

Terrence speaks up next. "Yes, this would have been all well and good, had the Blanket Incident ™ not occured."

Valerie shakes her head. Why are her friends like this? Oh wait. They’re all theatre nerds, queer and D&D players.

"In the blanket incident ™, I was walking past Thomas's room, as one does. HOWEVER, while he was watching Mulan, I noticed something wrong with his blanket pile!"

"What, that they don't have any Vetal Miking references on them? Because that's the true tragedy here."

"Nope, sorry Tal, the weirdness here was not about Vetal Miking references, but the fact that parts of the blanket were freaking floating, in thin air! I have discreet pictures!"

"What the fuck, Terrence." whispered everyone in a strange, haunting unison that could only be possible at two AM as they saw the very strange pictures.

"And that's not it!" Pipes up Talyn, who is now realising that they are very close to becoming too loud for 2 AM kitchen chats, and makes an effort to quiet down.

"At breakfast today, Thomas's waffles were making themselves- Thomas can't cook, y'all. And he can't even use is fucking waffle iron. And he was on the other side of the room! Talking to Quil!" After Quil left, he told the waffle creator to chill out because the stack was getting too tall!"

"Is this about Thomas's ghosts, guys?" Asks Nico, the new cute boyfriend and new theatre company writer as he plops down in Quil's usual spot. Nico's nice- everyone likes Nico except maybe Nico, to which, well, mood. ALSO- ghosts?!!

"Nico what the fuck do you mean by ghosts, you serial killer in training?"

"One, just because I have to write a serial killer in this new script and I'm enjoying it, it doesn't mean I'm gonna be a serial killer, you tonte. Two: yeah, the ghosts that follow him around and look just like him? They seem nice enough." At everyone's super unspoken request to elaborate, for fuck's sake, he takes the hint and does.

“Oh! So the first time I saw them, I was at the mall. You know, where Thomas and I met?” everyone nods, and Talyn readjusts their braces.

“So there was this guy in a hoodie- Virgil, as you said, and the Disney prince. Roman, I think. And they were just kind of… there? Roman was holding Virgil’s shoulder affectionately, and that’s about it. They were only really visible after about three or four hours of us talking, though.” Some of the people hum.

“Then, we were watching a movie and these two guys who also look a lot like Thomas just kind of lounged? On the couch? They were pretty faint, like if their brightness was decreased to about thirty percent in Photoshop.”

“Hey, same!” says Terrence.

“Yeah, so those guys- the one in the green t-shirt that has the legs on the bus meme- so weird- kind of just stretches onto Thomas’s lap and stays there, while the twenties mobster just… curls up to his side? And thomas is probably like, used to this because he kind of just lets it be and curls the meme shirt-”

“I think it’s Remus.”

“-Remus’s hair absentmindedly and moves on.”

“Fuck.” Whispered Joan very softly, but with great feeling.

“So what do we do about it?” asks Camden. There, finally, someone asks the real questions.

“Well,” puts forward Talyn. “They’re not harming him, right? And he’s had them around for a long enough time, right? So what’s the harm? Thomas is just haunted and will probably be on Buzzfeed Unsolved: Supernatural at some point when he dies but hey, if he’s cool with it, we are too.”

Everyone seems to agree with that, and they’re in comfortable silence, until Valerie asks everyone to go the fuck to sleep, we’re still doing the Heather’s costume rehersals and Death Week starts in two days. With groans and cracked joints from Talyn, everyone hobbles off to their respective rooms in the duplex.

Meanwhile, a certain white-streaked side and his hoodied companion are listening through the wall, far away from what anyone can see, and they both visibly sigh in relief. That didn’t go too badly. The question remains: what do we do now?

“They KNOW????” exclaims Thomas, the next day in the (thankfully empty) breakroom, in between rehearsals- Candy Store is being run through and that means that everyone else is outside.

“Yes, Thomas, they know. Or they somewhat know, I suppose.”

“Yeah, because they think we’re-Thomas is being HAUNTED!!’

“Are you not haunted, then?” comes a voice, and Thomas turns around, forgetting to let the sides dissipate in his surprise. It’s Nico, with Talyn and Valerie close behind, who are clearly taking in the six other guys in the breakroom. Well, fuck. The cat’s out of the bag for good, he guesses.

“Could you get everyone else during lunch break? I’ll explain then.” Talyn nods and leaves with a smile, telling him that they’re not mad at him, while Nico asks, voice farther away “So are you haunted or not?”.

“So they’re… aspects of your personality that you’ve been able to manifest since you were a kid?” Camden asks, a bit disbelieving, even as Logan, Roman, Patton and Janus drape themselves over Thomas on one of the beanbags in the breakroom, filled with other nerdy gay young adults. Logan pushes up his glasses, ready to go on another tangent. Go wild, you funky little dude.

“Well yes, that’s exactly what we're saying. I myself am the embodiment of Logic- every fact that Thomas has ever learned, and his, and these are his words, not mine, ‘the only braincell’. He makes the air quotes to go with the expression, but is also smiling fondly.

“Classic Thomas.”

“Yes, Valerie, I am inclined to agree. However, this is not specific to Thomas. Other people can, in fact, do what Thomas is. Lilly Singh is one of them- the reason that she and Thomas are even friends is because in high school Thomas caught her talking to one of her sides in the art room.”

“So wait-- we can summon sides too?!” asks Nico, and he and Camden look genuinely excited, but Thomas knows the answer to that question.

“Unfortunately no, not really. You have to have an extremely active imagination, and also be ‘innocent’, as society would put it. I’d say näive.”

“For example, I couldn’t make any more sides after i was fourteen, because I watched the news by then.” pipes in Thomas. Joan seems to process this first, nodding and grinning sardonically. “Ah yes, the news. Wrecking childhoods since forever.” everyone nods in gay syncing, because gay minds think at the same time.

Valerie suddenly speaks up; “So how many sides do you have, Thomas?”

Thomas perks up, because his sides are possibly his favourite metaphysical beings (as narcissistic as that might sound) “I have six! My logic, morality, both creativities- Kids and Family and PG13-and-up, anxiety and deceit! I have two creativities because of catholic guilt and my mind’s inherent need to cause chaos, I guess.”

“Valid” replied Valerie.

The rest of break passed by pretty smoothly, with questions being passed back-and-forth about what the sides truly were, considering they clearly were not just Thomas, and Virgil even felt okay enough to come in later! So that was good. Though he kind of wishes Remus had made fewer Heathers jokes- Camden was starting to look squeamish, even as Nico frantically took notes of gorey facts to use in his script.

Honestly, Thomas thought to himself. What was I scared of?

Irrational things. And rejection, replies Virgil in his head. He laughs and pulls him in for a hug, and tries as he might to deny it, Virgil is looking pretty chuffed.

[saventhhaven]

Under the Weather

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Tags: sick!reader, sweet!Dean, protective!Dean

Word Count: 1,151

A/N: Sorry that I’m getting this one up so late tonight, guys. If we’re being honest, I totally forgot that today was Friday :’)

(Gif not mine)

Sweat trickled down the back of your neck as you rolled over, groaning. Before you even had a chance to question why your body had chosen to rouse you from the mercifulness of sleep, your stomach clenched, and you had your answer. Your eyes flew open as you shoved the dampened blankets to the side, breaking into a full sprint for the bathroom. It was a good thing you had kept the toilet seat up earlier because within a few seconds of reaching the porcelain bowl, everything you had tried to eat a few hours ago came right back up. So much for dry toast and hot tea. 

When your body finally finished its heaving, you were shivering from the cold air against your skin and left with an intense throbbing just behind your forehead and temples. You reached forward to flush the toilet with another groan, spitting into the bowl again as your most recent attempt at food was whisked away. This was absolute torture. You hadn't been this sick since you had gotten the stomach flu as a kid. Even water was a challenge to keep down, which was a big issue. Groaning one last time for good measure, you stood and went over to the sink where your toothbrush had been on emergency standby for the past forty-eight hours.

When you had started feeling crappy a couple days ago, you had written it off as a hangover. Granted, you and Dean had been trying out a new drinking game the previous night. But when you had to make him pull over the next day so you could puke into a bush on the side of the road, you started to think maybe it was something more. And you weren't pregnant, thank God.

As you turned off the water, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and grimaced. You looked even worse than you felt. Your hair was matted and sticking up in several different gravity-defying directions, and your eyes were a watery red that could only come with sickness. Come to think of it, your eyes were a good deal hotter than usual, too - a sure sign your fever hadn't gone away during your nap. Turning off the bathroom light, you grumbled incoherently to yourself as you dragged your feet down the bunker's hallway. When you shuffled into the kitchen, Dean looked over at you from the stove in surprise.

"What are you doing out of bed, sweetheart? I told you if you needed something, I'd take care of it." You slumped into one of the stools at the table, sighing in relief as you rested your cheek on the cold surface.

"You're sweet," you said hoarsely, "but unless you're physically capable of throwing your guts up in my place, there wasn't a whole lot you could do for me this time." Dean stopped whatever he was working on and came over to you, crouching at your side.

"Did you get sick?" You nodded. "That's the third time today."

"Fourth," you corrected. "But who's counting?" He sighed as he pressed his palm against your forehead.

"Baby, you're burning up again. You take anything for the fever?"

"Doesn't matter," you replied. "I'll just throw it up again."

"Well, you should try to get some more rest." Having been with Dean for so long, you had gotten to see every side of him. During a hunt, he was gruff, all business, and didn't take any shit. When it came to you, though, he was protective, sweet, and far more affectionate than you had initially assumed. He cared about you, and it really showed.

"Don't want to," you protested shortly. "My sheets are all nasty from sick sweats." Dean made a face, crinkling his nose.

"Gross."

"You're telling me." He rubbed your back soothingly, a welcome gesture.

"You can camp out in the Fortress of Dean-i-tude if you want," he offered. This had you lifting your head from the table.

"Wait, really?" Aside from the occasional movie night when you would all cram onto the couch in front of the large TV, Dean was fairly territorial of the room. "I thought your man cave was off-limits."

"Not to my baby," Dean answered, standing as we went back over to the stove. "And don't tell Sam, but that's mostly just for show." You let out a soft chuckle and closed your eyes.

"I knew you were just a softie at heart."

"Hey, now, let's not go that far." Your stomach had finally begun to settle, leaving you with only exhaustion again. Dean was right. You really did need to get some more rest. Whatever sort of bug you had, it was taking its toll on your body, and you were down for the count. Head throbbing, you groaned. Dean placed the pot he was stirring on the back burner, and came back over to you, rubbing your shoulders.

"All right, come on, sweetheart. Let's get you all settled in and comfy." You blinked wearily at him as you pried your eyes open.

"I am comfy," you protested. Really, you weren't, but the fever aches had finally stopped, and you were afraid they would come back if you tried to move again. The green-eyed Winchester snorted.

"My ass." Dean scooped an arm under your knees, and you complied, winding your arms around his neck as he lifted you with ease. "How does a movie sound?" he questioned. "I can turn on some Star Wars, and we can cuddle while you try to nap. And if you get hungry later, I made you some of my mom's tomato rice soup." With a weak smile, you looked up at Dean gratefully. He always raved about the soup his mom used to make him when he was sick. You knew that Dean cared about you deeply, and you knew that he loved you just as much as you loved him. But you were touched by the lengths he went to show it.

"How did I get so lucky?" you asked him. He gently placed you on one of the couches in his man-cave, smoothing damp strands of hair off of your forehead. "I ask myself the same thing every day." You smiled again and had you not been feverish, you would've sworn that you were blushing. As Dean got the movie ready, you felt your eyelids begin to droop. Being so sick was exhausting. Just as you were beginning to drift off, Dean sat next to you, pulling a blanket over both of you. "Now, I want you to try and get some sleep, okay?" This time, you didn't argue. Instead, you merely nodded, allowing Dean to guide your head down to his lap, where he began to absentmindedly play with your hair. When your eyes finally closed, he leaned down, pressing a ghost of a kiss against your temple. "Feel better, sweetheart."

Thanks so much for reading! <3

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[black-streak]

Saturday Night's Alright for Fighting (but Sundays are meant for rest) - The Beginning

 Part 1

So I came up with this partially fleshed out idea on discord and decided to try writing a prequel of sorts to my HCs? Anyways, Mari is like 20ish and Tim is around 25 here. Pre-relationship.

~---~

 Marinette would forever be grateful that she had memorized the layout of the manor back in her first few visits. Otherwise she would have been absolutely lost by now; her sleep addled mind unwilling to give a single thought as to where she was walking. The only thought she could process was a cry for coffee whispering like a mantra through the back of her mind.

Turning a seemingly random corner, she found herself in the side kitchen standing in front of the coffee maker, already holding a fresh pot of the heavenly smelling life elixir. Okay, that's a bit dramatic, but whatever, it's 3 am and she's entitled to her theatrics.

Pouring a cup into her favorite mug, having had it appear before her despite not recalling retrieving it, she held it close and made way to the sit-in table, slumping down into the closest seat.

 It took about 10 minutes and half her mug down to realise she wasn't alone in the room. Turning her head slightly, she spotted Tim typing away at his laptop, his own mug just to the right of her arm.

   'When the hell did he get there?' She couldn't remember hearing any footsteps or the coffee pot pouring but then… she also didn't remember turning it on…. 'He's been here the whole time, hasn't he?'

  Turning back towards her own, she finished off the cup and got up to retrieve the pot, moving over to fill both of their mugs before returning it to its holder only to drop back into her seat beside him, leaning closer to see what he was working on.

"Thanks."

   Jumping slightly, she just blinked at him for a moment, then gave a slight nod.

"Couldn't sleep?" Tim glanced at her, inquiry quiet and half incoherent in its murmur.

Humming softly she considered before truthfully admitting, "Rarely can."

"Damian asleep then?"

"Probably."

"You're not sure?"

"Didn't want to check his room and bother him if he was. Plus, he'd be cranky if I woke him for no reason."

That seemed to catch Tim's attention for whatever reason, because he turned his eyes off the document to look at her fully now.

"You don't sleep in his room?"

"Nah. I tend to cuddle in my sleep and he can't stand being confined like that. Puts him on edge, I think."

  That only prompted an even more perplexed look from him. Unable to process that with so little sleep, she turned back to looking over his shoulder, trying to read what Tim was working on. Giving up, she looked back up to him.

"Whatcha working on?"

"Eh, just some last minute paperwork for a new deal WE is suppose to be negotiating next week."

"... At 3am?"

"You judging me," he asked, lifting one eyebrow slightly in amusement at the hypocrisy.

"You said the deal is for next week."

"It is. But if I get it done now, it's one less thing to stress over at the last second."

"But if you read it on a sleep deprived mind, you're less likely to recall anything you typed up. Meaning you'll have to reread it…. And depending on how dead tired you are, might have to rewrite it. Who knows what sleepy you thinks makes a good deal?"

"Hey! Sleepy me is perfectly capable of working without my brain's input."

Leaning over the counter to rest on her crossed arms, Mari tilted her head slightly to pout up at him.

"Yes but perhaps it'd be best to do so tomorrow and get your brain's input at the same time to save time? Come on, just put on a video or something mindless. I'll keep you company."

  Her logic was sound. There was no argument Tim could give that would actually work in his favor on the matter, but hearing a slight sigh of defeat still gave her an immense sense of victory. Peering over at her, he decided turnaround was fair.

"Alright… but if we're not going to work, you should be trying to sleep. Im cutting you off." He said, pulling her mug out of her reach only to find it empty. Sighing, he moved to set it in the sink only to see her take up his own, carrying it over as well.

"In that case, so should you," she smirked, washing out both mugs and setting them to dry before taking up his laptop, grabbing his wrist, and tugging him towards the living room.

'How did I not see that coming? That was the obvious outcome… when Was the last time I slept,' Tim wondered, not really paying mind to Mari as she situated them both on the couch, turning the screen to face them both from the coffee table, youtube pulled up and a vine compilation being queued up to play.

…..

  Half an hour later, the two were passing jokes back and forth, sleepy giggles and references whispered into the dark room, laptop forgotten and asleep before them, both too out of it to think of moving back to their rooms. Only to be broken up by a mewling yawn, Mari slumping further down, sleep finally pulling at her.

  It didn't quite hit Tim that something about the situation was slightly off till Marinette curled into him from where he slouched into the corner of the couch, head dropping onto his chest. 

Ah, Fuck. Damian was going to kill him.

Nudging her slightly till she hummed to him, he tried to gently wake her back up fully.

"Mari, shouldn't you go back to your room now?"

It had the opposite effect.

  Mari sprung up, eyes wide, blush flushing up her cheeks, seemingly not having realized she had been cuddling up to him till just then.

"I am so sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable! I keep forgetting you guys like warning beforehand. Either way I should have asked if you minded though. That was so invasive of me and the last thing I want is to invade your space when it's not warranted or wanted. I promise it won't happen again Tim, I'm so sorry."

Finally stopping to take a deep breath from her rambling, Tim jumped in, panicking to think he was causing her distress.

"No no, Marinette, it's fine! You're a very tactile person and frankly I don't mind it. I just know Damian wouldn't like finding you cuddling up to me, or anyone for that matter, especially in the middle of the night when he thought you were in your room, that's all."

That seemed to stop her in her tracks. Settling back down, she fixed him with a thrown look. 

"I mean… I know Dami can be protective at times, but I don't think he'd be that upset by it. Maybe a touch put off, but I think he'd tease me more than anything?"

Now he was thrown for a loop. This went against everything he knew about his little brother… that could only mean bad things.

"... Really."

"Yeah, as I said, he knows I'm a cuddly person when I'm tired. Plus, your his brother. At least he knows and trusts you. He'd just make fun of me for being so clingy. Sorry again about that by the way."

Narrowing his eyes, Tim couldn't see a hint that she was lying, but still he had to push to be sure. The last thing he needed was Damian to feel like his position was being threatened. That's what sparked their rivalry the first time after all.

"Hmm... I took Damian to be the possessive type. Especially over someone he was seeing. Trust me, Mari, he's not going to like his girlfriend cuddling anyone. Especially not me." 

"Holy Tikki, what?!"

"Tikki?"

" You think… you think Dami and I are dating?!?!"

"Be quiet, you're going to wake someone up!" He rushed out, trying to cover her mouth, only for her to evade, eyes blown wide with shock but still aware enough to dodge his grip.

"No, hold up. You seriously thought we were together?" She spoke in a startled tone, grabbing at his hands to make him stop reaching at her face and concentrate on her words.

Finally giving up on keeping her quiet, Tim actually started processing her words.

"You're… not?"

"No! Of course not! Did he say we were?"

"Well no but… I just assumed. He doesn't like anyone and yet acts like your his personal sunshine."

  Giggling, she shook her head, settling back into the couch at his side.

"Yeah, that's only in front of others. Says no one needs to know what a chaotic being I am. His words not mine."

"Oh. So you guys really aren't..?"

"Nope," she chuckled, popping the p, slowly curling back into his side.

Stopping abruptly, she pulled back a bit and glanced up to him, blush dusting the top of her freckled cheeks. 

"Is.. Is this okay?"

  Now assured that he wouldn't be promptly attacked just for letting Marinette near him, he couldn't see why not. Plus, she obviously took comfort in it and needed sleep. Who knows if she'll find any alone in her room. Wrapping an arm around her and tugging her slowly down, he nodded.

"I already told you I don't mind. Plus, your warm."

Humming her thanks, she burrowed herself under his chin and promptly passed out, Tim following only moments after.

…..

Tim woke up late in the morning, having slid down the cushion and twisted up his limbs with Marinette's who was still half on top of him. By some stroke of luck, they hadn't been disturbed by anyone thus yet. (Dick had already passed through and took a picture to send to the group chat. Who knew the way to make Tim sleep was to pass out on top of him?)  Feeling her shift, he looked down to see bleary blue eyes blinking back at him from under messy bangs. A small smile lit her lips and she moved up giving a light kiss to the underside of his jaw, before slowly getting up.

"Thanks Tim. Probably the best sleep I've had in a long time. We should nap sometime…. Maybe watch a movie first," she suggested, flushing but sending a coy, eager look his way.

Nodding, he could only think one thing.

'Welp. She's going to be the death of me."

[kanene-yaaay]

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Kanene’s note: Okay, I’m- aaaaa

I’m very proud of this one because it’s a little different of what I use to write and it was cool to try a new something. I didn’t even wrote the laughter because I was writing this next to my family and I didn’t wanted any of them asking why my characters were laughing so much xDD.

Warnings, fun facts, random things and stuff:

* Switch!Émile and Switch!Remy (It is def romantic. They are married and very gay and there is a lot of kisses in it-)

* Hmmm… This is a Tickle-Fanfic! If you don’t like this kind of stuff, please look for another blog, there are plenty of amazing art in this site!! ‘u’).

* Something around 2700 words. -w-)b.

* Sorry for any spelling, pontuation and grammar mistakes! I didn’t proofread that one very well, so I will probably be correcting a few things later. Any advice is always very, very welcome!

* Just two silly and very mean boyos being two silly, teasy and ticklish boyos. xDD

* A versão em português brasileiro irá ser escrita, ainda! Thankys for reading, my lollipops! Watch a fun video, take a good rest, talk with the one that you love and drink water! Byeioo!~

                                [~*~]

- Émile ~

 He didn’t know from where this came from. In a second they were on the couch, smiling and watching Steven Universe, and in the other a cold shiver ran across his body, making him turn to his husband, just in the exact moment to see he taking off his sunglasses, locking his glare on him with those sweet, dangerously warm eyes and grin. Just like that. It took a heartbeat before Émile realized what was about to happen, a wobbly smile beginning to control his features as he felt himself almost paralyzed, Remy starting to tap his fingers on the lenses of his own glasses, his malefic smirk never fading.

 Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

 They stared each other, Émile’s gaze finally changing to his fingers, another round of goose bumps spreading across his spine, the adrenaline taking over his veins and giving him the enough strength to dash in full speed through the hall.

 Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Which leaded the poor, almost giggling, adult to his current state: hiding behind his room’s door and wishing with all his will power that this plan would really worked as well as it had when he watched in the cartoons.

 (He tried to ignore the voice in his mind reminding him how all that chases usually ended up in the end, the thought only being enough to heat his face.)

 - Émile ~ - It was in days like this that one wearing glasses could swear that Remy was a witch. Because there wasn’t any other realistic, rational and plausible explanation about how much the giggles trapped in his throat got louder, bouncier and even more difficult to control just with the slight sound of his voice, obligating their owner to press his hand further around his mouth, lightly biting the tip of his tongue. – You had better hide well, because you know what is gonna to happen when I find you, don’t you?

 Émile shook his head, his back forcing itself on the cold wall.

 Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

 - Oh, gurl, maybe you don’t even remember anymore… Now, we can’t fusion like this, can we? Let’s me remind you, then. ~ - The chased hold a pouty whine when heard these words, already feeling the beginning of a blush spread in his neck. Remy knew very well how teases could be as unbearable and unnerving as the tic… I mean, The Thing. – First, I will carry you aaaaall the way back to the couch and maybe my fingers will slip in tweaks and squeezes all over your hips, who really knows, ya know? But you better don’t squirm that much, because then I will have no escape but be obligated to bring my other hand to better hold you and just hope that this one is not more slippy then the first, right?

 Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

 - And then: The couch. Nothing different will happen there, really. I will just lay down with my extremely ticklish, helpless husband to take a nap, and, if my glorious lips will be random blessing your incredibly sensitive neck with a lot of Goodnight Kisses and my hands will keep lightly scratching, squeezing and poking all the length of your sides, sometimes even giving a little attention to your hips, because no way in hell I will be sleeping in a hard pillow, it’s none of your business, giggly boi. – Émile couldn’t help nor stop the pitched squeal that escaped from his mouth, eyes widening and breathing immediately stopping, the others giggles also begging to escape. - Oh, and, by the way, better keep your mouth very shushed while this. We don’t want the Tickler Master waking up, am I right?

 Silence.

 Remy’s nonchalant tune still full filling the air, which didn’t carried the sound of his steps anymore. The cartoon lover knew there was no way for him to save himself and, in a surrender act, just let his high, excited giggles run happily across the room hiding his face in flames behind his tremble hands. Seconds later, he heard the sound of his door being closed and his hide spot exposed.

 - But we both know that you just can’t contain yourself, my so poor, so defenseless lee. – Émile playfully screamed as he was lifted up in the air, quickly being carried in bridal style. He opened his eyes enough to see Remy in a bat of eyes deviating his glare from his form, the tender smile taking pieces of seconds before changing to an evil grin, fingers suddenly tweaking his kneecaps and hips, leading the carried to jump, a squeal signaling the flow of giggles that followed it.

 - Please, Remy, please!! – Each new squeeze was a snort interrupting his words, making him try to start again only to get the same result and repeat the cycle all over, resulting in a more helpless babbling than anything else. The said stopped, adjusting his hold in order to sneak his thumb in that damn spot right between his shoulder blades, switching between kneading and prodding while leading to an even more no-understandable sentence. - No there, no there, no there!!! Pleasepleaseplease-

 - Huh? Whatcha you are trying to say, hun? That I’m the most handsome husband in the entire world? That you are so sensitive that only a few squeezing and prodding are enough to transform you in a blushy, laughing mess? – The one being held felt his laughter increasing, the words spreading tingles in all his others ticklish spots, even the ones which weren’t being attacked. He shakes head, denying. – Is that you love all these teases and specially when I tickle tickle tickle you? Huh? Use your words, babe.

  – Nonononono! – Émile arched his back just to find another attack to his hips, bucking the said as Remy buzzed his fingers in the exact point where his sides and hips connected, and generating loud crackling as response. – You a- nah! You are mean mean mean!! – His arms danced to a place to another, too much occupied with the crazy sensation to really focus in stopping it, Remy increasing his efforts in order to make the snorts start to bloom amongst his laughter and squeals, no needing too much to succeed. – Remy!!!

 - Yes, gurl? Geez, you should love my name. It seems like you can’t even spent a whole real minute without saying it! – His tune was still nonchalant. However, he leaned down for a heartbeat in order to steal a peck from his beauty, giggly and cute as fuck, husband, who obtained a new shade of red creeping down his neck. Nooooice. – Anyway, what did you wanna tell me? Be quick, I still having a lot of places to knead, scratch, scribble, wriggle… This whole ‘Tickle your extremely ticklish husband, like, really, reeeeeally ticklish, like seriously, this guy is a whole tickle spot himself, a alive version of Tickle Me Elmo, and, when he became a helpless mess just tease him more and more until the big, rational, Émile Picani turns in just a poor, so poor, blushy lee.

 - REMY!!

 - What? Can’t handle the truth? Boo-hoo, then.

 Émile didn’t answered, unless you considered his fast, absolutely incoherent, stumbling words a kind of response, choosing to clench is hands in his shirt and hide his face in flames, instead. His laughing being so strong that reverberate through the attacker’s chest, who couldn’t stop feel like a villain as he stared with a gigantic grin adorning his lips the ribs that such act let defenseless. Well, he internally shrugged as he took a deep breathe, suit himself. His arms were growing tired anyway.

 Émile thought he was going to melt in any moment, the teases still heating his sensitive skin and increasing the tickles in a way that should be definitely illegal, but in the moment he felt the raspberry, spreading, taking over his nerves and T I C K L I N G he died.

 And screamed, for sure. Oh, and also gripped something while kicked and trashed as if Mabble’s life was depending on it (not his own life, of course, since he was already dead). Some part of his desperate brain noticed he was falling, but the laughter exploding from his mouth and the impossible to ignore feeling quickly expelled any other thing.

 He opened his eyes, breathless as his watery vision focused in the form mostly layed onto him, their giggles flying and filling the entire room. After some heartbeats, Remy finally got up, his hands resting on the floor and sustained the weight of his body. Their eyes met.

 - I’ve forgot how much of a kicker you are. – Émile just curled up a little more, pulling his tongue out in a very mature and hard to win, statement

 - ‘s not my fault your arms are weaken than Deadly Arms’ ones.

 - Excuse you?

 - Nuh.

 - I beg your heck pardon?

 - No, you let me fall for you. Twice. In love and on the floor. I’m ignoring you until the end of ours married days.

 - Oh, is that so? – Remy replied, adjusting his position so his hands would lay each one in the sides of his husband’s head, who immediately recognized the smile beginning to shine and exploded one more time in a flow of giggles, his arms in front of his body, attempting to conjure a kind of shield.

 - Wait wait waitwaitwait!! Nonono! – A yelp cut his sentence when a hand tweaked his thigh. - I’m sorry, I’m sorry!

 - Yep, gurl, you will b- And his threat was interrupted when Émile pushed his shirt and connected their lips, stealing his words, breath and any and every coherent thought from his head, his giggles still floating from his mouth, which leaded, if that was even possible, to the coffee lover melt further, allowing himself to be carried away by the tenderness and love, sighing and deepening the kiss.

 …Until that dirty, evil, nasty cheater digs his fucker fingers in his damn stomach, which ruined the romantic moment and absolutely did NOT made Remy Tough Picani release a half shriek half snort that DIDN’T resulted in the only one wearing glasses coos softly, excuse you.

 - Awww. – Émile gave him an innocent smile, quick turning the tables and sitting on Remy’s legs, his fingers swinging in a dance that consisted in craving his thumbs right above his waistline and vibrating his others fingers in his torso, the maddening sensations culminating to free, belly laughter escape from the ‘victim’s’ mouth. Eyes tightly closed, wrinkled nose. – What is the matter, my dear? The cool, bad boy Remy can’t take some ti-tickly tickle tickling in his tummy-yummy-yummy? Huh? Huh? Can’t he? Because he is super hype dyper sensitive, aren’t you? Yes, you are! You are!

 - OH MY GOD, SHUT UP!! – Remy could feel his face, against his own will power and threats, melt in flames. His laughter being replaced by hysterical giggling as his husband changed his technique to spidering, slowly walking his fingers up before quickly drag his nails in random patterns the way down, going up and down one time more and after that a couple more of times, always managing to catch four or five snorts. – THIS IS SO DUMB, FUCK.

 - Now, now, Mister Ticklish Master. Let’s not be a Squidward to the Tickle Monster, alright? He just wanna to hear aaaaaaall that adorably, lovely, helpless giggles of yours!! – Émile lowered down and touched their noses, his smile increasing as he felt the other’s laugh hitting his cheeks, his tune now in flying in joyful whispers. – And what a cute laughter you have! Definitely the most lovely, sweet and favorite lee of the Tickle Monster!

 - ‘m not- ‘m not cuteyourbi-nOPLEASENOTTHERE- His words stumbled in each other, specially when his shirt was lifted and a finger began to squirm and scratches his bellybutton, his legs now kicking while his hands tried to get enough strength to stop the marvelous move. However, exemplary falling as the attacker focused some quick prodding in the exposed axillaries, receiving what was suppose to be an angry snort. Émile couldn’t help but coo one more time. – I’M. NOT. – He couldn’t help the squealing cutting his sentence. - CUTE. FUCK OFF!

 Émile made a soft sound of sadness, pouting even if his husband was still with his eyes tightly closed, unable to see it.

 - Now, it’s a pity that you don’t believe in the words of your own husband. – He switched to lightly scribbles and pokes at his sides and lower ribs, making sure to rub circles in each one of them while also gave his ‘victim’ some room to breathe and understand his words.

 - Well… maybe, maybe he would… – Remy tried, really tried to frown and looks angry, but that was really hard with the giggles still interrupting his words. His body melting in the gentle, good touch. Totally against his will, for sure. - ... if his husband wasn’t being a jerk and tickling him.

 He stared directly at Émile, therefore he didn’t lose the slightest which red freckled his cheeks, smirking, wobbly that is true, but also proudly in being the only between both who managed to say ‘tickle’ without shuttering. Sadly, though, he also didn’t lose the way his eyes and smile widened, showing that the other had an idea.

 Butterflies started to panic in his stomach, especially when Émile’s gaze focused there with a ratter crazy gleam, his next phrase coming out as a soft, dangerous purring.

 - You know… all of this made the Tickle Monster a bit hungry… and he heard that some lil lil lee has a very yummy yummy tummy right here. – His hands squeezed his belly, as if to prove his point. Remy jumped, the adrenaline running all speed across his body as the words starting to weight in his brain.

 - Wait, WAIT! Émile!!! – The one being called slowly moved towards his target, ignoring the squirm and pleas from his husband, who grew more and more desperate as his attacker innocently smiled and looked at him, his head gradually lowering to his most ticklish spot. – Émile, Émile, please, I’m actually begging you. I’m begging you!! I’m cute, see? I said it!!! Émile!!!!

 - I’m listening. ~

 - No, you’re not! – His euphoric, hysteric giggles already began to take over his sentences. – No! Fuck!!

 - No? – Émile’s lips already were resting on his belly, the word sending shivers across his nerves, which was not helped by the fact that the other absently shook his head, demonstrating his saying.

 - No! No!

 - A no to ‘no’? So that is a yes?

 - nO.

 - No? But what about the ‘yes’?

 - Stop it! Oh my gosh, I’m gonna to get a bitching divorce!! It’s a no to your yes!

 - Got it! It’s a ‘no’, then?

 - Yes!

 - A yes? Okay!

 Before any other protest could fly from his mouth, a shriek did it first. And again. And again. And one more time, almost as fast as the nuzzled raspberries buzzing and the nibbles, together with the ‘nhom nhom nhom’s’ sounds, spread and madly tickled in a total oblivion to his kicks, pushes and loud, thunderous laughter painting the air.

 It didn’t took too much before the cartoon lover stopped, already aware of the other’s limits, and touched their foreheads again, Remy’s breathing and reminiscent giggles being the only thing breaking the silence which involved them in a calm, cozy, warm feeling.

 - You don’t look at me like that, your traitor. – His tune was free of any harm, his bright gaze and blushed cheeks locking his attention. Émile couldn’t help himself but kiss the pout out of his face. – And don’t you dare to kiss me. – Quick kiss. - I don’t trust in your sweet lips anymore. – Soft kiss. – They are a hell of a trap. – Giggly kiss.

 - I love you.

 Their eyes met, one more time, and Remy finally gave up, swimming in that deep, caring moment. Their hands intertwined themselves.

 - I love you, too. – He lightly poked Émile’s ribs, winning a yelp before receiving the same treatment. – But only sometimes.

 - Uh huh.

 - What? It’s the truth!

 - Sure it is, dear.

 Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

 Their heart did, beating in unison.

[chibinightowl]

Jaytim with this lovely little prompt: ❝ Well, what happened is, I put the kid down for a nap. But I got tired too. So, now it’s 11pm and no one’s had dinner. On the plus side, Spongebob is on.❞🙂

The lovely @addie-lover-of-stories asked the same, so here we go!

~*~

The last thing Jason wanted was to open that door. He stared it down, willing the crying and screaming from the other side to quiet down. Why Bruce and Dick thought sticking a de-aged Damian with him and Tim while they searched for a counter-spell was a great idea, he had no fucking clue. But right now, he was about ready to punt both the toddler and his partner out the goddamned window just so he could get some sleep. 

Sighing, he shouldered his heavy duffle and unlocked the door.

Normally, the sight of Tim after a long, difficult mission soothed his nerves. However, the harried visage that greeted him was a little too wide-eyed and overly bright. Jason glanced into the absolute wreck of a kitchen and sure enough, the only clean space was around the coffeepot.

“What the hell is going on?”

Tim tried to grin and failed, the edges falling flat just as Damian’s tiny fists struck his leg once more, howling incoherently as tears and snot ran down his face.

“Well, what happened is, I put the kid down for a nap. But I was tired too. So, now it’s 11pm and no one’s had dinner. On the plus side, Spongebob is on.”

The glare from the TV in the living room supported that statement, as did that annoying laugh.

Jason set his duffle down with a heavy thud and Damian came running to him looking for sympathy. He absently picked the kid up as he stared down Tim. “How on earth is that a good thing?”

“Kids like cartoons, right?”

“I don’t think Damian even knew what a cartoon was until he met Dick.”

Tim sighed and shook his head, the loose bun at the back about ready to fall out entirely. “Look, you all should have known better than to leave the kid with me. Hell, even Cass is better qualified to take care of the demon than I am. You should just be happy I haven’t managed to burn dinner yet.”

Noise volumes and mess aside, the kitchen did smell pretty good, so Jason was willing to give him some credit.

“Sorry about that.” He carried Damian over to the cupboard with him and found Tim’s stash of animal crackers, the big container from Costco, and fished out a few. The kid stuffed them in his mouth with small fists, silenced at last.

Tim gaped. “Did you just...?”

“Shut him up? Yeah.”

“I’ve been trying for over an hour.”

Jason smirked and grabbed a few more for good measure. “Never baby-sat much, did you?”

“Not once. I figured if I just ignored him, he’d shut up eventually. It’s Damian. Even when he’s this small, he still doesn’t like me.”

“Spoken like the man who barely keeps his beta fish alive.”

“Hey! I did pretty damn well at saving Cloud from certain death, thank you very much!”

Jason popped one of the small biscuits in his mouth and held another one up for Damian. “Your sauce is burning.”

“Shit!”

[ambidextrousarcher]

Sarcastic StarBharat Reviews- Episode 11: Yet another ott Melodrama episode.

This episode begins with the same scene as the last one closed. I am skipping that, please refer to the previous post of this series. I guess the breaking lantern and the escaping lights is supposed to be foreshadowing of a very clumsy sort, equating that light to Gandhari’s sight. Gandhari whirls and runs in tears. Shakuni follows her, calling out her name. May I express how terrible I find this storyline? No royal Princess could have been this sheltered and pampered in the Vedic Era, so…this is a huge canon fail. Shakuni whirls and confronts his father “You did not think it necessary to inform my beloved sister?” The King and the Queen send a guilty look. Shakuni bites out a pithy dialogue about the difference between two very complicated sounding Sanskrit concepts, that I didn’t understand. Anyway, he names his father an enemy of his sister as he turns and strides off. The King and the Queen stare wistfully at him. The scene shifts to Shakuni meeting Gandhari in her chambers. He puts a hand on her shoulder as a tear splashes inside a basin full of water. Urgh. Even more melodrama. “No, Gandhari, no. This is not the time to cry.” She shakes him off and moves away. “I am here. Your brother. I will not allow anything to happen that brings tears in your eyes. I swear that. I am not afraid of Hastinapur. They might be strong, they might be wealthy, but they do not have the right to hurt you or your future…” “Why did father do this? Why was I not told beforehand that my fiancée is blind by birth? I would not have decorated such dreams…” Ouch. In spite of the excess melodrama, I do feel sorry for her. “He is not your husband. He is not.” There is emotional dialogue about dreams that break. Shakuni shuts his eyes at his sister’s despair. “Gandhari, I will immediately send a courier to Hastina denying the validity of this marriage. They can attack us if they want, but we will not submit to it.” At the risk of sounding like a broken record, I would like to remind everyone reading this post that Shakuni was happy with Gandhari marrying Dhritrashtra. “Bhraatashree,” This is Gandhari. “Did Pitashree have so less trust in me and his upbringing?” “What are you talking about?” “Pitashree has given me a lot of love.” “Parents cannot attach a price to their love.” “It is a child’s duty to repay that love. I cannot deny the sacrifice to be made…the fact that Pitashree did not trust me hurts me, but I accept his decision as a Princess.” There is pride in her at this moment. I admired that, for all I hated this track. (Seriously, I’m actually feeling sleepy at this point, probably will take a nap once this is done with) Shakuni whines about her happiness. Gandhari delivers a lecture about duty and values. “I accept this marriage. Prepare for leaving to Hastina.” The title theme plays, as Gandhari leaves. Shakuni gives an incoherent yell. Scene changes to Gandhari’s diya-lit bedroom. She is still crying. She picks a jeweled fan and blows out all the diyas. Peak melodrama. “Princess, why are you blowing the lamps out?” “I am trying to get used to darkness.” “But, are you not afraid of darkness?” “I am, but darkness is going to be a part of my life now. I need to fight my fear.” “You’re marrying a blind man, Princess, not darkness.” Oh, man. Please. Don’t drag this out even more! “To understand a man who is blind, one must understand darkness too.” Well, the room I can see ain’t dark. Anyway, Gandhari goes off on a pity spiel about Dhritrashtra. I am not recording it here. Scene changes to a dance to the tune of Vakrathunda Mahakaya, which is a very soothing tone, and I’m falling asleep even more. It is aesthetically beautiful! Kings are arriving. Camera focuses on angry dude. Who is massaging his status symbols and still hearing jayjaykars in his ears. His mother enters. She talks to him about Gandhari’s beauty. She asks him to accompany the Rajmata to the Vivaah mandap. “Where is Pandu?” she asks. Pandu, being the Mr. Honey Kid he is in this adaptation, enters on cue, going “I am here, mata!” He reminds me of a bunny for some reason. “Pandu? I can’t see myself, but tell me how I look?” Pandu flatters his brother more than he deserves. “Come, the muhuratta for the marriage is near.” Scene changes to Vidur and Bhishm entering to the same dancing music. Whenever I hear this music, I can see Uttaraa dancing in front of Arjun. The Royal ladies enter the hall. Satyavati commands a soldier to bring the Gandhar delegation, to which he replies that Gandhari is getting ready and she’ll be there soon. Scene switches to Gandhari being made up, I don’t know why there’s a moon here. Gandhari commands to be left alone for a few seconds. She takes a small idol of Shiva out, raises it to her eyes and keeps it back in its box. There’s a flash of Shiva as she closes her eyes. If she was so afraid of the dark, I wonder how she kept Tapasya to please him and get the boon she did. This story seriously makes absolutely no sense. She opens a chest and takes a piece of satin out. She runs her hand over it. Episode ends, phew. Precap: Gandhari is being led in, her anklets clink. Dhritrashtra looks hopeful, as Satyavati says ‘Stop! How do you dare?’

Tagging @butchcaroldanvers, @mayavanavihariniharini, @shaonharryandpannisim, @shellweed @avani008 @medhasree, @jigyask @ratnas-musings @allegoriesinmediasres.

[loyalflutist]

Snowstorm (F!Byleth x Edelgard)

Challenge: Edeleth Twitter Week (09/29/2019 - 10/05/2019) Day 1: Snow Day

A/N: If I told you that I did this all under two hours, would you call me crazy? (please nod) I had totally forgotten that this challenge existed right after I uploaded Dorothea’s Birthday fiction, so I went ham on this. Please look forward to the rest of this week’s content!

---

“I didn’t expect us to be separated from the snowstorm…”

“…”

“…Hey, are you doing okay, my teacher?”

“…yes.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“…”

A misty exhale escaped from the vermillion female. What should have been a simple mission for the Church of Seiros ended up having the entire Black Eagle House separated from one another from an unforeseen snowstorm. Its powdered droplets blurred their visions and forced the students to scramble for the nearest shelter on this high mountaintop. Their screams and hollers were muted by the whipping gusts. Eventually, that led to a dispersion of the class.

To make matters worse, their professor collapsed in the middle of their operation. Byleth had not been feeling well for almost a week straight. It started off as a simple cold. A couple of coughs erupted from her throat during lecture and training. Many of the concerned students suggest that she get some rest. The instructor brushed it off. By the third day, Dimitri and Claude teamed up with Edelgard to drag her into Manuela’s clinic. Lest to say, the simple cold had transitioned into the flu. Medicinal herbs were provided in large quantity and a long scolding from both the experienced songstress and Jeralt.

Unfortunately, the Church of Seiros was not as lenient as Jerealt, Manuela, and the students had expected. Not even her girlfriend’s pleas could budge Rhea from her decision.

“I expect a great deal from Byleth… for if she were to fail this mission, then I have no use for her.”

Questionable, yet none were courageous enough to object with the archbishop’s commands. The holy maiden’s words were absolute, especially on monastery’s ground. Not that Jeralt and Edelgard trusted her in the first place. Had it not been for Byleth’s abrupt interjection during their dialogue exchanges, the Adrestian Empire’s princess would sock Rhea squarely in the face. It did not matter if she was marked with treason. What mattered is how out of character the archbishop was when it came to Byleth’s well-being.

The end results were the collapse of her significant other in midst of the deadly storm. A fever ravaged the poor instructor as her respiratory rate picked up its pace. Byleth furrowed her brows, her strengths trickling out of her body with every passing second and the cold seeping inward in replacement. If it weren’t for Edelgard’s presence, the teal-haired would have accidentally been left stranded within nature’s fury.

Thus, that led to where they are right now after hiding out in a nearby cave.

She stood in place for a second. Edelgard pursed her lips as she adjusted her hold on the older woman from behind. Despite the frigid temperature that threatens to cause frostbites and the relentless sunshine that dare to cause sunburns, the fur-coat student continued to march through the blanketed landscape in search of her comrades.

She marched like a little toy soldier.

Every single step dug her legs past her ankles. There would be the occasional wobble whenever she jutted her boot out too soon. Sometimes, if she was unlucky, she would land face-first on the soft surface with a small “oof!” Byleth would slip off from her back and gently plop on her side. The professor’s eyes peered through her slits as the white-haired struggled back up to her feet. She would brush off as much snow as possible from the older female’s figure and return to piggybacking Byleth.

She marched like a little toy soldier.

Another adjustment with her grip. The student glanced over her shoulder to check on her girlfriend. Fortunately, the ex-mercenary was still awake. Though there were times she would fall into a minute nap during the traverse… Edelgard grimaced whenever Byleth violently shuddered from her back. The fever was not going away anytime soon, and it appears to have worsened thanks to the harsh weather. She would rather freeze than stay warm from the flaming body heat that protrudes from her teacher.

She marched like a little toy soldier.

How long has she been walking for? Trails of her footsteps slowly came to erode due to the rapidly falling snowflakes. She paused and glanced upward at the sky. The sun was still high, yet the snow was not stopping any time soon. Misty breaths puffed out of her mouth as Edelgard resumed her travel. They had to travel upward to the summit. If she remembers correctly, there should be a village for them to rest. From there, she could reunite with her comrades and make plans to unify those that are still lost on the mountain. As for the mission… well, they could always do something about that in a later time. Rhea did not explicitly tell them when it should be completed. Newfound energy kicked her into gear, the student’s legs picking up the pace to their destination.

She marched like a little toy soldier.

It was becoming steeper. Natural, as climbing any mountain requires mental and physical fortitude. This was extra challenging considering how she had to carry Byleth. She dryly swallowed and examined her surroundings. Rocks and slabs… These minerals that formulated the structures of these mountains were becoming no more than hassles. If only the land was flat in its entirety… Just imagine how much time and energy would be saved for everyone! Edelgard shook her head and tightened her hold on Byleth. She must continue forward to their goal. As much as she wishes to sit down and take a breather, if the sun were to sink, they would be left in the darkness. During darkness, the temperature begins to scale down to a zone where no living creature would survive. Harsh conditions were avoidable with careful planning.

She marched like a little toy soldier.

Her worst-case scenario came true. Traversing by foot was too easy for the female, says the gods. It was time to place a barrier between where they were located and the village. The white-haired frowned with the sight of the white plumes. Those smokes were clearly from the area they were headed to. There’s just one complication to overcome… A rock wall presented itself before the female. Edelgard mouthed a numerical value as her lilac hues darted. If Byleth is able to remain awake and firmly hold onto the student for a minimum of 15 minutes, the axe-wielder should be able to safely cross them over.

“Byleth?” she gently shook. “Are you awake?”

“…”

“Byleth?”

“…?”

“I need to climb this wall.”

“…”

“So… I need you to hold onto me as tight as possible.”

“Okay.”

She marched like a little toy soldier.

Difficult is a euphemism to describe her situation. Perhaps it is her short stature to blame. Edelgard cursed her slow growth in heights as her white gloved hands grasped ahold of the rocks. Although she had no issue rock climbing, the fact that Byleth hung onto her added additional weight. It would be wrong to call her teacher a burden. She blamed herself for not training hard enough. What kind of emperor would she be for the Adrestian Empire if she fails to carry someone important towards their destination? Edelgard grit her teeth as she pulled her body up, sweat rolling down her face from the extreme condition. Half-way there… She just needs to hang on a little more…

She marched like a broken toy soldier.

Stupid, stupid, STUPID! A careless mistake led to an outcry and hand reaching outward. Hot breaths brushed Edelgard’s earlobe as Byleth began to whisper incoherent mumbles. The young lady ignored her instructor’s babbles. Feverish symptoms were likely to explain the teal-haired current personality. Yet she should have been more careful. She should have been more attentive to her girlfriend.

“I’m… sorry.”

Those were her last words as Byleth’s grips loosened. Edelgard had no way of catching her. She immediately released one hold on a rock, twisted her body around, and furiously attempt to snatch the free-falling professor. The older woman’s naturally outstretched fingers slipped past the grabbing motion.

“BYLETH!!!”

She marched like a broken toy soldier.

Nightfall came. It was to be expected as Edelgard had spent most of the evening searching for her professor. She trampled and fished for the teal-haired after scaling down the rough terrains. Although it should have been easy to spot the landed woman, the strong wind began to kick up a flurry of white flakes. Old footprints and traces of their travels were well-beyond recognizable with a new layer planted on top. Another snowstorm also rumbled from the distant. Edelgard’s arms swished and swooped her surroundings. This caused the normally stoic house leader to go into a frenzy. Now that the moon replaced the sun, she began to uncontrollably tremble from the lack of heat.

Before, she had Byleth to keep her warm. Now, she had no one. Her teeth chattered as her shaky hands scooped another chunk of snow and tossed it to the side. Still no trace of Byleth. Just… where could she be? Edelgard began to sniffle as she tearlessly wept from her fatal mistake.

How will she face Rhea? How will she face Jeralt? Most importantly… how will she face herself?

She marched like a broken toy soldier.

“I’m not dead… am I?”

Edelgard cracked open her eyelids. Safe to say, the darkness that had engulfed her earlier dissipated in a matter of seconds… though it is likely from the illumination of an oil lamp. She blinked. Then, she sat up from the straw mattress. A quick scan told her that she was inside of a hut. Decorated furniture and supplies resided. Nearby was Hubert, who crossed his arms and slept while sitting. The noble stared at him for a short period of time. He would normally be awake by now by the sound of her movement. Alas, he did not. The young male continued to slow his breathing, and his eyelids sealed shut for the public.

“…”

He must be tired. If Edelgard was beyond exhausted from the march, then the same could be said for her classmates. She widens her eyes. Classmates… Professor… Byleth! The vermillion female hurried out of the hut and broke out of the shelter in her casual wears. What a mistake for her to go out unprepared as a blast of cold wind tore through her epidermis and into her frail bones! Edelgard immediately hugged herself, teeth chattering, and nearly backed into her hut. She rooted her bare feet to the snowy grounds and glanced at her surroundings.

There were many huts. Fortunately, many of them had a source of light during this dark time of the day. Edelgard moistened her lower lip and began to hurry into the nearby hut. When she peered inside, suffice to say, it was a stroke of luck she did not need to rush into another hut.

Byleth was sleeping on the straw mattress, her blanket falling and rising at an even interval. Sitting by her side were both Linhardt and two elder males. All three were awake, so when they spotted the Black Eagle’s house leader, their brows rose.

“You’re finally awake, Lady Edelgard,” one of the older men spoke. “How are you feeling?”

“How’s Byleth?”

“Straight to the point as always, Lady Edelgard…” Linhardt scratched the side of his face as he diverted his attention back to their professor. “The professor got a nasty fever, but with the medicinal herbs and the power of her Crest, she should be fine.”

“…”

Linhardt curled his fingers inward and shot a look at Edelgard.

“Are you worried about the others?”

She nodded.

“…Don’t be. We’re all here by some miracle. It perplexes me as to how we all manage to come back together after our separation…”

Turns out, Linhardt, Caspar, and Hubert were the first ones to find the collapsed Edelgard. They frantically took her to the village first. As for Dorothea, Petra, Bernadetta, and Ferdinand, they were tasked by Hubert shortly afterward to search for the professor. It appears that Lady Luck marathon through her blessings as they had found the half-buried instructor in a nearby forest just minutes after the discovery of Edelgard.

“It seems a little too good to be true, isn’t it?”

“…Perhaps. If it weren’t for you all, then we could’ve lost the professor because of my mistake.”

“Don’t take it the hard way, Edelgard. You have us. We’re always here for you.”

She marched like a big toy soldier.

They had spent almost a week in the village. Lucky for them, their mission was situated in the same premise. A simple chore of exchanging goodies from the monastery with the merchants was all that had to be done. Not a single bloodshed became reality during their exchange. As for Byleth, she has been recovering at a steady pace. The medicinal herbs that have been ingested were conducting wonders upon her vitality. During this time, her students went out and about to assist the villagers with any other activities. Many of them studied and grasped the necessary survival skills for any snow day. Perhaps this trip wasn’t such a waste after all. Throughout their stay, Edelgard was always seen popping in and out of Byleth’s hut.

“You’re such a worrywart,” she teased the student and rubbed her head. “I won’t go anywhere.”

She marched like a big toy soldier.

Everyone had said their farewells to the villagers and their chief. Supplies were replenished and, even luckier for them, Pegasus riders were prominent here. Many of them were eager to bring them back to ground level from the mountain. It was the least they could do for these children and the recovering professor.

Many of the students engaged in their last-minute banter with one another as they hopped onto the horses one-by-one. Before the duo left onto their respective ride, Byleth pulled aside Edelgard. She planted a kiss on the girl’s forehead and smoothed her white hair.

“Thank you, Edelgard, for everything.”

Finally, she came home like a big toy soldier. This would be a snow day Edelgard and Byleth would never forget for a long time.

[broomballkraken]

Title: A Moment of Respite

Fandom: Fire Emblem: Three Houses

Pairing: Claude/Lorenz/Sylvain

Word count: 2314

Warnings: None

Summary: Fighting in a war was difficult for Sylvain, sure, but nothing could compare to the near-impossible task of getting his overworked and overachiever boyfriends to take a godsdamn nap for once.

“He’s late...again.”

“How typical. I do not understand how anyone would want to be late for a break.”

“You do remember that, like, a half hour ago I had to physically drag you away from your paperwork, right Lorenz?”

“...”

Sylvain snickered when Lorenz just huffed in response and turned his head away, and he gave Lorenz’s hand a squeeze as he nuzzled his face against his neck. They were currently in Claude’s room, cuddling on the bed as they waited for their important leader-man boyfriend to sneak away from his seemingly never ending strategy meetings and whatever other war business that he had to deal with.

“Man, this whole ‘taking a break’ things was Claude’s idea in the first place, and he doesn’t even show up on time? And he’s the one who needs a break the most.” Sylvain mumbled, sighing as he leaned back against the wall. Lorenz hummed as he turned to press a light kiss against Sylvain’s cheek.

“Yes, well, you know how he is. Always has to shoulder the burden for everyone else. I do hope that the Professor urges him to take a break. He seems to listen to them more often than us...as frustrating as that is.” Lorenz said, and Sylvain laughed at the cute pout that crossed his face.

“Yeah, well, the Professor’s been a key force in our success in the war so far, so I guess it makes sense for Claude to value their input. Don’t worry, he still loves us, babe.” Sylvain leaned over to kiss Lorenz, and Sylvain felt him smile against his lips.

“I know, darling,” Lorenz said when he pulled away, “I do worry about him, though. He seems to be sleeping less and less as the war drags on. It is not healthy.”

“That’s why we’re having these breaks. If he doesn’t show up in the next half hour, we’re going to drag him out of whatever soul-sucking meeting he’s being held in-” Sylvain started, but he was interrupted when the door opened and Claude finally stepped into the room.

“Hey, sorry I’m late. Judith and Teach talked my ear off about the supplies coming from Daphnel territory.” Claude said, a tired smile crossing his face as he walked over to his desk to dump the pile of books that he carried on its surface. Sylvain narrowed his eyes when he saw Claude move to sit in the chair, and he opened his mouth to protest, but Lorenz beat him to it.

“Just what do you think you are doing?” Sylvain turned to see Lorenz glowering at Claude, who froze and turned to look at his boyfriends, a guilty smile crossing his face.

“Ah, well, I need to look over these reports before tomorrow and-”

“Oh no you don’t.” Sylvain said, rolling his eyes, “You were the one who suggested this break thing, and you definitely need it the most, babe.” Claude worried his bottom lip between his teeth, and Sylvain sighed. Claude really did look exhausted. His face was pale and there were obvious bags under his droopy, unfocused eyes. Sylvain knew that he was going to bed later and waking up earlier as the war dragged on, even when he spent some nights in the arms of his lovers. It wasn’t good for him at all.

“My darling, please,” Lorenz said, his brow furrowing as a look of concern appeared in those deep amethyst eyes, “You look absolutely exhausted. You will work yourself to death if you keep this up.”

“He’s right,” Sylvain interjected when he saw Claude open his mouth to probably protest. “You know damn well that if it was either of us in the state that you’re in, you’d be begging us to take a break too.” Claude stared at the floor for a moment, before sighing in defeat and crossing the room. He kicked off his shoes and stripped down to his undershirt along the way before he let himself fall onto the bed. Sylvain quickly pulled him over so that Claude’s head rested in his lap, while his body draped over Lorenz.

“There we go. You’re probably feeling better already right?” Sylvain said, running the fingers of his free hand through Claude’s hair, while his other hand continued to hold Lorenz’s. Claude took a deep breath and let it out slowly, and Sylvain could practically see the tension ooze from his body.

“Yeah, this is nice. Sorry for trying to get out of it.” Claude said, his eyes starting to slide shut as Lorenz took on of his hands, lifting it to his mouth to place a kiss on his palm.

“It is quite alright, love. Your dedication and perseverance are quite admirable. We just do not want you to burn yourself out.” Lorenz said, letting their hands settle onto Claude’s chest as Sylvain leaned over to rest his head against Lorenz’s shoulder.

“Yeah, you do work really hard. But you gotta leave time to chill out with your handsome boyfriends once in a while.” Sylvain said, chuckling when Claude barked out a laugh, and he even earned a chuckle from Lorenz.

“Mm, you both make valid arguments.” Claude mumbled as his eyes finally slipped fully shut. “I love you both.” His breathing soon evened out as he fell asleep, and Sylvain and Lorenz stared fondly down at him.

“We love you too, Claude.” they both said at the same time, and they shared a quick kiss before they too slipped into a peaceful slumber.

Sylvain didn’t know how long they slept, but he was the first to wake up from their group napping session. He yawned deeply as he lifted his head carefully from Lorenz’s shoulder, trying not to knock Lorenz’s head from where it resting on his own.

Sylvain’s gaze went to the window for a moment, and he could see that the sun had almost completely set. They had slept much longer than Sylvain had realized. He smiled as he turned to place a kiss against Lorenz’s soft purple hair that he loved so much, while his fingers gently ran through Claude’s brown locks that he loved just as much.

Sylvain’s gaze shifted to where Claude was still using his lap as a pillow, and he barely managed to suppress a chuckle at the sight. Claude’s mouth was hanging open, causing him to quietly snore as a small pool of drool collected on Sylvain’s pants. He didn’t mind, as long as Claude got an adequate amount of sleep Sylvain would let him drool on him as much as he wanted. It was a peaceful time, and Sylvain wished that this godsdamn war would end already so he could spend even more moments like this with the men that he loved.

Lorenz’s head suddenly shifted against his own, and Sylvain turned to find a pair of amethyst eyes staring sleepily at him.

“Morning, sunshine.” Sylvain cooed, stealing a kiss from Lorenz’s lips. Lorenz mumbled something incoherently against his lips before he properly returned the kiss. Sylvain laughed quietly as he pulled away.

“I’m sorry, what was that? I don’t speak ‘Lorenz Hellman Gloucester-ese.’” Sylvain teased, and Lorenz just rolled his eyes in faux annoyance, because the smile on his face betrayed his true feelings.

“I just said ‘good morning.’ Nothing to make a fuss about.” Lorenz said, flinching away as Sylvain began to assault Lorenz’s neck with kisses. “H-Hey, that tickles!”

“I know, that’s why I’m doing it.”

“You are the worst.”

“Yeah, but you still love me.”

Sylvain laughed when Lorenz reached over to pinch his cheek, and he grabbed at his wrist to stop him. Both of them froze immediately when Claude suddenly shifted in their laps, and he yawned as his eyes slowly opened.

“Oh, my dear, I am terribly sorry if we woke you.” Lorenz said, a guilty look crossing his face. Claude just yawned again as he stretched out his arms, before his hands moved to his face to rub the sleep from his eyes.

“Nah, it’s okay.” Claude said, smiling up at his lovers as Sylvain gently caressed his cheek, while Lorenz entwined their fingers together and gave his hand a squeeze.

“How was your nap, darling?” Lorenz asked, and Claude smiled. Sylvain noted that he already looked like he was feeling better, and that made him sigh with relief.

“It was really nice. Thank you both for making me take a break. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Claude said, looking back and forth between Sylvain and Lorenz, the adoration in his eyes making Sylvain smiling fondly back at him.

“If only this damned war would end already.” Sylvain grumbled, sighing as he ran his hand through Claude’s hair, “We could have these breaks whenever we wanted, with no obligations that had millions of people’s lives riding on the outcome.”

“Yeah…” Claude said, “It will be...nice when we can all live together somewhere peacefully.” Sylvain’s eyes narrowed in confusion when Claude averted his gaze, his tone sounding oddly distracted. A palpable tension suddenly descended over them, and Sylvain glanced at Lorenz to find him staring intensely at Claude. How...odd. After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, Lorenz finally spoke.

“What will you do once the war ends, Claude?” Lorenz asked, his voice dropping to a whisper as his lips forming a hard line, a lonely look appearing in his eyes, “Will you...be going back to Almyra?”

Sylvain’s eyes widened with shock. He and Lorenz were far from stupid, so it hadn’t taken them long at all to figure out that Claude had Almyran blood in him. They agreed to keep it to themselves though, as the war had given them enough to worry about that did not have to do with the true origins of their lover. But apparently Lorenz thought that now was the right time to bring it up, whether Sylvain liked it or not.

“Hah, oh.” Claude said, a sad smile crossing his face as he sat up, setting himself on Sylvain’s lap as his legs draped across Lorenz’s. “You two are too smart for my own good.” He averted his gaze again and ran a hand through his hair, before letting out a deep sigh as he wrapped his arms around both of his boyfriends, pulling them into a loving embrace.

“I don’t know.” Claude whispered, hugging Sylvain and Lorenz tighter as their arms wrapped around him too, and he pressed his forehead against their shoulders. “Just know that whatever does happen, that I will always love you two, with all that I am.”

Sylvain shared a look with Lorenz, and they both smiled as their lips met briefly. Sylvain then gently grabbed Claude’s chin and raised his head so that their eyes met, and Sylvain kissed him, and Lorenz followed suit.

“Yeah, same here. I love you, Claude, Lorenz.” Sylvain said, and he knew that he would never be more sure about anything in his life.

“Likewise. Falling in love with you two is the best thing that has ever happened to me.” Lorenz said, his face flushed a cute pink in color when Claude laughed.

“That’s so cheesy, Lorenz.” Claude teased, and Sylvain nodded in agreement.

“Yeah. Tch, and all this time I didn’t think you were serious and thought that you just liked us for our bodies.” Sylvain added, and he snort-laughed at the sour look that crossed Lorenz’s face.

“Well excuse me for being honest about my feelings.” Lorenz grumbled, huffing as he crossed his arms over his chest. Claude and Sylvain glanced at each other, eyebrows raised, before they smiled and leaned over to kiss Lorenz’s cheeks.

“Aw, c’mon babe, we’re just teasing you! We totally agree with you, right Claude?”

“Yeah. I don’t know if I’d have the strength to continue leading this army if it wasn’t for the unwavering support that you two have given me.” Claude smiled fondly as he took one of Lorenz and Sylvain’s hands in his. “I cherish every moment that we have together.”

“Me too.” Sylvain and Lorenz said at the same time, and all three laughed as Sylvain threw himself at the other two, causing them all to tumble down onto the bed together.

“Well,” Sylvain said, sandwiching himself in between his boyfriends, “What would you sexy devils like to do now? We slept the day away, so we have all night to do whatever we want.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively as he looked back and forth between Claude and Lorenz. The former grinned and moved his face closer to Sylvain’s, while the latter blushed, but also moved closer to Sylvain, dragging and languid hand over his chest. Sylvain bit his lip as a shiver of delight coursed through him, and Claude moved his lips to Sylvain’s ear.

“Hmm, I can think of something really fun. What about you, Lorenz?” Claude whispered, his teeth nibbling lightly on Sylvain’s earlobe, coaxing an airy gasp from the redhead.

“Ah yes, I have a few ideas of my own. Some that might align with yours, I’m sure.” Lorenz said, rolling on top of Sylvain and pinning him to the bed, while Claude’s lips moved from Sylvain’s ear to his neck.

“C-C’mon guys, you can’t just leave me in the dark! I wanna know these ideas that you have.” Sylvain whined, even though he knew exactly what his lovers were planning.

“Oh, I do believe you will figure that out soon enough.” Lorenz said, his voice dropping low, and before Sylvain could respond, Lorenz’s lips captured his in a heated kiss, while Claude continued to assault his neck with kisses of his own. Sylvain quickly lost himself to the loving that his boyfriends were giving him, and even though this moment of respite would end all too soon, he would cherish it as much as the men that he was spending it with.

[courtorderedcake]

Roses : A CS retelling of ‘Tam Lin’

Hi, everyone! Thanks to @kmomof4​ and the extremely talented @eastwesthomeisbest​ for their patience on this. As usual, thanks to @ultraluckycatnd​ who I would be lost without, the woman is a monster editing machine, and super beta. I live for my updates from her.  Without further ado, here is my laaaaaaaaaaaate contribution to @cssns​. You get TWO chapters for the price of one! WHOA!

Read on Ao3 right here, darlings! Chapter 1/4 Chapter 2/4

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If there was one trope in fairytales that Emma hated, it was the lonely orphan who found parents and lived happily ever after in a beautiful castle. Her first problem with it was that while she hadn’t met any royalty, she doubted that most of them lost track of their children that often. Or, if they were separated, that a prince or princess would be placed in a crowded Boston orphanage. Her second problem was that there were only so many countries in the world, and even less with a missing monarch. Even diplomats and billionaires were few and far between in that category. 

So, on a rainy April afternoon when she returned to her apartment, she did not expect to see a fresh faced courier waiting for her. Although she wasn’t old by any means at 28, the boy looked about 12 with his baby face as he asked her to sign for the letter. She gave a scribble, handed him a wadded bunch of bills from her bag, and stumbled inside to peel off her rain slicker. Throwing aside the envelope of what was probably more of her husband's accounts that she was now responsible for, Emma opted for a nap before work instead. It was until she landed a successful skip that night that she felt ready to tackle another batch of what remained from Neal's legacy. 

Kicking off her heels, which were most likely ruined from the rain, she collapsed on her couch. With a wiggle, the skin tight red number was off and she basked in the freedom of being nude as she searched her floor for a clean t-shirt and a pair of lounge pants. Looking at the letter, she picked it up and placed it between her teeth, paused to put her hair in what she hoped would resemble a ponytail, and pulled to rip it open. Letting the envelope fall to the floor, she grabbed her thick rimmed glasses to read the small script. 

Her roommate, Mary Margaret, came out of her room. “Emma? It’s 4 am, did you just get back?”

“Mmmmyar.” Emma replied, scanning the text. Her late husband's family crest and name, long discarded after his death, was printed on top of the document. She shuddered at the golden medallions adorning a darkened shield, and the scaled, lizard like, dragon that curling around it. 

“Well… OK, but do you want some coffee? David's here and we're getting up early to -”

“Holy. Fucking. Grilled cheese and onion rings.” Emma breathed heavily, staring wide eyed in shock at the papers in front of her. 

“What are you swearing on such sacred foods for?” Mary Margaret quirked an eyebrow in amused concern.

“I've just inherited an estate valued at £800,000.” Emma flicked her eyes up, mouth a thin line. “Neal's family's fortune, home and grounds apparently. Things I never even knew about.”

“Well.” Mary Margaret sipped her coffee, looking completely nonplussed even if Emma knew on the insides she was bursting - it was how she had earned her nickname Snow Queen after all. “That would do it.”

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 The estate reading took place in Ireland through a crackling speaker box, Emma's eyes racing around the office the entire time. It was stunning, as were what seemed like all the buildings during her trip to gain the deed to her home. This office in particular was what Emma imagined when reading Peter Pan; a gentleman's study and den, complete with whiskey decanter and cigar box to her left as if she had gone back in time. The tall shelves were lined in books with gold leaf letters and rich leather bindings, the panels of dark wood mixed with verdant jade paint and damask almost making up for the unsettling stuffed deer heads.

Cringing, Emma turned back to the box. The voice on the other line was thickly accented with a rolling brogue which Graham assured her in his own was common, and had obviously been in a bad mood long enough for it to be a defining quality.

“Ye don't be wanting Carterhaugh, lass. T’place is cursed, hallow in the way tat echoes, not t’way of blessings.”

Her lawyer smirked, teeth white and extremely straight. Emma had liked Graham Grimm since she had met him, and this was insight into his character. Taste in wall decorations aside, he respected her agency enough to not let this man continue to try to stop the change in ownership. In her experience, lawyers were far too careless and rude. This man was funny, even when she teased him about his name and he had sighed, an eye roll so loud she could hear it through their original phone call. 

(Yes, my name is Graham Grimm. Yes, they do sound alike. No, I am not involved with fairytales, unless you consider me a fairy Godmother of estate and divorce settlements. No, I am usually very happy. No, I cannot change into a black shaggy dog, can you please just tell me what the approximate appraisal value is?) 

“My client will determine its worth.” His tone was calm and well practiced, even through his own clear lilt, but Emma could hear the edge there just under the surface. He had the heart of a forest hunter; not a threat until prey was too well ensnared in a carefully laid trap. This man on the phone, a Mr. Seáìnns’, had been fighting tooth and nail to keep her from her inheritance, throwing obstacle after obstacle in her way for months now. 

At first it was as simple as he refused to understand that Emma wanted to know the family that had abandoned her husband, wanted to feel the last connections she had with him or any family she could, but it quickly devolved into more. Emma was subject to constant harassment by calls and letters, envelopes filled with shredded paper or scribbled notes she could not read, all from this crazy older man in the village that Carterhaugh laid in. This didn't do much more than annoy her, as well as the post office, customs, and the garbage disposal crew. It escalated to him crossing a line when he tried to prove she was not the proper heir, insinuating Neal was a bastard, and further when he tried to declare the estate a historical landmark. 

Emma hadn't even seen the damn mansion or castle or whatever an estate was considered. It seemed to vary between every property she had compared what little information she had, the repeated ridiculous notion of having her own ballroom driving her and David giddy with excitement. Mary Margaret rolled her eyes, but David pulling her away to dance made a smile crack across her face. They'd discovered over beers that a ballroom didn't make a home a palace, a question neither David, her, or Mary Margaret had ever thought they'd be asking. 

The sound of sputtering rage brought her back to the present. 

“You bloody ridiculous ‘n hateful creatures! I know what you are doing, what you're playing at. You can try to find me, but I know your games, and I know this woman is either demon or worse! She'd kill ye before even looking, smile on ‘er face. Calling her client… Yer client doesn't know her ken folk have cursed me, an m’wife, and took -” The line crackled, an electronic whining mixed with metallic pops. A dial tone replaced the man's voice and Graham’s smile faded. 

“Well. It seems like your new residence has eccentric neighbors, doesn't it?” Graham laughed, and Emma felt his hand slip into her own. She flinched, pulling away from him and he gave her a sad smile. “Sorry, I -”

“It's alright. I… I'm just not looking for anyone.” Rubbing her palms together to do something with her hands, she pushed away the feeling of wrong that came over her at someone's touch. “I don't think I'll be ready for some time.”

Graham nodded, gathering papers together from his desk. He waited a few long, drawn out, silent minutes before asking, “How long has it been since Mr. Gold's -”

Emma's tone was short, frustration defined in every syllable. “It could have happened yesterday, but it was 2 years ago. We got married fast, it was a blur. It's a difficult topic for me.”

“I'm so sorry I -”

“Can we please see the estate?” Pinching her brow as a migraine set in, Emma heard Graham clear his throat and stand. 

“Absolutely. It's a few hours from here, if you'd like to get lunch and car pool -”

“I'll take my car. Lead the way.”

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 Driving through the small town of Carterhold, Emma could see why locals may be wary of change. The town was a sleepy and picturesque village, stone homes with thatched or moss covered rooftops that stood sparsely around a small town center. From there, through the foggy clouds that swirled through a dense forest, trees climbed up the slope of a massive hill, emerald fingers that reached for the plains leading up to Carterhaugh’s imposing presence, and its perch on the cliffs over the sea. The wind shifted, and it was gone, swallowed again by mist, but Graham was already making the slow ascent up a winding road. 

Emma heard a thud, jerking the steering wheel as someone barreled into her bug, broad shoulders and crazed eyes under matted hair barely visible through her wet windows. 

“What the -”

The words had barely left her mouth when an unmistakable voice was yelling at her, rambling incoherently as he pounded on her door. 

“Ye kinnit go to Carterhaugh! Ye kinnit have it ye bloody witch or fairy demoness! ‘Tis on Hallowed and protected ground, guarded, an ye haven't a clue what I will do to protect it from you, ye - ” The face of Mr. Seáìnns was lit by lightning, eyes blazing bright blue, thunder from his fists against the passenger door and the sky. Emma felt panic in her chest, heavy and leaden.

Slamming her foot on the accelerator, Emma let the bug lurch into its unused highest speeds as she flew up the road to Carterhaugh. 

The driveway was curved elegantly behind an imposing metal and stone gate, mossy spheres capping the tall towering structure. The manor itself, even in its disuse, was stunning. A fountain stood before large wooden doors, framed by windows that traveled in neat rows up walls choked in ivy. Two wings on either side curved off from there, both facing the sea and woods, a domed roof on one side for a solarium, another for a ballroom. It was both imposing and impossibly inviting, a mystery that was decayed beyond unraveling. 

And it was hers. 

Graham helped her inside, the lights crackling in refusal to turn on in the storm as they stood in the atrium, dripping on the stone parquet. 

“It's fine, I have a lighter,” Emma shrugged, pulling it out of her jacket pocket. “I always carry one. As a kid I was afraid of being alone in the dark. I somehow always seemed to end up there, either hiding or being forced somewhere, so it helped to make my own magic light to fight away shadows. Probably silly…”

“Not silly at all. It's a common fear based on instinct. Predators lurk in the dark, so your brain says that light is safe,” Graham said simply. “Smart to have it on you to start a fire too, or warm up in the wilderness.”

Emma's lips tightened as he continued on about the practicality of the lighter. She turned, expecting him to get the hint, but he followed her while continuing on about the merits of different wood to burn or oils to keep to sustain a good burn. Emma found herself wishing for a nice birch branch just to whack him with. As her annoyance peaked, the lights flickered on. 

“Well. No candles I guess, but let's get you a fire started in the hearth, and then I'll be on my way.” Graham paused, and looked down, shuffling his shiny leather shoes. “Unless… I can stay if you like, until you get used to the place or have someone to stay with you, you know, because it's a big older house and -”

“I think I'll manage.” The words crept out more icily than she wanted, but he nodded with a sheepish wave of his hand. 

“That's fine. Just call if you do find you need something. I'll get someone out here, and then be out myself in an hour or so. I don't want to see you get swallowed up by a house this big.” He smiled and Emma returned it genuinely, touched by his offer. If she didn't know how men dangled kindness in the face of women like her to get something in return, she would have taken him seriously. But Neal… Neal had ruined her. 

The fire in the hearth was easy enough to start, even without special wood. Taking off her boots and coat, she gazed into the flame and planned out her course of action. Her sparse belongings were in the bug, and furniture would be delivered as soon as she took stock of what remained and measured for new pieces. Sighing and rubbing her temples, Emma rolled out her sleeping bag. She was asleep as soon as her eyes closed. 

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 In the morning, light flitting through the windows and the chill of the fire's death woke her up far earlier than her usual time. Wandering out to the bug, she dragged her luggage inside, pulling on extra socks and layering her sweaters. The effect was comical, but warm. Her stomach growled, but the kitchen was a quick - and musty - find. Sticking to pop tarts instead of whatever the swamp like gloop in the sink was, Emma set to work making a written game plan. 

Calling contractors would wait until reasonable hours, but she mapped out who she would need while taking stock of furniture, books, tapestries, busts, and paintings. To her surprise, much of the home was in decent condition, and she easily found a bedroom suite that overlooked the sea cliffs from a secure balcony, a fireplace with stone carved boats in its inlay, an almost modern bathroom, and to her absolute delight, had a storybook fairytale four poster bed. The linens were almost new, the pillows fluffy , and it smelled of sea salt, leather, spice, and rum. If she didn't know how alone she was, the room would seem almost home to someone. 

As normal waking hours approached, Emma went outside to survey the gardens and landscape. Most of the plants were dead around the house itself, but the gardens and connected solarium were wild and overrun with blooms. Down the hill, wildflowers in rainbow spectrum danced in the wind, their colors like an eruption of the Crayola crayons Emma had to share in school. 

Something moved out of the corner of her eye, and a dark shape made its way around to the front of the manor. Emma grabbed a rusted shovel from a garden bed, and crept towards where the intruder had gone. She found the man looking curiously at her bug. He was tall, dark hair blowing in the wind, scratching his neck in confusion. In his hand was a hook. 

“Don't touch my car and I won't have to hurt you, buddy!” Emma yelled, wielding the shovel in her hands like a baseball bat. The man turned, surprised. 

Blue. The first thing that Emma noticed was how blue his eyes were; how clear and beautiful the blue she saw in those eyes reflected the color of the sky above. The eyes that currently were gazing at her in confusion. 

“Who are you?” he asked, raising his hands above his shoulders, as if she were police. In his left hand was not a hook, but a three pronged garden trowel. Some impression she made, thinking about urban legends this late in life. 

“Better question, Alex Trebek, is who the hell are you?” Emma snarled. 

<

“I’m the, er, gardener, madam.” He waved the garden trowel in the direction of a nearby wheelbarrow. There was something off in the way he spoke, the accent strange to her. “Killian. Killian Jones.”

“Gardener?” Emma would had refused staff had she known they existed, and had made sure that she was for the most part alone. He shouldn't be here, especially not with her. Anger boiled over to cover her fear. “You’ve done a great job of things.” Gesturing at the dead plant life around the dilapidated manor, she watched his eyes narrow. “You’re truly magic with landscaping.” This comment brought a dark smile to his face that left her feeling like he was in on the punch line of a joke she hadn’t heard. 

“Well, if you’d contact the ruddy owner and let him know to add to the budget for gardening...” The English accent was evident in his voice now, the clear definition between Irish and it what had been off to her ears as she watched his cheeks reddening. Emma gave him a wolfish grin.

“I think that can be arranged.” She gave him a curt nod, before pointing to herself, which he appraised with lips curled back. “Emma Swan. Official new ‘ruddy owner’ of Carterhaugh.” 

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 The Gold family estate had beautiful gardens. At one time they even had cultivated a rare buttercup and rose hybrid, so they had been very particular on who tended their gardens. A quick call to Graham that took several minutes of cell phone aligning to make confirmed that Killian Jones actually was listed on a small ledger, his family name written on yellowing paper, noted as “horticultural help”.

“I don't know how I missed this, it's like it just appeared here Miss Swan,” Graham had groaned, yawning into his end of the line. Static cracked through her cell phone speakers as fog rolled over the driveway. “But yes, he is explicitly listed as coming with the property.”

“Great. And you're sure I can't fire him without penalty?” 

“No, I'm sorry. This is written in a ridiculously old way, as if they're counting him as property. He can resign, but even then -” There were several moments of garbled reply that was incomprehensible. Emma huffed, kicking rocks and pacing until she caught a better signal, and Graham's voice snapped back on the line. “-Look into it more as I do some digging. You're out of luck. Do you want me to come stay? I'm happy to while you wait for another friend -”

“No, no, it’s fine. He’s not creepy, he just seems…” Chewing her lip thoughtfully, she struggled for words. “He seems, lonely. Just sort of desperate and excited for company, which I thought I could avoid by being out here. I just wanted to be alone, or at the very least I guess with someone I didn't worry about… Well. I just don't do yokels or men, and he seems a pinch of both.”

Dead air hung on the other line, followed by a faint, eerie whispering. 

“Graham?”

The sound of a low laugh, as quiet as blown leaves over cold pavement sounded over the line, and Emma dropped her phone with a start. 

“Are you alright?” came the sudden voice from behind her, and she whirled on her heel. 

"I'd be fine if you made noise when you walked, buddy, and if I could get some damn reception out here." Emma huffed, and the grounds keeper seemed to decide against saying anything, quickly snapping his mouth shut. "Do you know a better place to get service?" 

In the fog and chill breeze of the gravel drive, Emma suddenly felt a deep sense of foreboding and unease. The shadow of Carterhaugh loomed, as if reaching for her, Killian already swallowed by the scrawled shape in the morning sun. He seemed uneasy as well, even unnerved. Emma watched as his jaw muscles worked as if he quite literally chewed on her words before speaking. 

"I could set up a tea service, if you'd like, but I'm afraid you'll find neither a service or reception out here. Nothing but chill." He made a gesture for her to follow him, which she did with a wry smile. He thought he had a sense of humor. Wonderful. 

As he prepared tea from a silver set in one of the many kitchen cabinets, they made attempts at conversation. Killian was also a caretaker for the property, and he asked her how she came about ownership as they sat at the large oak dining table together. The furniture was remarkably well preserved in the majority of the main rooms, much to her delight.

The sunshine through moth eaten curtains had dust motes swirling in the air as her face fell, and she swallowed the bile that rose before she uttered her tight words. 

“My husband passed away.” Killian had winced at that. 

“I'm sorry to hear that. I'm sure he was -”

“I don't… I don't discuss Neal.” She closed her eyes tightly, taking deep breaths, feeling her skin flame. Even after what felt like an eternity, Neal's shadow still darkened her day. She sipped her tea, trying to cool herself, even with the scalding liquid. 

He hadn't asked any more on the subject, only asking about changes to what affected his work. Emma found it comforting; if he was to stay, at least he would leave well enough alone. 

“I'd like to stay here, if you don't mind. I have a master suite facing the sea on the third level of the east wing, and I know there'll be nothing in town for rent,” he stated. Emma chewed her lip in thought, mapping out his room in relation to her own. The answer struck her, and she groaned with a scrunched face of annoyance. 

“Do you get up early? Probably don't keep a fire lit?” she grumbled, and he looked at her with eyes narrowed. 

“Yes, I'm up as early as possible, and I find I enjoy the chilled sea air. Why?”

“And I bet you have a dove gray comforter.” Emma sighed, head falling into her palm with a wry laugh. “Because of course, just of course -”

“I do, aye -” He blinked and his brows shot up. “Were you..? Did you sleep in my room?” 

“Well, no, but I didn't know it was -”

“I mean, it's fine. I'll choose another, I guess -”

“No. No need to be ridiculous. I… You probably know where the next best preserved bed is?” she asked, and his eyes lit up. 

“Well yes, but you'd be in the same wing, is that alright?”

Emma hesitated, and then nodded. “With you up so early I doubt we'd see much of each other. And I'll be busy inside as you work outside.”

He made a non-committal noise, and stood with a stretch. Emma inhaled sharply; he was well toned and very good looking, but the thought of anyone’s hands on her after Neal had… 

Her stomach churned. 

“Follow me, then,” he said, offering his hand. Emma could feel her lungs tightening. Her expression must have frozen on her face too, because his eyes widened and he lowered his hand. “Or we could do this later, if you -”

Emma stood, and shook her head. “Just got a bit dizzy. Lead the way.”

They made no conversation as he led her up the staircase to the third level, the other suite he mentioned on the far end of the hall whereas his was at the beginning. The large door was imposing but carved with floral inlay, the stain perfectly applied to add to its richness. Both sides were flanked by stained glass in the same twisted vine and flower designs. 

“I almost chose this room. It was for the lady of this house at one time, and should serve you better than me.” Killian produced a key with the same designs swirled around the brass, unlocking it to reveal a sun warmed sitting area the color of blushing peonies. An ornate vanity sat in one corner, while a matching bureau and canopy bed sat before a balcony, from which the sea and his own room visible. Stained glass curved around the doors to what she assumed were the closet and bathroom, and more carved wood and glass made up a truly spectacular fireplace. If Killian’s room was big, this room was truly gigantic. 

Emma was at a loss, the furniture was all beautifully intact except for the bed’s canopy curtains and linens. Beyond that, the fabrics and rugs showed no large evidence of wear, the patterns still bright and soft underfoot. She poked her head in the closet and found it relatively large, possibly a maid's room or changing salon at one time, then turned the handle of the bathroom while Killian watched from the entrance. 

The huge claw foot soaking tub and gold veined marble under her feet could not prepare her for the large stained glass framed window that captured the sea, as if she was sailing away in the tub itself. A double sink, open shower, and large mirror completed the space in luxury. It was exquisite, and left Emma aching for a bubble bath. 

“I'll move your things, if you -”

“No,” she whispered, still in awe, before clearing her throat. “No, that's alright. I'll move everything. I… I don't like people touching my things.”

“At least allow me to give you my spare set of bedding, love, and -”

“I am not your love, alright?” she snapped, and his eyes widened. She took in a steadying breath, chewing her lip to rid herself of the sourness she wanted to throw at him. He seemed mollified, scratching behind his ear. 

“I'm sorry, I -”

“No. I'm sorry. It's been… I have… I don't do people very well.”

“Well, I'll get you the linens and be out of your way, then.” There was resignation in his tone, but Emma could only hug herself as she let her armor build back up around her. 

“Perfect. Thank you.” Her tone was clipped, but she didn't expect the annoyed response, huffed under his breath as he pulled blankets and pillows from a hall closet. 

“As you wish, Princess.”

Emma's tone was colder than ice, her words spoken in frigid staccato. “Excuse me? I must have misheard you.”

“I wasn't expecting the new owner to be all business, is what I said. These corridors are old. If you aren’t careful, these halls will try to trick you. You’ll get used to them, though.” Killian deposited the mountain of linen on her bed, and spread out the fitted sheet. 

“I don't think halls,” she snatched the pillows from the bed, pulling the sheet roughly on the other side, “are capable of trickery. Only people. People are difficult, they need to be watched. You have to keep your eyes on them or they'll do who knows what.” Pulling roughly on the sheet again, she glared with narrowing eyes at Killian, his own eyes glowering under dark lashes. “Especially people who say things under their breath like a petulant, scorned, self absorbed, preening -”

“Well, I would despair if ‘People’ took their eyes off of me. Some might say this attention is in the beholder’s benefit, and I'd say so as well. I'm quite dashing, or so I've heard.” Gripping the comforter tightly, he laid it out and smoothed it down while returning her glare. “So, I suppose we are well matched, since you are an icy, insufferable, stubborn, spoiled -” Reaching for a pillow, his hand grazed her own, and Emma yelped in surprise. 

Her breathing quickened as she stared at her skin, Killian’s insults and attempted arguments drowned out by an increasing electrical whine mixed with her heartbeat thumping. Stumbling away into the bathroom, she turned on the tap, desperately washing her skin where they had touched in the rust colored water, scouring the place their skin had met with her nails instead of the absent soap. 

Killian’s hand found her shoulder and Emma flew at him, pushing him away as she screamed profanities. He stumbled backwards into the tub, watching in fear at her transformation, her rubbed raw hand bleeding as she renewed her focus on the new area he'd touched. Without soap it was pointless, hot water her only real advantage, pouring the scalding water onto her skin. She mumbled to herself, trying to focus against the onset panic.

Emma's thoughts were burning away elsewhere, the fires she could not escape when Neal had locked her away; smoke, embers and ash acrid in both the air and her lungs. 

It took what felt like hours for her to come back to herself, her fingernails bloody and skin blistered from the heat. The gentle chime of the clock in the room indicated it had only been ten minutes to her relief. It was the worst attack she had in ages, the first time in so long she hadn't been able to control herself. The first time in so, so, long that she had fallen back into the flame of those memories, of that pain. 

A soft voice whispered gently to her, taking her off guard, and she looked up to see Killian slowly extricating himself from the bathtub. He raised his hands in supplication, kneeling several feet away from her. She choked out a strangled noise and he shook his head. 

“It's alright, it's OK, lo - er…” He gave a sheepish look, thinking for a moment. He smiled in a sad sort of way after a moment, before continuing, “It's alright. Just tell me how I can help. Maybe a glass of water?” Emma nodded slowly. “Alright, I'll fetch you a bottle.”

At his retreat, Emma let her herself take stock of what had happened, falling back into her times under clinical observation. Mary Margaret had been a stone faced angel, taking in her pain and working a life around it, going as far as releasing care notes when she felt Emma was ready. She had met David, Emma's adoptive brother that way, resulting in a very happy marriage.

“Patient refuses to accept human contact, even using high concentration chemical cleaning agents on skin.”

“Patient has no history of obsessive or compulsory behavior, but violence and destruction of property are noted in their state welfare file.”

“Attempts at getting patient to explain what happened on the night of the incident to victims causes patient to become increasingly distressed when her husband is mentioned. Questions regarding other victims or the causes of death are met with silence. Patient claims no memory of her actions.”

“Patient indicates possibility of further witnesses or victims at scene - hallucinations caused by trauma or psychosis?”

“Repeated attempts at questioning or explaining patient's obsessive actions or fear of touch are met with hostility, while questioning in regards to matrimonial life is indicative of abuse. Patient advocate (M. M.) recommends home based care, with patient's brother.”

“Patient continues to allow touch in sparing amounts among family, friends, and in situations where they are prepared. Therapy with preferred Doctor is continuing as part of a deferred sentence. Patient advocate (M. M.) states that large improvement has been made outside of care facilities. Recommending end of observational treatment.”

Killian placed the water next to her, as the feeling of oxygen in her lungs weighed her down. 

“Thanks.” Emma croaked, voice raspy. Killian sat down in front of her, legs crossed as he watched her drink with shaking hands. 

Scratching behind his ear, he looked sideways across the floor, picking at a chipped piece of tile. “It was nothing. I'm sorry that -”

“Don't be. I just have a thing about touch.” Emma stood briskly, ice back in her unsteady tone at glacial levels. “You couldn't have known, and since you are going to be scarcely around it won't be an issue, as we discussed earlier.”

Killian snorted, and stood as well, rocking on his heels. “I was going to say that I'm sorry it took so long, and I brought you some… other items.” His face changed, haughty to solemn, watching her hands tremble as she shoved them in her pockets. “You're right, we won't be seeing each other often. If you need help with something, or finding your way around the estate, leave me a note under my door. If I need garden supplies, I'll leave a note in the kitchen.” 

He turned, walking towards the bedroom door. After a moment Emma followed tentatively, walking towards the door behind him in silence. She shot a glance at the bed, noticing the bandages, a tube of some ointment, a key ring, and a few pink roses. She stopped in the small salon, watching Killian open her door and give her a strained smile. 

“I'm sorry for touching you, as well.” Emma made a sound of protest, ready to tell him again that he was blameless, but he persisted. “While I couldn't have known, my presence here has never been… convenient. I had hoped that had changed with the new owner. Good day, Miss Swan.”

“Wait -” He looked as surprised as she felt, the words racing past her lips, blurted at the last second. “What is your cell phone number? It'd be easier to get a hold of you that way, if I should need you. Not to say that I will…” Killian stared at her in abrupt confusion, his brows knitting. 

“I don't have a phone. The manor has one, should you need to use it.” There was something off in his tone, but her own cell phone had fought every attempt at service on the property, so this shouldn't have been too much of a surprise. The manor phone, she could work with that. 

“What's the number?” Emma pulled her phone from her pocket, the screen lighting up. Killian looked amazed in her peripheral, which didn't surprise her. The town was practically medieval, and this phone was the newest of its brand. Emma scarcely knew how to use it. 

“You have to set it up later, if you want communication by wire. Your device there -”

“It's an Android, I let the kid at the store set it up for me. If you want me to get you one, I can the next time I go to the city. They have a walkie talkie app that I think might work with a wifi connection once I have that set up.” Killian nodded, looking at her blankly. “Have you ever had Wi-Fi in the house before?”

Killian hesitated, his jaw ticking as he bit into his lip in thought. “I wouldn't know, love. I'm afraid that we’re a bit behind the rest of the world here, I don't believe we know what year it is most of the time.”

Emma laughed lightly, and relaxed a little bit more. “Most of us are trying to forget that it's 2019, so I suppose that's fair. I just enjoy Netflix and the occasional game of Words with Friends too much to go without internet.” Killian looked down at his feet, his face unreadable for a moment, fists balled. When he looked back at her and relaxed, Emma caught a glimpse of pure sadness, a mirror of her own pain, before it was carefully pushed behind walls of his own. 

Smiling softly, Killian laughed. “I have no idea what a Netflix is, but you are the Mistress of the estate. I encourage you to do as you wish. If you would like me to have a…” He hesitated again, as if searching for something. “A, er, shell phone, I will gladly oblige if you provide it and give me instruction.”

Emma snorted, and found herself genuinely laughing as Killian’s cheeks turned red. “You're actually funny. Alright. I'll try to get you a ‘shell phone’, old man.” Killian’s eyes darkened, his smile turning almost sour. “Between the two of us, we'll bring some life back into this place.”

He nodded, that same pensive look on his face, almost hidden by his smile. “Yes. Well, taming the estate is not going to be an easy task. I'll help you where I can, should you need me. Good day.” He closed the door slowly, and Emma listened as his footfalls fell away. 

Climbing into her bed, the mattress surprisingly plush under her, she bandaged her hand slowly. The roses he'd laid next to the first aid were beautiful, their strong aromatic scent filling the air already. Picking up one of the roses delicately, she sniffed, the full scent absolutely breathtaking. The throbbing of her skin faded, and all at once Emma felt herself relax. She felt invigorated, but her muscles were loose, and she happily moved her things into her room, making sure to place the roses in a porcelain vase. 

The rest of the day was spent taking pictures and taking full stock of every room in the large estate. It was exhausting and by the time darkness settled Emma had barely scratched the surface of the repairs needed. Neal had left a large sum of money for her, but this was a giant and expensive endeavor. Back in her room, she started a fire in the hearth and tugged on a robe over her pajamas. Opening the door to the balcony and stepping out onto the cold stone, she stared at the waves. 

Never, never in her wildest dreams did she believe that this could be her life. In the moment it was overwhelming, the only silver lining in the thunder cloud that was her marriage to Neal. A true story of a love turned into something poisoned, a once healthy plant that grew into twisted vines, strangling everything in its path. 

His hands tight around her neck, the air in her lungs not enough, she wasn't enough. The other women being led somewhere by the red haired woman with green nails, Ari's and Tam's bracelets heavy on her wrist even as she starts to feel herself go slack. The pressure is too much, black spots dotting the air, and somewhere close, another man hooting like some primate - Brown eyes meet hers, and for a moment he falters, fingers loosening. 

Emma kicks, kicks with all her strength, and when he crashes backwards she screams, screams like her chest is ripping apart just to resonate this noise, this wail of everything he lied about. It is a trick of light, a symptom of lack of oxygen, a freak occurrence spurred by the old home and poor insulation, bad wiring and mice chewed exposed cables. 

Neal looks at her and sighs as Emma can hear the red haired woman and her underling shriek. 

“Thank you,” Neal whispers, reaching for her, but Emma's banshee wail is not over and her mouth is a perfect ‘O’ as the rafters shake, tears stinging her eyes. A Swan song, she thinks, the end of her sanity and her life, the feeling of this cry flowing through her like breathing with every inch of her body. Her skin burns too, but not like theirs. 

He makes it to her on stumbling steps, a vision from a nightmare, her scream unending even as she stares at him in horror. His touch is like a branding iron, his embrace like raw flesh dipped in salt. Neal touches her face as he burns away, ashes to ashes, his hand becoming embers and dust. This is hell fire, and Emma can't stop her scream long enough to beg for this to end. His lips are against her ear and his last words echo as he falls away, falls to her feet, the building crumbling around them. Her scream ends when the ceiling piece hits her skull, and the world too, finally falls into blissful, silent, cool darkness. 

Far off there are sirens, and she can feel the burning when her body is lifted, but for now, Emma prefers the darkness even as Neal's last words occasionally echo through the stillness. 

“I'm so sorry, Ems." 

Emma came back to herself soaking wet, the rain that threatened from the horizon now in full force. It pelted her, cold, salt rain, pulled from the waves and forced from the sky. She was crying, sobbing in silence, but no one is here to see the rain wash away her tears. 

[tenspontaneite]

Peace Is A Journey (Chapter 4/?)

In which two human princes enjoy water, and Rayla is Not Amused.

(Chapter length: 11k. Ao3 link)

 Rayla did not sleep well that night.

She discovered, probably no more than an hour after she had finally managed to fall asleep, that Ezran had been half-right about Prince Callum: he did not kick too badly in his sleep. But he did sprawl, which was almost as bad, and did occasionally lead to its fair share of kicking. Every time one of his legs pushed its way obliviously into her side of the tent, or he ended up on his back with one arm landing on his brother and one on her, she awoke instantly, on-alert and hands going instinctively for weapons she wasn’t wearing. But it wasn’t an attacker in the night. It was just…humans. Humans who didn’t keep their limbs to themselves while they slept. Ugh.

The first few times, she kicked or elfhandled him back into his rightful place, becoming more and more bad-tempered about it as the night went on; especially given he didn’t even have the decency to wake up and be ashamed of commandeering everyone’s space. When it had grown late enough that the pull of the moon on her bones was starting to ebb, she gave serious thought to the idea of just getting up and sleeping outside, where no one was likely to put legs over hers or deposit arms over her side. In the end, she gave a loud and very grumpy sigh to the night air, and just…resolved to ignore it. So what if the human was taking up three times his designated space in the tent? She could just…ignore it. Maybe. With practice.

She did have a moment of somewhat vindictive satisfaction when, not far from dawn, Callum’s arm made the mistake of sprawling not only onto her, but onto her head. Which was facing away from him. And, therefore, was presenting him with the pointy end of her horns. He jolted awake with a yelp, mumbled something surprised and incoherent, and then promptly rolled over and fell back asleep again. Honestly.

Rayla gave up on the whole sleep thing sometime after dawn came, peeling herself quietly from the tent and extracting smooshed daisies from her hair as she went.

At the very least, a full night of disturbed sleep had served her better than a two-hour power nap. She felt tired, and ill-tempered, but slightly more like a functional elf than she had the day before.

She sat quietly in front of the extinguished campfire, watching the dawn colours spreading in the sky, trees rustling in what was shaping up to be quite a breezy day. She took the time to, very carefully, stretch and rotate the wrist and fingers of her bound hand, which was starting to swell unhappily, and was going a purplish colour around the bind. It hurt when she pressed her fingers against it, sore like a bruise, and went white and pale under the pressure of her fingertips. When she took the fingers away, the purplish colour swiftly returned. Uncertain whether it would help or not, she tried to massage some feeling into it, but it didn’t really seem to do anything except momentarily blanche its colour.

Rayla stared down at her hand, and wondered how long it would still be there.

She wondered how long she could hide it from the boys. It would probably be hard to avoid noticing if your travelling companion’s hand went purple and stopped working, right? The hand falling off – that would be impossible to conceal. She should…probably talk about it. That would be a sensible thing to do. They had a long journey ahead of them and she likely shouldn’t expect to have two hands for more than a couple weeks of it, if this kept up. They should know about that. They should know she had a limited time left to be fully effective.

But…

She’d have to tell them what the binding was for. She’d have to tell them that she remained, even now, bound by oath and magic to kill Ezran. And while she knew full well she’d much rather lose a hand than kill him…would they know that? Ezran had an unusual amount of faith in her, maybe, but Callum was less trusting. Would he doubt her?

…Would he ask about the second bind?

If he remembered that she’d had two ribbons, when they met – if Ezran remembered – she shivered, dread curling in her throat at that, more than anything else. Callum very obviously had an excellent memory for things he saw; expecting him to overlook the second one was foolish at absolute best.

How could she possibly tell them that their father was dead? That he was dead, and her people had been responsible for it? She’d hardly known them a few days, but even so – how was she supposed to find the words for something like this? It would hurt them so badly. She knew it would. Stars, but she didn’t want to do it.

She exhaled, heavily, and allowed herself a minute or so more to wallow in dread and uncertainty. But no more than that. There was work to be done, after all.

  Callum woke up before Ezran did, about an hour after Rayla had got herself up. It was good timing on his part, as she’d been considering going to wake them up soon, since she’d finished dismantling the campfire and clearing up after their dinner, and pretty much all that was left to do in the camp either involved her leaving to find food or waking the princes up so the tent could be packed.

She listened, half-attentive, to the sounds of shifting inside the tent, the elder prince yawning and muttering something that she couldn’t hear from this range. She wondered if he’d wake up his brother. In the end, all he did was stumble out of the tent, half tripping over the bags he’d apparently forgotten were there.

He had also fallen asleep in his flower crown, and had bits of it streaked through his hair. She huffed at him in amusement, and he finally seemed to notice her, half-way through pulling his boots on.

“Oh, morning, Rayla.” He greeted cheerfully, if a little awkwardly, and walked up to where she’d been sitting, settling onto the grass beside her. “Didn’t see you there for a second.”

She refrained from making a comment on his situational awareness and nodded back to him in greeting. “I’ve been up a while.” She said, in sort-of explanation, and then side-eyed him a little narrowly. “…Sleep alright?”

“Yeah, actually, being in a tent really helped.” He answered, apparently entirely oblivious to his own night-time restlessness, and didn’t seem to notice her half-glare at all. “How about you?”

She snorted. “Oh, yeah, I slept great.”

“So…you didn’t sleep well?” he squinted at her.

Rayla crossed her arms. “Whatever would give you that impression, Callum?” She wasn’t actually annoyed with him, really, just a bit…grumpy. Just a wee bit ornery. She felt it was only right that he be aware of it.

He huffed, half-amused, half-concerned. “You realise that I speak Sarcasm, right?”

“How wonderful for you!” She said, clasping her hands as if duly impressed.

“Yes, actually, it is. So?” He prodded, raising his eyebrows at her. “Did something wake you up?”

“You could say that.” Rayla agreed, and he just waited, staring her down expectantly, until she elaborated: “You move a lot in your sleep.” It was satisfying to watch his composure immediately vanish, a light flush rising in his cheeks, a stammer blooming in his voice.

“O-oh really?” He squeaked, suddenly looking every part the teenage boy who’d been reminded he’d been sleeping next to a teenage…elf. “Er. Sorry?”

His reaction easily alleviated the prickle of her temper, and Rayla felt her good humour returning to her. He was funny to fluster and surprise, this one. She snickered, and reached out to pat him consolingly on the shoulder. “It’s okay. I’m pretty sure you hit yourself on my horns at one point, so I think I probably got even.”

Callum’s brows furrowed, and he raised a hand to press thoughtfully at two points on his arm, close to the elbow, one on the upper arm and one on the forearm. “I did wonder where these bruises came from.” He said ruefully, still a little pink. “Uh, we can try putting Ez in the middle tonight, maybe? Maybe he’s not as bad a kicker as he used to be.”

“You two are such stupidly heavy sleepers.” She sighed, shaking her head. “It’s fine. I’ll see how I get on tonight, and then consider changing things up. For now, we need to work on getting going for the day. I was going to go find some food, but wanted to wait for one of you to wake up first.”

“Oh, right, yeah.” Callum looked glad enough to leave the uncomfortable subject of his sleeper’s conduct behind, and chuckled nervously. “I am pretty hungry. Er, should I wake Ez?”

She considered him for a second. Considered talking to him. Considered talking about…difficult things. Things she really didn’t want to talk about. In the end, she couldn’t even think of making the words pass her lips, so she sighed, and looked away.

But there was something else to talk about. Something that had been nagging at her. Something that was easier than life and death and the binds that tied her to their taking. “I wanted to talk to you about food.” She announced, abruptly, because they were days into this journey now and the closest thing to a varied diet they’d had was a bit of greenery.

He blinked, startled. “Oh. Okay?”

She turned more fully to face him, leaning back on one hand. The non-swelling, non-bound one, of course. “Look. We’ve been eating nothing but fruit for days – and a couple of leaves last night, I guess. I don’t know much about humans. Are you meant to only eat fruit? Is that….healthy for you? I got the impression – from what you said – that it’s not, but….what do I know?” Her face settled into something that felt like a confused frown, which was an accurate enough picture of her feelings on the matter.

“Uh….no. No, we’re definitely meant to eat more than fruit.” Callum admitted, after a few more seconds of being surprised at the subject. His shoulders settled a little as he, almost visibly, got himself into thinking-mode. “Normally, at the castle? We eat – bread. Vegetables. Fruit, too. Sweet things.” He sat for a second, clearly thinking through a list. “Eggs? Yeah, eggs. Milk and cheese. Meat, for most of us. Ez doesn’t eat meat a lot.”

Rayla nodded slowly at him, a little concerned. “And…do you need all of that? Or just some of it? Because that sounds pretty much like the things elves eat, but for us, some of it’s more important than other parts.”

“I’m pretty sure some of it’s more important for humans too, but I don’t know a lot about that.” Callum admitted, and leaned forwards, concentrating. “Uh…parents always tell their kids to eat their vegetables? So that’s probably important. Bread is filling? And people always seem to say you should be eating meat when you’re exercising?”

Rayla, who had been raised on fairly strict dietary regimens to accompany her training, thought this sounded quite elf-like, on the whole, although they naturally didn’t have such a fixation with bread. “Meat is good if you’re building muscle or just being active.” She informed him, feeling a little better about the conversation now she’d been reassured that meat was a regular and normal thing that humans ate, and she wouldn’t get accused of being unusually bloodthirsty for endorsing it. She considered how to continue, and in the end just went for it. “I can hunt, and prepare meat. I’m used to it – I’ve been helping with it for months – so it’s easy. We can forage for berries and edible plants, but I’d feel a lot better about things if we were eating meat as well.”

Callum watched her for several seconds, brows lowering into a troubled frown. “Honestly, so would I. And not just because it tastes better than random forest green-stuff.” he said, after a second. “But – I mean, he doesn’t completely refuse it, especially if it’s a special occasion…but Ezran prefers not to eat meat. He…gets along well with animals, I guess. Doesn’t want to eat them.” He fidgeted with the tail of his scarf. “I think he’d be alright with you hunting for us, and eating meat, but I’m not sure. He’s never had to eat it if he doesn’t want to.”

She hummed, pensive. “Well, I’m not going to force him either, duh. But it would be better for him. There’s things you can replace meat with, but not much we can forage from random wilderness as we go.” She shrugged, and raised her hands outwards, in a sort of helpless what can you do sort of gesture. “Maybe you can talk to him over the next couple days? Living on a berry-and-leaves diet is okay if it’s only for a week or two, but we’ve got a lot longer than that to go. I don’t want anyone getting sick.”

He rubbed the back of his neck under the scarf, as if it itched. “Yeah, I definitely can’t let my little brother get all…malnourished. Aunt Amaya would kill me. Dad would kill me.”

Rayla winced a little at that. “…Yeah, let’s avoid that.” She agreed, and stood, stretching out her shoulders. “On that note, I’d best go looking for some breakfast. Maybe you should wake up Ez.” She picked up the food jars and the cooking pot, painstakingly rinsed in the detestable water of the river, and waited for Callum to get up.

“Should we try putting away the tent while you’re gone?” he asked, coming to a stand next to her. He still had squished daisies in his hair.

She considered him for a second, and shook her head. “Not the first time. You’d probably make a mess of it alone. Wait for me to get back and I’ll walk you through it.” After brief hesitation, she reached out and plucked one of the flowers from his hair, presenting it to him. “You should maybe use the hairbrush while I’m gone, though.” She offered a teasing smile.

He returned it, charmingly sheepish, but only for a second. Then he frowned. “Rayla, why is your hand going purple?”

She snatched it back in a hurry, posture going stiff. “….Slept on it funny,” She lied, badly, shuffling some of the jars over to it to help conceal its condition. “Don’t you worry, it’s – normal.” She turned tail and strode for the tent, heart beating with mild panic at the idea he might call her on her highly transparent excuse.

He didn’t, in the end, but she could practically feel the scepticism radiating off of him in waves. “…If you say so.” He said, at last, easy-going, and walked over with her.

She bent to shove the cooking pot into her bag, retrieving the hairbrush for Callum while she was at it, while he crawled into the inner tent with his boots held carefully outside, and shook his brother by the foot. Bait grumbled at them as Ezran stirred, and Rayla considered if there was anything else she should take to go foraging. Should she take a bag, just in case she found something bigger that was worth taking, like a patch of mushrooms?

“Morning, Ez.” Callum said, from next to her, a smile in his voice. “You doing okay?”

“Mm, yeah.” She heard a yawn, and a vaguely intelligible murmur. “Slept good.” Well, Rayla was the odd one out, then. What a surprise.

She poked her head in to greet him, wearing a smile of her own. “Morning, Ez.” She echoed his brother, and he smiled sleepily at her.

“Hi, Rayla.” He said, and yawned again. “I had another weird dream.” He expressed, rubbing his eyes. He shifted the dragon egg more solidly into his lap and yawned.

“Was it the hippo with taffy ears again?” Callum asked, grinning a little as Rayla withdrew to prepare to leave.

“No. It was different this time.” He answered, eyes oddly faraway. “I was somewhere....small. And dark. And safe. And there was a voice whispering something to me. My name? Except it wasn’t my name, it was....” he frowned. “I can’t remember.” He raised this hands to rub at his eyes, still squinting, as if trying to uncover the detail of his dream from the edges of the tent.

“I’m off to get breakfast.” Rayla informed them both, and nodded at their farewells as she turned off.

First camps always took a while; both to set up and to take down. But this was really an uncomfortable amount of delay, so she’d have to do her best to be quick.

  Callum was honestly feeling pretty good that morning. He’d slept well – even if, apparently, he’d been a difficult tent-mate in the process – hadn’t walked enough the previous day to be achy, and today was probably going to just be some more easy boat-riding. Sure, Rayla probably wouldn’t enjoy the boat part at all, which was unfortunate, and she was hiding something about her hand – but he felt fairly optimistic as he and Ez packed up their stuff and waited for Rayla to get back. And then got bored waiting for Rayla to get back. And then – well, look, maybe it hadn’t been an entirely smart idea to try using the one half of Claudia’s lightning spell he remembered when he didn’t know how spells worked, but-

The point was, he’d been optimistic enough on waking that it really just figured he’d have a magic mishap before they’d even left the campsite. Because the universe just loved to punish optimism, apparently.

The next few hours didn’t really get any more fortunate. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Having called Rayla back from gathering early with his lightning-related difficulties, breakfast was decidedly light that day, and Rayla herself seemed pretty cranky as she directed he and Ez through the procedure of packing the tent away. It was late morning by the time they were ready to leave, piling their things into the boat, and Rayla staring at the boat like she’d rather swallow a live spider than go anywhere near it.

She did, though. As soon as she noticed him watching, in fact.

He and Ez teamed up to try to distract her from the water. Callum regaled her with the origins of Bait’s name. Ezran cajoled her into a word-association game. She didn’t seem especially enthusiastic about any of it, too occupied with trying not to lose her meagre breakfast, but, well. Any enthusiasm she had mustered was promptly extinguished when Callum put his foot in what had been a perfectly pleasant round of questions…by accidentally bringing up dead parents. So that was awkward. And she was unwilling enough to engage after that that he just sort of…left her to it, and went to paddle a bit at the front of the boat.

A couple hours down the river, Callum realised that, perhaps, the maps he’d partially-memorised in his lessons were not designed for people travelling along them in rowboats. Namely, because the river had transformed into rapids, and looked to be approaching at least one waterfall, and-

Needless to say, the two waterfalls, a capsized boat, a lake monster, a thoroughly terrifying dip in the same water that the lake monster occupied, and a narrow-escape from the lake monster…all added up to a less-than-pleasant experience. Even if it did conclude in a surprisingly illuminating heartfelt conversation about fear, and bravery, and the weight that Rayla’s parents had put on her shoulders when they fled their duty.

By mutual decision, they stopped by the shore of Lake Kalsa for a break after that, as everything they owned had been doused in lakewater. Rayla went off to look for lunch, with Callum and Ezran deputised to help get their stuff a bit less waterlogged. So they pulled the boat over, thankful that they’d stored the bags under the seats where they’d been prevented from falling out, and pulled everything onto shore.

“The tent is completely soaked.” Ezran said, making a face, as he opened the pack they’d meticulously stored just a few hours ago. “No way is this going to be dry in time for tonight.”

“Maybe we’ll just have to sleep out in the open for a night.” Callum shrugged, raising his hand briefly. “At least it’s windy today. Maybe if we hang it all up wherever we camp, it’ll be dry by morning.”

���Yeah, but it being windy means we’ll be cold tonight.” He sighed, putting the tent aside. “Let’s just try to dry off the other stuff. Like the towel. It seems weird for a thing that’s meant to dry things to be full of water.”

“We should at least try to squeeze out the tent a bit. So it’s not completely soaking.” He countered, and waved his brother over. “I’ll work on the tent, okay? You get all the other stuff out.”

“Yeah, sure.” Ezran agreed, and they set themselves to work.

Rayla returned probably half an hour later, with jars absolutely packed full of Moonberries and…some other sort of berry he wasn’t completely familiar with. Looked sort of like miniature blackberries. Ezran abandoned his bag immediately to make a beeline for one jar, Bait hopping eagerly at his heels. “How’s it going?” She asked, setting the jars down, and holding a hand – the going-purple one – up to feel at the inner-tent he’d hung on a tree branch. She grimaced. “…Well, that’s not going to dry for a while.”

“We’ve got everything laid out now….though maybe we went a bit overboard.” Callum said, eyeing her hand for a few seconds. She caught his eye, followed his gaze, and quickly snatched her hand back, breaking eye contact in a second. Because that wasn’t suspicious at all. He didn’t say anything, but made a face at her. “…It’ll take a while to pack everything up again.” He elaborated, after a second, and went over to investigate the lunch possibilities, sitting down next to Ezran.

“I was thinking about that, actually.” Rayla said, a little too-brightly, as if trying to brush past the issue of whatever it was she was hiding. “You said the lake town sits on a major road, right? How long do you suppose it would take us to get to that road?”

“Er.” Callum stopped, reached for his mercifully-waterproof book, and flipped through the wet pages carefully to the map. “If we try to go along the Lune a bit longer, and then get off the boat and walk…probably around three to six hours ish?” He made an uncertain noise. “I’m not great at judging the distances yet. If we left from here and walked to the road, we could probably get there in…four hours? I think? Maybe?”

“Hmm.” Rayla inspected his map, weird hand tucked somewhat conspicuously behind her back.

“What are you thinking?” Ez asked, words a bit mushy and slurred around his mouthful of mystery berries.

“I’m thinking…” She sat back, thoughtful. “…that if we keep going today, we’ll have to camp close to the road, since we need to cross over that road a safe distance from any towns. And I really don’t want to camp close to that road.”

Ezran blinked curiously at her. “Because Aunt Amaya might be coming through?”

“Or any other humans going close to the roads.” Rayla pointed out. “But…yes. Mostly your Aunt Amaya.” She clearly hadn’t gotten over the General Aunt Amaya thing yet. “I don’t like the delay, but after all that mess with the lake monster – I was thinking we could just stop here for the day. Unless you think there’ll be people here later?”

“Nah, Lake Kalsa is up-river from Kalsanis, and too far to walk to in less than half a day, I think.” Callum put his book aside, left open, to allow it to dry a little. “I guess it’s possible people could show up, but it would be kinda weird.”

Rayla considered it for a good while, eyes narrowed. She considered it for long enough, in fact, that Callum decided to get started on lunch, picking out one of the mystery berries to sniff at it. It did not smell like a blackberry, but smelled good enough.

“What are these called, anyway?”

“Hm? Oh, the fruit. Mulberries.” She answered, half on automatic, and looked up, sighing. “Yeah, I think we’ll risk staying here. See if we can get some stuff done, if we’re going to waste an afternoon.”

Callum, his mouth full of berries, waved at her with a sort of circular motion to continue. For a half-second he wished she knew sign, to make this very brief second of his life easier to communicate in.

She squinted dubiously at him but seemed to pick up his meaning. “We need to get the stuff dry, to start with.” She said, waving her hands at the many things currently hanging on trees. “You could try using your wind breath spell on them, maybe. Get the magic out of your system so you don’t electrocute anything else today.”

He swallowed his mouthful, holding up a finger to maintain a pause, then said “today’s second electrocution went very well, in my opinion. But yes! Magic sounds good!” Any excuse to practice magic was a good one, as far as he was concerned. “Anything else?”

Rayla hesitated. Just for a second, but it was enough to make him tilt his head, curious and a little more alert. “…Well, that big lake monster wasn’t the only thing you shocked. Have you looked at the water lately?”

Ez turned to look first, Callum not far behind him. “Uh.”

“Are those fish?” Ezran asked, squinting at the same small floating shapes on the lake’s surface that Callum was staring at. “Callum, did you zap the whole lake?”

“It’s lightning! In water! It kind of – does that!” he defended, crossing his arms. “It was necessary!”

“And, it might have got us dinner.” Rayla pointed out. “I wouldn’t want to try eating the lake monster, maybe, but there’s got to be some dead fish out there worth eating.” She hesitated again, and this time Callum understood why. “…if you don’t mind, I don’t really want to be the one who fetches those dead fish, if you catch my drift.”

“Ohhh, yeah, I guess you probably don’t like water any more than before, after all that.” Ez said wisely, nodding, and turned his head to the lake again, a hint of his planning-things look coming onto his face. Callum watched it warily. Sometimes, when Ezran looked like that, it was something perfectly benign. Other times, it ended with innocent older brothers having to pick crumbs out of their bed and clothing for weeks.

“That would be an understatement.” Rayla said, while Callum was still waiting for Ezran to do something, since he was clearly thinking of something.

“…Good job it’s not too cold today!” Ez declared, after a second, the spark in his eye turned into solid cheer. “Callum, we should go for a swim!”

Oh. Well, that was a whole lot less mischief than Callum had worried about. He’d been half-concerned that Ezran was going to challenge him to a fish-fight, or something. He inspected the water, trying to recall the temperature of it. It had been a shock to fall in after being in the boat for hours, but…it was spring, and these were the Katolis lowlands. The temperature was pretty mild. “Sounds good.” He decided, rising to his feet. “C’mon Ez, we should go now, so we’ll dry off faster.” He pulled off his scarf, still-drying, and laid it out next to the rest of the still-drying things.

Rayla rose up next to him, both hands up as if to forestall his movement, looking suddenly very alarmed. “Wait, you’re going to swim? I just meant – you should go out with the boat!” Had her hand been that purple this morning?

“…That would get us less soaked, true.” Callum allowed, after a moment, feeling vaguely put-out. Rayla’s shoulders relaxed a little with relief, hands dropping.

Ezran, however, was unmoved. “Well, you can take the boat if you want, Callum, but I wanna swim. It’s a nice day and a nice lake.” Rayla’s borderline-panic instantly returned.

“You want to go swimming in a lake that had a giant fish monster in it?” She demanded, incredulous, rearing back as if she thought his brother’s insanity might be contagious. “That seems like a good way to get eaten!”

“No way a lake this small has more than one giant monster in it. Giant monsters like their space, you know.” Ezran told her, not even remotely concerned, and stood, sweeping grass from his pants. “Callum, are you taking the boat? If you are, I can just throw you fish.”

He hesitated. “You can rest if you get tired, too, I guess, if the boat is there.” He allowed, after a second. He, too, didn’t think it was likely they’d find another lake monster in residence. Kalsa wasn’t especially big, after all. “I might like to go for a swim though, if we’re going to be here all day. It’s not like we’ll have much time for that sort of thing once we start walking.”

Rayla stared at them, a little open-mouthed, as if in complete disbelief. She couldn’t seem to find the words to object for several seconds, then finally managed it. “So you’re going to go swimming. Because you think it’s fun. On the off-chance that giant lake monsters don’t come in groups.” She summarised, her eyes wide with apprehension, and voice a little higher than was usual for her.

“Sounds about right.” Callum agreed, after a moment, offering a smile. “Relax. It’ll be fine. We’re both decent swimmers, and we’ll have the boat there in case any more monsters show up.”

“And I am very confident that there’s no more lake monsters.” Ezran added.

Callum blinked, but decided to go with it. “See, he’s very confident that there’s no more monsters.”

“And you’re an expert on giant lake monsters now, are you?” Rayla demanded, folding her arms, the initial panic and disbelief now steadily giving way to an expression that…actually looked kind of worried. Aw, he didn’t want to actually worry or scare her, that wasn’t good.

“Pretty much.” Ez said cheerfully, glancing up at a nearby tree. Callum followed his gaze, but all he saw was a squirrel.

Callum hesitated, and stepped forward, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Look, Rayla, if it makes you feel better – how about me and Ezran both go out in the boat to start with? And if nothing attacks us, we’ll swim later.”

She eyed him mulishly. He tried to look as earnest and reasonable as possible, and beside him, Ezran put on his best pleading-face, well-honed by years of sneaking jelly tarts past the town baker. She stared at them for several long seconds, visibly reluctant, then finally relented. “…Alright. But you take your magic cube with you.” She said, begrudgingly, darting to the side to pick up the cube in question from the ground. “And keep a close eye on it. Deal?”

“Deal!” Both of them chorused, sharing a discreet low-five, and Ezran shot off like an arrow towards the boat they’d dragged onto the lakeshore. Callum followed at a more sedate pace, pausing to pull off his gloves and jacket and toss them on the grass. He would rather not get his clothes all fishy, all things considered.

Together, they pushed the boat out and then climbed into it, paddling companionably towards the hulking island of the dead lake monster, surrounded by smaller bobbing fish corpses. After a fair bit of trial-and-error, they discovered that it was actually not all that easy to reach all the way to the water level from the side of the boat, so Ezran went partially over the side while Callum held him by the legs, his brother throwing fish over his shoulder and occasionally hitting him in the face with them. Some of the fish were smaller, some larger, but there were in general quite a lot of them. Apparently, a lightning spell channelled directly into water caused a lot of damage. He should probably keep that in mind. It seemed like the sort of thing that could come back to bite him if he didn’t.

“This is way too many fish.” Ez said, after he finally tired of hanging over the edge and grabbing dinner. “We’ll never eat it all.”

“We can probably eat some tomorrow?” He suggested, stepping carefully around the new floor of fish to return to the oars. “I mean, they shouldn’t go bad overnight, right?”

“I have no idea how fast fish goes bad.” His brother shrugged, and peered over at the shore. “…I think we should go back now. Rayla looks worried.”

Callum looked over and saw that she was, indeed, watching from the shore, shoulders slightly hunched, holding Bait under one arm and her other hand resting within grabbing-range of a weapon. He hummed agreeably, and together they set about returning to shore.

“We have so much dinner,” Ezran announced to her once they hit the silty beach, watching her posture loosen a bit as they arrived back.

She peered warily into the boat. “…I can see that.”

“No lake monsters either, as you may have noticed.”

“…Yes, in fact, I did notice.”

“So, it should be perfectly safe to go swimming, right?”

Rayla stared at them, plainly both unimpressed and uncomfortably, but also very obviously not immune to begging and wheedling. “…Fine, whatever, if you want to go splash about in a lake, be my guest,” She huffed, waving both arms towards the water. “But don’t take too long! There’s a lot to get done today, and if you think I’m doing it all alone, think again.”

“That sounds fair.” Callum said immediately, Ezran nodding rapidly beside him.

“Ugh.” Rayla offered, as her final opinion on the matter, and turned to storm up the shore.

Callum’s attention was pulled away when, abruptly, his brother slapped him on the forearm and declared “last one in the lake has to eat dirt!” and dashed to the water’s edge to start rapidly disrobing.

“Wha- hey!” he protested, and chased after him, shedding clothing as he went. After all, Callum had done worse things as challenge-forfeits with his brother than eating dirt, but that didn’t mean he was going to stand by and lose. It was the principle of the thing.

They scrambled along the lakeshore, leaving a trail of boots and assorted vestments in their wake.

  Rayla wasn’t sure what she’d done to get stuck with a couple of humans who thought water was fun, but it was really annoying.

She picked through all the drying belongings of the camp until she found the washrag, and took that and one of her weapons back down the lakeshore to the boat, shaking her head at the clothes that the princes had strewn haphazardly all over the place. They were going to be covered in dirt and silt when they tried to put them on again, but did they care? No, they just wanted to go swimming. She could hear them splashing about and cheering at each other and it was just – irritating. Very irritating. That was all, it was just annoying.

She hadn’t been lying when she said there was a lot to do. For one thing – who did they think was going to clean and prepare all those fish? Fish didn’t come magically gutted and ready to cook, and she suspected that was yet another thing that pampered human princes might not have quite realised.

A little vengefully, Rayla resolved to leave enough fish left over to make Callum learn how to clean them. Partially so she wouldn’t have to do it all, partially just to gross him out a bit. If he had time to waste swimming, he had time to spend doing gross necessary things. Like gutting fish.

She stiffened at the sound of some particularly vigorous splashing and a high-pitched shriek. They’re just messing about, she told herself, firmly, eyes on the boat full of fish she was meant to be working on. They’re having fun. They’re fine. She didn’t need to watch them. She didn’t need to supervise them. There weren’t any lake monsters and they knew how to swim and they were fine. They weren’t going to drown. She didn’t need to guard them. She had a job to do.

Teeth gritted, she climbed into the boat and started tossing fish overboard onto the lakeshore, one by one. She tensed and flinched at every water-sound the princes made – every splash, every shriek and yell the two of them made as they did whatever-it-was people who liked water did when they swam. She did not like water and didn’t like them being in it out of her eyesight but they were fine, it was fine, she should just…go deal with fish, somewhere up the shore where she didn’t have to be close to water, or to people messing about in water.

But…there wasn’t really any reason why she couldn’t just clean out the fish next to the boat. That way she didn’t have to carry fish up the shore, and she could wash away the guts easily. It would be more convenient. Supervising the humans could just be…a convenient side effect.

She took a deep breath, easing into a controlled rhythm of inhalation and exhalation like Runaan had tried so hard to teach her. She’d never been much for meditation. But the breathing tricks were handy sometimes. She ignored the way her stomach tightened at the sight of the deep water of the lake, so close by, and settled next to the pile of fish she’d made to start working.

Her blades weren’t exactly filleting knives, but they worked perfectly well if she held them right. She grabbed a lake trout with her bad hand and sliced carefully down its belly with the sword held in the other, excising a blob of gloopy viscera with a deft flick of the sword-tip. She worked at it for a minute, carefully not looking at the lake, and set it aside when it was done. Then, finally, she allowed herself to glance upwards to check on the princes. Just to satisfy the anxiety that the thought of them in the water provoked.

They were having a splash-fight. Of course they were. That would explain all the annoyingly-cheerful yelling.

She sighed, deeply, and reached for a second fish.

Rayla cleaned and set aside ten trout and one toothy pike before she decided enough was enough, and stood to cup her hands around her mouth and yell. “Oi! You lot! You’ve had your fun, now get out of there and dry off!” She watched impatiently as Callum, previously vanished beneath the surface of the water, re-appeared at her call, floating beside Ezran.

The noises she received back sounded like “aww,” but they were sort of cheerful and agreeable-sounding, rather than actually disappointed. Evidently, the crazy blighters had enjoyed their brief stint in the water. They must be mad. Absolutely mad. Completely bonkers. But at least they were swimming up to shore to be crazy on solid land, now. She rolled her eyes and rinsed fish guts from her hands, shaking off the droplets of water as she rose to wait for them to arrive.

Ezran, evidently a more enthusiastic swimmer, came ashore first, stepping gradually out of the shallows with Callum a couple of metres behind him.

“You didn’t exactly leave your clothes in a good place, you know.” She greeted the littlest prince with, hands on her hips as he emerged from the shallows, hair dribbling lakewater down his back.

“What do you – oh.” Ezran, who had stripped down to underpants to go swimming, lifted up the trousers he’d abandoned at the lakeshore, now gratuitously coated in silt. “Um, you might have a point.”

“A point about what?” Callum asked, stepping up beside him in a similar state of undress. Rayla blinked, then jerked her chin in the direction of all the abandoned clothing, a sort of flustered heat prickling insistently at her face.

“You’ve got grit all over your stuff. You might as well go back into the water and rinse it off before you dry off.” She informed him, pointing.

“…Ah. Hah.” Callum’s eyes followed her gesture to where his own clothes were, and he laughed sheepishly. “I guess it’s laundry day, then. C’mon Ez, let’s get this done quickly, alright?” He stepped over to pick up his things, and after a moment, Ezran followed his lead.

“What are we going to wear while this all dries, though?”

“Our slightly less-wet stuff up by the bags, I guess?”

And so they splashed back into the lake less than a few minutes after they’d left it, dragging their clothing through the water. They hadn’t even thought to consider going to look for the bar of soap (which had, in fact, reduced somewhat in size through its immersion in water). They really didn’t have a practical bone in their bodies.

Rayla sighed, shaking her head ruefully. She had a lot to teach these dumb humans.

She headed up the shore to grab the soap and returned to the water’s edge with it, waving it in the air. “You might want to use soap, if you’re doing your laundry.” She called to them, and waited for them to look over. Callum came tromping through the shallows to retrieve it from her, his various pieces of clothing slung over his bare arms and shoulders. “Don’t drop it. Or you’ll never find it again, and then we won’t have any soap all the way to Xadia.”

It nearly slid from his grasp that very second, slippery with the water on his hands, and he giggled nervously. “….I’ll do my best?” He offered, and turned to run back into the water, nearly falling over in the process. Honestly.

It might have been sensible for her to join in with the laundering, but frankly she was so very, very done with water today. If she never had to look at a water source again, it would be too soon. She sighed, gathering the cleaned fish into the washrag, and headed up the shore with a half-hearted hope that the boys wouldn’t lose their only bar of soap. She poked at the inner-tent, on her way past, and found it still really quite damp. Hopefully some sky magic would help it along. She set the fish down on a patch of grass around where she was planning to put the campfire, and then returned to shore again, waiting for the princes to finish.

They had not, she noted, lost the soap. They did speed up, seeing her waiting there watchfully, and shortly were stomping out of the lake with soaking-wet clothes. She rolled her eyes and took the soap back, telling them “Wring out your stuff and set it drying somewhere. We’ve got work to do.” She waved them off to follow her bidding and, five minutes later, they reported for duty. Still dripping from the hair and almost entirely unclothed, but they’d dry off soon enough. “Right then. Ezran, you’re on firewood. Get sticks, fallen branches, leaves – the drier the better. Make a pile nearby, alright? We’ve got lots to cook today.”

He grinned, looking far more excited than menial camp chores should warrant. Clearly the shine hadn’t worn off yet. “Yes, ma’am!” he chirped, and scampered off to inspect the roots of the nearest tree.

“Don’t go too far, alright?” She called after him, then turned to Callum, who was starting to look like he regretted being largely unclothed in the brisk breeze. “And you,” She pronounced, reaching to her side to hand him her other blade, “are going to learn how to clean fish.”

He took it, blinking at it with a singularly befuddled expression for a second, turning it over in his hand. “I am? Great!” He said, distractedly, as if he’d not actually heard her. He inspected her sheathed weapon, turning it this way and that, and looked about two seconds away from cutting his fingers off whenever he figured out how to open it, so she snatched it back to demonstrate, slowly, how it was meant to be done.

“Like this.” She showed him, smirking a little. It was kind of funny, really, how clueless he and his brother were about things she’d pretty much been raised on. Well, they’d learn. She closed the weapon again and handed it back to him to try.

Cautiously, he mimicked her, and successfully unsheathed one of her weapons by himself, albeit clumsily. A delighted grin spread over his face, as if something as small as opening a weapon were enough to please him. “Cool.” He pronounced, now turning the blade every which way to inspect it. “Magic weapons, huh?”

“Yep. And all we have for preparing food with, incidentally.” She said, and reached out to shove him gently by the shoulder towards the pile of fish. His skin was still slippery with lakewater. “Come on, you. It’s about time you learned something useful.”

“What, and my half-a-lightning-spell doesn’t count?” He demanded, still grinning, as he allowed himself to be led over.

“Something useful that’s less likely to electrocute bystanders.” She rolled her eyes, smiling tolerantly back at him, and sat him down by the fish. “Right then. Watch how I do it, alright?” She took a fish and walked him through the process. He made faces at the guts, but didn’t look away or have to take a vomit break, and stayed attentive and interested. She wondered if he’d have the same alacrity the first time he saw a bird or mammal being gutted. She sort of doubted it. That sort of viscera took more getting used to.

“That was somehow simpler than I was expecting.” He said, after she’d finished, holding her blade gingerly in his lap.

“Fish are easy. Much easier than animals.” She said, and tilted her head. “Ready to try? Or do you want to see it again?”

He considered it for a second, inspecting her and then the pile of fish. He reached out to take one and inspected it, fingers of his other hand twitching on the handle of her blade. “I’ll try.” He decided, suddenly determined, and leaned forwards to make his attempt. She sat back on her heels and watched, steadfastly ignoring his state of undress.

Most of his awkwardness seemed to come from not quite knowing how to hold the blade, which was fair enough. But he clearly remembered what to do well enough. His first attempt was a bit messy, and he grimaced at the fish guts, but he did a perfectly serviceable job of it. He glanced up at her. “That okay?”

She offered him a smile. “Not bad at all.” She said, and nodded to the pile. “I’ll stick around to watch you do a couple more, but I think you’ve got this.”

He looked pleased enough at that, just that small praise, that his entire face seemed to brighten. Rayla found herself drawing back a little, as if to put space between them, and wasn’t sure why. They weren’t sitting that close, after all. Callum didn’t seem to notice – he was already reaching for his next fish – but Rayla…she shook herself out of the momentary strangeness and supervised her companion’s progress, as she was meant to.

He was neater on the second attempt, and approaching quick on the third. At that point she nodded approvingly, said “Well, seems you’re doing fine. I’ll leave you to finish the rest, alright?”

He blinked at her, his previous mask of concentration lapsing under his lopsided smile. “Sure. I’ll try not to take too long.”

She reached out and patted him encouragingly on the arm. His skin felt fairly cold, and mostly dry – he should probably look to getting dressed once he was done, or he’d catch a chill. “Take your time. Try not to cut off any fingers.”

Callum laughed, only a little nervously. “I will...try not to do that, yeah.” he agreed, turning after a moment to reach for the next fish. Rayla gathered up the ones he’d done and took them over to where she’d piled the rest. Ezran had, throughout her observation of Callum’s fish-gutting, been doing his job; there was now a modest pile of firewood on the shore, and she could see the kid scampering about the treeline about fifteen metres along the lake, still happily at work.

Both princes seemed perfectly happy to help and learn, at least, even if they had no useful experience whatsoever. It was a hopeful sign.

Rayla gathered up a pile of branches and set about building the fire. There was a lot of fish to cook.

  All things told, Callum’s day seemed to be making a turn for the better, now that they’d stopped to do camp-things. His memory served him well in following Rayla’s tuition, and although he made a misstep here or there with the rest of the fish, all that meant was that some intestines spilled and he had to do a bit more cleaning of gross stuff before he finished.

Rayla was already situated at a cheerful campfire and arranging fish speared on sticks all around it when he carried the rest of the catch over to her. Once he was upright the wind was a lot harder to ignore, and he shivered, crouching to deposit the fish where she’d put the others, and putting her sheathed blade carefully at her side. “That should be all of it.” he said, settling for a moment beside her to observe the cooking. It already smelled good – really good. After days of berries and a couple of leaves, the savoury smell of the cooking fish made his mouth start watering pretty much at the first whiff.

“Thanks.” She said, a little distractedly, as she was currently trying to spear a fish-bearing stick into the ground, but the stick was giving way instead of the ground. She huffed, stabbed the ground with one of her blades, and put the stick into the furrow it left. She looked at him, nodding approvingly as she observed the fish he’d deposited at her side. “Any problems?”

“Eh, I made something nasty spill out a couple of times, but that’s it.” He smiled crookedly. “Managed not to cut off any fingers.” he waggled them at her.

She huffed a laugh, and reached out to take her blade back, hanging it back near the underside of her jacket-thing. “Well done.” She congratulated him, amused, and waggled her own fingers back at him, two fewer than his own. He tried not to frown at the increasingly-purple left hand. “Ready for another job?”

He straightened, as much as he could when half-kneeling next to a campfire. Its warmth was welcome, given the increasing chill of the breeze. “Sure?”

Rayla pointed to the various belongings hanging on trees, swaying in the breeze. “See if you can dry the tent. And try not to blow the camp away while you’re doing it.”

“Oh yeah! He remembered. “Right, I was meant to be doing that. I'll just-” He stood, and had stepped half towards the hanging inner-tent before a fresh gust of wind reminded him that he was still wearing almost nothing. “...Maybe I’ll get dressed first.”

  Somewhat more than an hour later, Callum had increased his number of spells cast by pretty much a factor of twenty, and had only slightly blown the camp away in the process, and only put the campfire out once. His own still-damp clothes became steadily drier in the process, and his hair more profoundly windblown. After a while Ezran finished making his firewood pile and sat nearby to watch his brother blow magic air around, dragon egg in his lap and Bait atop the dragon egg. By the twelfth iteration of the spell he’d started making silly suggestions, like asking Callum to belch out the spell’s air instead of exhaling it. As yet, Callum had declined to try any of these suggestions.

It was, maybe, pretty repetitive, casting aspiro over and over and over again, while standing on or weighing down whatever he was trying to dry, lest he blow their stuff halfway through the forest again. But Callum could not, in the least, ever imagine being bored with it.

He drew the rune over and over again, each time feeling that prickle of energy in his finger just before he tapped his finger forwards to draw magic into the air. He could never grow tired of it – of reaching out and drawing light into the sky, watching it pulse with energy and the first eager trickles of wind before he spoke to release it, feeling his breath taken and amplified by the magic into something so much more powerful. The primal stone tingled against his skin, heavy in his hand, almost as if the brimming energy inside approved of the outlet he was opening for it.

Aspiro. There was something really interesting, about that moment that his finger went from simply moving to drawing, shaping his will into the magic of the air. It was a maddeningly evasive thing – so hard to put words to – like a tiny, transient tickle of sensation. Like when he moved his finger forwards to draw the rune, he touched something. Just the faintest, strangest flicker of something...like the slightest hint of colder air, maybe. Or the feeling of touching metal in the day before a storm, but so much gentler. Or, really, he could compare it in feeling to the second of potential that separated his charcoal from the paper he drew upon. It was similar.

Aspiro. He cast it, again and again, never tiring of it. Never failing to find something else to notice. It was his breath that went into the spell – not his power, maybe, because that all came from the primal stone, but – it was his breath, his air, that he exhaled out into the magic. It needed him to take form. He tried holding that breath in, once, and felt the magic build into a gusty agitation that started spiralling out of the unfulfilled rune, almost like the sparks from the unfinished lightning spell. Even though he’d already said the word that should have finished the spell – it needed his breath. There was something really cool about that. All the power of a storm, and it needed him to take form.

That time, when he exhaled, the air left him almost too-fast, like the spell leapt down his throat to cling to the back of his breath. The windstorm that gusted out of him was more violent, after that, and not quite as neatly funnel-shaped.

He reached out to draw the rune again, and wondered what would happen if he drew it smaller. Would it make any difference? Would drawing it bigger make any difference? If he changed the shape, just a tiny bit, what would it do to the spell?

He drew it smaller, just to test that. The spell came out just as strong as the other dozen or so times. Huh.

He drew it bigger. Still, basically the same. Size didn’t matter, apparently.

He hesitated at trying to change the shape, though. That seemed like something that would have to make a difference, and he probably shouldn’t experiment with that when the camp was at stake if something went wrong. One magical accident was more than enough for one day, thank you very much.

Instead, he set about finding out if the volume he said aspiro at made any difference.

(It didn’t. But it did bring up the very interesting question of whether it was possible to cast a spell without actually saying anything.)

He was down to whispering the spell, which still seemed to be working fine, and raising his hand to draw the rune again for another, quieter try, when-

“Have you actually stopped to feel the cloak for the last five spells?” Rayla said, from directly behind him, and he jumped badly enough that he nearly dropped the primal stone, fumbling with it for several seconds before managing to catch and secure it properly. She didn’t quite manage to hide her tiny smirk before he turned around, armed with a primal stone and a half-hearted glare.

“You do that on purpose.” He complained, Ezran snickering at him from the side. Ezran, who had not warned him that she was sneaking up on him.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Rayla lied brightly, leaning over to pat at the cloak-bedroll he’d been drying for…possibly more spells than necessary. “And, I think you’ve overdone this one a bit. It’s dry as paper.”

“…Good for you, I guess, since I think that one’s yours.” He said ruefully, and took his boot off the edge of it to allow her to scoop it up. She felt along its length, humming approvingly, and rolled it up while she inspected the rest of the stuff.

She eyed the inner and outer layers of the tent, now dry and folded nearby. “Well, you didn’t lose the tent again, at least.” She commented.

“That was one time.”

“At least the tent is dry now, so we don’t need to sleep outside.” Ezran put in, leaning back. “And the egg likes all this sky magic. Look at it glow!”

They all collectively took a moment to inspect the egg. It was, indeed, glowing more brightly than typical, casting a large portion of Ezran’s clothes in bluish light.

“…Do you suppose sky dragon eggs are supposed to be near sky magic?” Callum wondered, stepping over to linger near his brother, staring down at the enormous egg. “I mean, maybe it always used to be this bright, but then it was locked up in our castle for months.”

Ezran peered at the egg’s shell with sudden concentration. “…I bet his parents gave him all the magic he needed.” He said, with that odd certainty he had sometimes. “And now Callum can give him magic until we get him back to Xadia.”

Rayla muffled a snicker, and patted Callum on the back. “Well, congratulations on becoming a dragon-parent, Callum. “ She told him, and then nodded her head back towards the hanging tent bits. “Anyway. I originally came over here to check on how you were doing, but if the tent is dry – mind coming over to set it up? The sun will be going down soon.”

“What, already?” He looked up, and…yeah, the sky was looking late-afternoon-ish. “Huh.”

“Can I help?” Ezran asked eagerly, standing up at once, Bait falling off the egg as soon as he moved, and landing with a soft thump and a displeased croak.

“The more the merrier.” She answered decisively, and led them all off to help with this vaguely-familiar element of camp-craft.

  “What’s wrong with your hand?” Asked Ezran, at one point when they were pitching the tent, and…well, Rayla had sort of been waiting for him to notice. Callum had certainly noticed, after all, and had been sending her looks about it all day. He’d not asked again after the first time, though, even though he clearly wanted to. She’d appreciated that, even though every look made her stomach churn – but Ez was bound to notice it eventually, too. Of course he’d ask.

She stilled, half way through feeding the tent poles through, and forced a smile. “…Not important right now.” She prevaricated, eventually, and kept on at her task. Even though the stiffness of her increasingly sore hand made it harder. Everything she’d done with her hand today hurt, really, even if it wasn’t really bad yet. ‘Yet’ being the operative word here.

Ezran didn’t seem satisfied with that answer, and Callum was watching interestedly from his position feeding his own tent pole through, waiting to see what she’d say. “Rayla, your hand is purple.” The younger prince pointed out, brow furrowing at her, and the two sets of eyes prickled at her.

Discomfort, with an edge of panic, flared in her chest. She bristled, and ducked her head down, eyes fixed stubbornly on the tent. “Not important right now.” She repeated, with a harder edge to the words. She pushed the pole through perhaps more violently than necessary, and reached for the next one.

“But, Rayla-“

“Leave it, Ezran.” She snapped, and then immediately felt guilty. Still, though, she didn’t raise her head or attempt to capitulate; she hunched her shoulders and kept working. She could almost feel Callum’s unimpressed stare on her.

The sound of rustling from where Ezran sat. “O-kay. Fine.” He said, in the somewhat transparent tones of someone who was a little upset but pretending to be annoyed instead. “…I’m going to go top up the campfire.” He announced, and did exactly that, the sounds of his footsteps stomping away.

The silence when he’d gone felt distinctly accusative. Rayla’s shoulders hunched higher.

After a few more seconds, she couldn’t even keep up the pretence of continuing to work. She chanced a glance upwards, at where Callum sat on the opposite side of the outer-tent, and flinched slightly at the look he was giving her. Not quite properly annoyed, maybe, but definitely miffed.

“…You didn’t have to snap at him, you know.” He said to her, the slightest edge in his voice.

She looked away, feeling worse by the second. “…I know.” She admitted, right hand settling over her left, as if to hide it from view.

“You could just say you don’t want to talk about it. He’d understand that.”

“I know.” She bit back the ire in the words as best she could, not wanting to end up snapping at him too. She exhaled. “I just…” She trailed off, not sure what to say. The bind was tight around her wrist. The skin of her swollen hand prickled and tingled and ached. She looked up again, hesitant, and found him still staring, arms folded, expression somewhat stony. “…I’ll apologise. When he’s back.” She said, eyes returning determinedly to the tent fabric. She set back to the task at hand, half-watching Callum’s reaction from the corners of her vision.

He settled, somewhat, from the mild protective tension she’d unwittingly provoked in him. “Well, good.” He said lamely, as if not knowing quite what else to say, and allowed his arms to loosen. “Let’s just get this tent done, alright?”

“…Yeah.”

The quiet as they finished up the necessarily two-person part of the tent-pitching was not entirely comfortable, but not tense either. He’d apparently taken her promise of apology at face value, and was as agreeable as ever to her directives on what to do with the tent. They had it up in short order, now needing only the inner-tent and the tent pegs to be fully assembled. Ezran, meanwhile, had returned to the campfire with an armful of twigs, and was sullenly tossing them on, one-by-one.

“I’ll try to sort out the inner tent.” Callum suggested, in a fairly transparent effort to get her to go over to his brother. She gave him a look, but didn’t argue, waving him in the direction of the hanging fabric in wordless agreement. She needed to check on the latest batch of fish, anyway.

She crossed the relatively short distance to the fire in five brisk strides, ignoring the temptation to delay it by walking slower. She was not great at apologies. She was not great at difficult conversations, in general. But Ez was a good kid and she didn’t want to upset him.

Ezran, for his part, clearly noticed her approach, but nonchalantly kept poking at his firewood pile as if completely unconcerned. “Hi, Rayla.” He said, almost airily, as if nothing had happened, but he didn’t so much as look her way.

She crouched beside him, and took a deep breath. “Look, Ez, I’m sorry for snapping at you.” She said, and his eyes flickered upwards to hers for a second. He held the gaze for a second before looking back at the fire, tossing in another stick.

He was quiet for a few seconds, long enough that Rayla was about to try to elaborate, but then he spoke. “Are you going to say what’s wrong with your hand?”

She winced, and curled it towards her chest in a quick, reflexive attempt to hide it. The speed of the movement pulled a little painfully against the swelling fingers. “…Not yet?” She answered, almost pleadingly. He did turn to look back at her then, eyes fixing seriously on hers. She’d not quite noticed how piercing that shade of blue could be, before now.

“I can tell it’s important.” He told her, plainly. “But it’s your hand. You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want. Or Callum. It’s not our business.”

Rayla grimaced a little, and reached out to pull one of the fish-on-a-stick from the edge of the fire. “…It sort of is, actually. It’s complicated.” She exhaled a long breath, feeling the first inklings of a stress headache sprouting at the sides of her face. “But…not now? Let’s just…eat fish and relax for a while. After today it’s going to be pretty hard going, after all.” She attempted a smile.

He blinked at her, curious and not trying to hide it, but nodded without making any further moves to ask questions. “Okay. Sounds good.” He said after a moment, and finished putting the last of the sticks onto the fire. “….is there anything left to do on the tent?”

Her smile loosened into something more genuine at the hope in those words. She wondered how long it would be until Ezran no longer found the tent so intriguing. “Callum’s probably sorting out the inside of the tent. I bet you can help him with that if you hurry.”

Predictably, this led to the littler human of the party scurrying across to his brother. She watched him go, and watched him duck into the main tent to investigate, and then smothered a laugh as she heard: “Uh, Callum? Why is the door facing that way?”

There was a pause, then a muttered rude word from the older prince. Evidently, he’d started hanging the inner-tent the wrong way round. Rayla, who had done the exact same thing the first time she’d been left on tent duty alone, found herself feeling sympathetically amused about it.

She shook her head ruefully and eased a smaller river-fish from a stick and onto an increasingly large pile. They’d have plenty to eat tonight, and plenty of leftovers to spare, which was just as well. This interlude by the lake was probably the most rest they’d get for a while. In a day or three, the terrain would get decidedly harsher, and no one would be having fun.

Least of all her, with the hand she didn’t expect she’d be able to keep.

She flexed the stiffening fingers of her left hand, and sighed. Well, in any case…She’d best enjoy the calm while she could.

 End chapter.

 This chapter takes place on 15.05, day 5 since start of canon.

True story: I have put the inner-tent up the wrong way round before, early on in my hiking experience. This leads to the doorway to the inside of the tent being inaccessible, and is not advised.  Generally you don’t make that mistake twice, but it’s an easy one to make the first time.

Medical note: I am treating Rayla’s hand as a limb ischemia. Damage and symptoms will follow ischemic trends, with one notable exception: I am ignoring the worst effects of reperfusion injury. There’s some reasons for this. 1) canon does it. Rayla’s hand returns to normal in about five seconds with no apparent pain or consequence or, indeed, reperfusion. 2) I’m not going to let her off as lightly as canon, but I also don’t want to have to rearrange my plot to make room for fighting Rayla’s major organ failure, so. I’m just plain not going to.

The risk here is to Rayla’s hand and its assorted anatomical constituents, not to Rayla’s kidneys and heart; and there might be some inflammatory damage, but not the horrifying cascades of cell death you often see in reperfusion.

For the purposes of this story, let’s just say elves are, for whatever reason, highly resistant to reperfusion damage. Maybe not completely immune, but very very resistant. Feel free to imagine whatever explanation you like for that.

Afterword: thanks for the support everyone has given with comments and kudos and so on. I actually didn’t have an anxiety crash after last chapter because there was so much nice response, which was a pleasant change. Thanks again to Jelly who keeps offering enthusiasm and encouragement, and to Noip who has followed me through like three fandoms now and is always my best analyst.

I’ve now written about a total of like…83k of piaj? But ch6 is still unfinished because I’ve mainly been writing future scenes, rip. At least when we get to like, chapter 20ish, I’ll have a heck of a lot of content pre-written. Also I have all of the major currently-planned events on a rough timeline now, and it’s Fun. The latest major event currently in the timeline is currently loosely plotted around Day 50, and coincidentally, it’s the event that I (and Jelly) am most desperate to get to. (note: this is not when the story would end.)

I only have one complete chapter left to post, so....wish me luck on finishing 6.