#the expressive eyes and mouths allow for so much more variety expression wise

[bluegekk0]

Doing the expression challenge was so fun, it definitely lived up to the name cause portraying some of those emotions was a bit of a struggle (especially those I've never heard of before haha). I do hope people like it as much as I liked making it ;;

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

So I remember reading this somewhere in a fanfic that the reason ortho always has half his face covered is because his full face reminds Idia too much of the actual ortho so either him or ortho decided to cover it up so it won’t hurt him. Was there ever a reason stated why he covers up his face in canon or is this just a headcannon?

What you read in that fanfiction is just headcanon!! There is no official reason given as to why half of Ortho’s features are obscured. Typically this is the lower half of his face, but there are several instances in which his mouth is revealed and it’s the eyes that are blocked off instead. This is true of, for example, his Precision Gear and Burst Gear (two of the earliest Ortho cards in the game; this pattern holds true for all Ortho cards, although even if his eyes are covered, he does not have trouble seeing):

In one of his Birthday Boy voice lines, Ortho mentions that Idia makes him an Oral Re-Supply gear (presumably a modification or an attachment ghat allows him to simulate eating like a human does). However, this does not fully explain why some Gears without a need or a function for feeding (like Burst and Precision) would have mouths.

(Side note, you can see in the Ortho Precision Gear card where his mouth is revealed that he has normal teeth instead of jagged teeth like Idia. He does, however, have jagged teeth in his Fairy Gear and Cerberus Gear… which, story-wise, appear AFTER Ortho gains his own “humanity” and identity apart from the original that already passed (in book 6). So, in that sense, the shape the teeth take on may be associated with his character progression.

Being that Ortho's gears are designed by a variety of people (Idia, Crewel, even Ortho himself at one point), I don't believe that the decision to not fully reveal Ortho's face was done in order to preserve Idia's health. I can't imagine that Crewel would be aware of Idia's harrowing past to such an extent that he would account for it by concealing Ortho's eyes. I also feel like if Idia or Ortho truly were purposefully doing this for Idia's comfort, they would stop doing it after book 6 since that's around the point when Idia has finally come to terms with Ortho's death. He has recognized Ortho as his own person by the start of book 7 after grieving for years and years; showing Ortho's face in full would be a symbol of Idia having reached acceptance. The fact that it doesn't and that Ortho keeps covering half of his face when he gets to design his own look (ie Rabbit Gear) even though both he and Idia accept that he's independent of the original Ortho (+ Idia isn't around to potentially see his face) makes me think this is moreso an aesthetic decision more than anything else. Either that, or it's a missed opportunity I guess/j On the flip side, I can see where the thinking for the "Idia can't bear to see the full face so he intentionally covers it" headcanon comes from; sometimes people do what are considered counterintuitive things, whether consciously or subconsciously, to cope. (In Idia's case, that would be going out of his way to make a robot in his little brother's likeness yet not having the courage to fully reconstruct the face.) It can't really be fully explained by logic since every individual expresses grief and deals with trauma differently.

Extra food for thought: If you own Ortho Cerberus Gear, you have the option to display either the mouth or the eyes... but not both.

[kjack89]

Impasse (Pt. 3/3)

Part 1 here, part 2 here.

E/R, Modern AU, former relationship. Being stuck together leads to the more or less inevitable conclusion.

Given the sheer quantity of alcohol the man had managed to drink, Enjolras wasn’t at all surprised that Grantaire slept through dinner and all the way until the next morning. He was also, frankly, a little relieved by it. He wasn’t entirely sure that he was ready to have the conversation with Grantaire about what he had said.

Or, worse, ready to pretend to ignore it because Grantaire couldn’t remember it.

Enjolras honestly wasn’t sure which would be worse.

But all too soon, the early morning quiet was interrupted by a prolonged groan from the futon, and Enjolras sipped his glass of water with only a small amount of sympathy as Grantaire rasped, “Holy fuck, why?”

���Bourbon,” Enjolras told him dryly. “That’s the answer also to who, what, when, where and how, in case you were planning to ask those next.”

Grantaire cracked one eye open to glare at him. “Why did you let me drink that much?” he managed.

Enjolras just gave him a look. “Have I ever once successfully stopped you before?”

Grantaire groaned again and flopped over onto his back. “No,” he said. “But you still could’ve tried.”

“Maybe I did, and you just don’t remember it.”

At that, Grantaire sat upright, and Enjolras had to bite back a laugh at the man’s hair sticking up in a million different directions. “Oh God,” Grantaire said, eyes wide. “Whatever I said, just remember, in vino veritas is more a guideline than a hard and fast rule.”

“So I’ll take that to mean there are some parts of yesterday afternoon that you don’t fully remember?” Enjolras asked carefully.

Grantaire waved a dismissive hand. “Some parts, the entire thing, something like that.” His expression tightened as he glanced at Enjolras. “I’m sorry for absolutely everything I said or did, by the way, especially if it was, uh…” He trailed off. “Untoward.”

Enjolras arched an eyebrow. “Untoward?” he repeated. “You’ve been hanging out with Courfeyrac too much lately.” He paused. “Besides, you’re fine. It was nothing I haven’t seen before.”

He meant for the latter to come off as a joke, but Grantaire’s expression didn’t change. “If you say so,” he said instead, not sounding remotely convinced, but luckily, he changed the subject instead of making Enjolras convince him. “But you should still let me make it up to you.”

“How?” Enjolras asked, curious.

Grantaire looked pointedly at Enjolras’s midsection. “Well, for starters, you can let me take a look at your ribs to make sure they aren’t actually broken.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “I think I’d know by now if they were broken,” he huffed.

“Says the man who walked around for over a week with a broken wrist that you kept claiming was just a bad sprain.”

Enjolras considered it for a moment. “Fine,” he finally allowed. “If it’ll get you to drop the topic, at least. Not that there’s anything that either you or I can do if my ribs are broken, but…” 

Grantaire patted the futon next to him and Enjolras rolled his eyes but reluctantly perched on the edge of the futon, hesitating for only a moment before lifting his shirt up so that Grantaire could examine his side. He avoided looking at Grantaire, well aware that the bruises certainly looked bad, and he flinched only slightly as Grantaire lightly pressed against the bruises. “Sorry,” Grantaire said softly. “I know my fingers are rough.”

“That wasn’t—” Enjolras exhaled sharply as Grantaire increased the pressure. “Ok, that doesn’t feel great.”

Grantaire hummed in agreement before looking up at him. “Well, the good news is, based on my own fairly extensive experience with a variety of rib-related injuries, I’m fairly certain they’re just bruised and not actually broken.”

“Pretty sure I said that, but…” Enjolras trailed off, suddenly very aware that Grantaire’s fingers were still lightly pressed against his skin, and he flushed, tearing his eyes away. Grantaire dropped his hand as if he had been scalded, and Enjolras tried not to flinch again at the sudden loss of heat. “Anyway, uh, thanks,” he said gruffly.

Grantaire cleared his throat. “No problem,” he murmured, and for a moment, they sat there, side-by-side, in silence, every fiber of Enjolras’s being acutely aware of Grantaire’s thigh pressed against his, of how he could reach out and tangle their fingers together or rest his head against Grantaire’s shoulder, or— “You’re lucky that it wasn’t worse,” Grantaire continued, as if he was entirely unaware or unaffected by their proximity, and it took Enjolras a minute to even realize what he was talking about.

“I know,” he said after too long a pause for such an innocuous comment. “The police were even more violent than usual, and everyone in the crowd was getting bruised and bloody, and…”

He trailed off, sudden realization hitting. “Hang on,” he said slowly, and as if knowing what Enjolras was about to say, Grantaire quickly got off the futon, making his way over to pour himself a glass of water while conspicuously avoiding Enjolras’s eyes.

As if he knew he would see the accusation there.

“Everyone was getting hit,” Enjolras said slowly, watching the shoulders in Grantaire’s back tighten as he drained the glass of water. “Everyone was getting injured. But there’s not a scratch or bruise on you.”

“You don’t know that,” Grantaire muttered, still not turning around to look at him. “You haven’t seen me naked. At least not recently.”

Enjolras ignored the obvious attempt at what could have been either a joke or a come on (or, knowing Grantaire, both). “Why weren’t you injured?” he asked instead, struggling to keep his voice steady.

Grantaire jerked a shrug. “Luck, I guess,” he said, his voice sounding equally strained.

“Grantaire.”

Grantaire sighed. “Look—” he started, but Enjolras cut him off.

“Don’t you dare lie to me. Not now, not after—”

He broke off, but Grantaire’s eyes flashed to his for a brief moment before he looked away again. “I wasn’t injured because I wasn’t there,” he said flatly. 

Even though Enjolras had put it together, it somehow still shocked him to hear Grantaire admit it. “What do you mean, you weren’t there?” he asked, almost mechanically.

Grantaire shrugged again. “I mean, I didn’t go to the protest.”

Enjolras stared at him. “I thought you were calling it a riot,” he said, the words popping out of his mouth almost without thought, but it was enough to get Grantaire to finally look at him again, his own face flushed a dull, mottled red. 

“Whatever you want to call it,” he muttered. “I didn’t go. I came here instead.”

“But – why?”

“I figured you’d show up here eventually,” Grantaire said, as if that even began to answer Enjolras’s question. “And before you ask me how I knew which safe house you’d go to out of the, what, five we’ve got sprinkled throughout the city, give me some credit.” Enjolras had not even thought of asking that, and wisely kept his mouth shut. “This one was furthest from the action, which means it would take longest to get here, making whoever came here most vulnerable. There’s no way you would ask anyone else to take that risk.”

That had been Enjolras’s exact thought process, but he wasn’t going to give Grantaire the satisfaction by admitting that, and besides, he had a far more pressing question. “That’s not what I meant,” he said quietly. “I mean, why did you come here?”

Grantaire just looked at him. “You know why,” he said. “I came here for you.”

“But I thought—” The words stuck in Enjolras’s throat, because he knew what he had thought, knew that he had done what he thought at the time was a kindness, but now… “We broke up.”

“I know.”

“So then—”

“Just because we broke up doesn’t mean I want you to bleed out in some safe house,” Grantaire snapped, uncharacteristically sharp.

Enjolras wet his lips, trying to figure out what he wanted to say next. “I didn’t realize you still felt that way,” he said, which wasn’t even remotely true, and probably justified the look Grantaire gave him.

“You and I broke up for a lot of reasons, some valid, some bullshit,” Grantaire said impatiently. “But none of them were because I stopped loving you.” He met Enjolras’s eyes, something defiant in his expression. “And I don’t think it was because you stopped loving me either.”

“Grantaire—” Enjolras sighed, but Grantaire didn’t let him finish.

“I don’t remember everything from last night, but I remember enough.”

Enjolras swallowed. “What do you remember?”

“I remember this.” 

Grantaire closed the space between them, kissing Enjolras fiercely, hungrily, but this time, Enjolras didn’t hesitate before pulling away, just a little bit. “And do you remember me telling you this was a bad idea?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Grantaire said, his nose brushing slightly against Enjolras’s as he shifted. “But I don’t remember you telling me you didn’t want to.” He hesitated, his eyes searching Enjolras’s. “Just like I don’t remember you telling me that you don’t love me anymore.”

This time, it was Enjolras who surged forward, unable to stop himself, unable to remember just why this was such a bad idea in the first place. He cradled Grantaire’s face in both his hands, Grantaire’s hands falling automatically to his hips, the two of them slotting together perfectly like they always had.

Like they had never stopped.

They stumbled backward until the back of Enjolras’s knees hit the futon, but before he could even attempt to sit down, Grantaire had picked him up, and Enjolras automatically wrapped his legs around Grantaire’s waist. Grantaire laughed lightly against his lips. “Fucking Christ, did you gain weight?” he asked breathily.

“Shut up.”

For once, Grantaire seemed only too happy to do so, depositing Enjolras onto the futon before following after him so they could finish what they had started the night before.

----------

“Well,” Grantaire said, his voice a low rumble against Enjolras’s ear as his head was pillowed on Grantaire’s chest. “That’s a helluva way to cure a hangover.”

Enjolras huffed a laugh, tripping his fingers up the coarse hair of Grantaire’s happy trail. “That explains why you seemed to have less hangovers when we were dating.”

Grantaire carded his fingers through Enjolras’s curls. “It’s one reason, anyway,” he said quietly, before bending to press a kiss to the top of Enjolras’s head. “So now what?”

Enjolras twisted his head to look up at him. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“I mean…” Grantaire sighed, and Enjolras felt his contentment slipping rapidly away. “Fuck, Enj, please don’t make me spell it out for you. What does this mean for us? Where do we go from here?”

Enjolras sat up slowly, avoiding looking at Grantaire as he felt around, trying to find his boxers. “We don’t go anywhere.”

“Oh.”

The single syllable somehow cut Enjolras more than any of the screaming fights he and Grantaire had had, and he closed his eyes for a brief moment, steeling himself. “I love you,” he said finally, not really seeing the point in continuing to deny it. “If I’m being honest with myself in a way that I’ve been avoiding, I probably always will.” He forced himself to look at Grantaire, to meet his eyes. “But we broke up for a reason, the biggest of which being that we don’t have a future together.”

“We could,” Grantaire blurted, his eyes wide, pleading.

“Grantaire—”

“No, listen to me,” Grantaire said, his tone turning urgent. “I know that I will never be everything you want me to be. But I'm not completely useless, and at the very least, I'd like a chance to try.”

Enjolras shook his head. “It’s not about that,” he said. “It’s not about you.”

Grantaire’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Enjolras took a deep, steadying breath. “My die has been cast, so to speak. And where I'm going when we finally get out of this godforsaken apartment...you can't come with me.”

Grantaire went very still. “What are you talking about?” he asked, but before Enjolras could answer, he recoiled, the blood draining from his face as he finally understood. “You're not waiting for the heat to die down, are you?” Again, he didn’t wait for Enjolras’s answer. “You've been waiting for Combeferre and Marius and whomever else to make all the necessary legal arrangements.”

Even though that part wasn’t a question, Enjolras still nodded. “Yes.”

“You're planning on letting yourself get arrested.” Grantaire’s voice sounded strangely hollow, his expression impossible to read. “And not just on a minor charge that keeps you in county lockup overnight.”

“Yes.”

“So, what, you attacked that cop on purpose?” Grantaire asked harshly.

Enjolras shook his head. “No, that actually wasn't part of the plan,” he said, because he owed Grantaire the truth. “But when I saw what the cop was doing...well, let's just say it accelerated our timeline a little.”

“Do I even want to ask why you're letting yourself get arrested?” Grantaire asked.

Enjolras lifted his chin defiantly. “Because once I'm arrested, my defense team gets access to body cam footage, arrest statistics, everything they've been stonewalling us trying to get via FOIA requests. Marius will have a hundred plus subpoenas ready to go the minute I'm arrested on the grounds that my arrest was retaliatory. And if all that happens to get leaked to the public, well…”

He shrugged, and Grantaire just stared at him. “And if, God fucking forbid, you’re actually found guilty?”

“Then I'm prepared to do my time in service of all the people who are unjustly doing time for crimes they didn't commit.”

Enjolras had prepared for this moment so many times before he decided to just end things with Grantaire, prepared for Grantaire to yell and rage and tell him what an idiot he was. The breakup had seemed the easier route to take, but he should’ve known it would come out anyway, that he’d have to sit through it anyway, and he squared his shoulders, ready for anything.

Anything except Grantaire swallowing, nodding, and telling him simply, “Ok.”

Enjolras’s automatic defense of the Cause died on his lips, and he stared at Grantaire. “What?” he asked, his voice cracking.

Grantaire arched an eyebrow. “Do you need me to repeat myself?”

“No, I just—” Enjolras shook his head. “I sort of expected you to try to stop me.”

Grantaire snorted. “I learned a long time ago that I can’t stop you from doing anything.”

“Maybe not, but…” It was Enjolras’s turn to have a sudden realization, this time seeing the stubborn set of Grantaire’s jaw, the resigned lines that braced his body. He knew what Grantaire was planning, because he’d threatened it before, during one of their fights, when Enjolras had said he was leaving and Grantaire had pinned him down and told him that if he did, Grantaire would follow him. 

(“You’d follow me?” Enjolras had repeated, his anger seeping out of him. “Even if I went all the way to Timbuktu?”

“Firstly, I have no idea what you think you’d do in Mali, but yeah, even all the way to Timbuktu.” Grantaire had leaned in and kissed him. “Face it,” he had whispered, “you’re stuck with me.”)

And Enjolras could see it on Grantaire’s face – he intended to make good on that threat.

“No.”

“No, what?” Grantaire asked.

“No,” Enjolras repeated. “I know that look, and Grantaire, you cannot—”

Grantaire shrugged, nonchalant. “Well, unfortunately for you, you are going to be in police custody, so you won't be able to stop me.” He leveled a look at Enjolras. “Will you.”

Enjolras shook his head. “Don’t be an idiot,” he snapped. “I’ve made my choice, and I know it’s not one you agree with, but it is what it is. But you—”

“If you think there is any world in which I would not follow you, you're out of your damn mind.”

Grantaire said it easily, pleasantly even, but his words were edged with steel. Enjolras shook his head and stood, grabbing his clothes to give himself something to do besides sit there and stare at him. “So, what, you’re just going to commit some crime so you get arrested, too?” he scoffed. “You don’t exactly have the kind of arrest record I do. Drunk and disorderlies don’t exactly hold the same weight as inciting domestic terrorism, so it’s not like you can guarantee you’ll get sent to jail.”

“Sure I will,” Grantaire said cheerfully. “Mandatory minimums are a bitch, haven’t you heard?”

Enjolras knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Grantaire would figure out a way to pull it off. Even if it took him multiple arrest attempts, or doing something unbelievably, irredeemably stupid. 

Just like he knew that he had to do everything in his power to stop him. 

“I can’t let you do that,” he said sharply. “Not for me.”

Grantaire just cocked his head slightly. “Don’t you understand?” he asked, something almost gentle in his voice. “If you were in there and I was out here…” He trailed off and shook his head. “I couldn’t live like that.” His expression tightened. “I won’t live like that.”

“That’s insane.”

Grantaire shrugged. “Maybe,” he said. “But like you, my choice was made a long time ago. Whether we’re together or not.” He looked up at Enjolras. “You jump, I jump. Simple as that.”

Enjolras’s throat felt tight. “You can’t—” he repeated, but Grantaire just smiled at him, and the words of protest died on Enjolras’s lips.

“I would love to see you try to stop me,” Grantaire said softly, and he stood, crossing to Enjolras to kiss him once more. 

Enjolras caught Grantaire’s hand. “You’re asking me to choose you over everything I have worked for,” he said, his voice tight.

Grantaire shook his head. “I’m really not,” he told him evenly. “I learned a long time ago that the outcome of that choice would not be one that favored me.”

“But I can’t let you do this.”

“No more than I can let you go to prison without me,” Grantaire said, leaning in to kiss the corner of Enjolras’s mouth. “6 to 30 years is a long time. And I…” He shrugged, something catching in his voice. “I mean, I’d probably survive that long without you. But I sure as shit don’t want to.”

Enjolras couldn’t stop himself from kissing Grantaire again, a searing kiss that he could only hope captured everything he couldn’t bring himself to say. “What if I broke up with you again?” he asked when they resurfaced for air, his lips so close to Grantaire’s still that they were practically sharing the same breath.

Grantaire laughed breathily. “You tried that once already,” he whispered. “And yet here we are.”

“Here we are,” Enjolras repeated, the reality of it hitting him, the magnitude of what they faced hitting him. “So where does that leave us?”

“Pretty sure that was my question originally,” Grantaire told him with a smirk, though his smile faded slightly when he saw the look on Enjolras’s face. “Same place we’ve always been,” he said with a sigh. “At an impasse.”

“An impasse.”

Grantaire shrugged. “Your choice has been made, and so has mine. You jump, I jump.” He hesitated. “And even though I know I don’t need it, I’d still like your permission.”

Enjolras took a deep breath. “I don’t know if I can give you that,” he said.

Grantaire just smiled again, a little crookedly. “Maybe not,” he agreed. “But thankfully, we’ve still got a few days of being stuck in here for me to try to convince you.”

“I love you,” Enjolras said, a little desperately, even though he knew repeating it wasn’t going to change Grantaire’s mind, any more than the opposite would.

“I love you, too,” Grantaire said, taking Enjolras hand and lacing their fingers together. “After everything. Despite everything. Because of everything. And as much as I wish it were enough – as much as I wish I were enough – I get why you’re making the choice you’re making.” He squeezed Enjolras’s hand. “I just hope you understand the same.”

Enjolras wasn’t sure that he did, or that he ever would, but he knew that it didn’t matter. Not anymore. “So we’re at an impasse.”

“Yup.”

Enjolras nodded slowly. “Well. At least there’s no one else I’d rather be at an impasse with.”

Grantaire half-smiled. “Yeah,” he said. “Me too.”

[lilyrachelcassidy]

Summer Nights (2)

A/N: Is that... is that...? The unbridled enthusiasm I’m hearing? Or are you trying to reach me with torches and pitchforks for being so untrustworthy? Assuming the first option.

Anyway -- Yes, as I promised, this is the second part of the Summer Nights which you would hopefully enjoy. Waiting for your feedback. It’s the INDEX if you need a refresher.

ALSO, I give a lot of credit to @drawlfoy and @bored-and-botheredwho helped me with editing this chapter and steamed off my emotional breakdown related to my writing (lmao). I love you so much gals and a big THANK U once more!!!

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: coarse language; alcohol; Narcissa turning into a shitty-mother (lol)

Tags: @war-sword @paradigmax @winnsmills @idkatee@bforbroadway @okaydraco

The next thing Draco knew, he was being woken up with a massive hangover in the snuggly, way-too-comfortable bed by the high-pitched squeal of his mother.

"You, darling, made a lot of trouble for yourself yesterday," Narcissa admonished her son, a glacial cool look on her face. Entering Draco's hotel apartment, she walked over to the window and opened the drapes with one swift movement, splashing an annoyed Draco with light. He groaned, not yet daring to complain due to his mother's livid mood, to say the least.

"You have no idea of what happened yesterday, do you?"

"Yyy-" was the only sound he could make. God, where to the fuck was he? He hadn't been this plastered in forever.

"Of course you don't." Narcissa shook her head and laughed nervously, although she made it plainly obvious there was nothing humorous about the situation. "You blacked out so hard in that sleazy bar there is no way you can recall anything from yesterday. Look at you -- you are squinting at me like I'm the sun!"

Draco nervously ran his finders through his disheveled hair. He was definitely not in the right mind to provoke the conflict. "I left you the note at the reception," he informed her, trying to slickly get out of the unenviable conversation. "Told the receptionist to hand it over."

Contrary to his mother's accusatory ascertainment, he actually had some glimpses of the previous night (or should he say an all-night rave?). There were for sure drinks -- a lot of drinks; a variety of kinds he didn't recognize from the magical world but still guzzled delightfully. The second recollection was dancing --which wasn't his intention, but with some luck of his -- got invited by some hot-looking chicks from across the table. And yes, he definitely remembers the swaying and the rhythmical moving of the hips along with some cheesy muggle vibes mixed with the smell of booze and weed. Maybe he even hooked up with one of the girls? The last thing he recollects before passing out, almost like through a haze, was seeing Narcissa's furious face screaming something incoherent at him. Overall, that's his all night wrapped in one.

"Do you think the mere note 'I will be fine' was going to calm down my shattered nerves? Draco Lucius Malfoy, I swear to our dear ancestors, I did not raise you to act so irresponsibly." She waved the finger at him warningly. “We come from rich history. You are the descendant from a line of successful forefathers who put their effort into building up our reputation. Do you think Lucius would approve of such unrestrained behavior? I’ve been already hearing of letting you be too careless. Is tha-"

"Mother, could we skip the lecture?" Draco snapped angrily, try as he might to suppress it. "I've heard it too many times. All I’m trying to have is a peaceful life. Without the prying eyes of the media and the meddling of my family..."

"And all I’m trying to have is an integrated, happy family to offer you support and love.” Draco opened his mouth to cut her in, but she shushed him with a wave, clearly suggesting 'Don’t even get me started’ meaning. “I’ve been- been trying  to get a job, going through the infelicitous job interviews and looking for a solution to help our household through the post-war crisis. Have you shown any interest in that? Any?"

"But mo-"

"The last thing I want to have on my mind is dealing with your ignorant, boyish transitional stages, and let me tell you -- you do not make it any easier for me," she said without taking a breath. She exhaled slowly and continued, this time forcing a softer tone. "I ask you one thing for this summer. Let it be an enjoyable time without unnecessary conflicts. We have come to the beautiful country as France. Let's make a good thing out of it."

Draco, who was already wide awake by the buzz of adrenaline, looked at her with a serious expression. Scanning her face made him suddenly realize how hard must it have been for her to bear everything, and seeing the bags of tiredness under her beautiful, hazel eyes stopped him from retorting. "Mother, no matter what happens, I'll always support you. Remember that."

Narcissa smiled. “Oh. I know, honey, I know.” This time she lowered her voice by two octaves, slowly sitting at the edge of the bed. “It’s just… people have been gossiping behind our backs lately, partly throwing the blame at us. All I’m trying to do is protect us from those tormentors. But your binge drinking is not making the deadlock any better, and it drives me mad.” She chortled a little bit and patted Draco’s palm. “So, until the rumors die down, all we can do is raise our chins high.” Narcissa ended, her voice encouraging yet plaintive.

The last thing Draco liked is seeing his mother on the verge of emotional exhaustion, like in this moment. He felt an instant surge of sympathy, so he quickly found himself locking Narcissa in the supportive embrace. She responded to the gesture by wrapping her arms around her son’s neck and stroking his cheek delicately with the back of her hand, just like in the old times. Both of them yearningly wished to come back to those years of frivolity.

"I promise I'll try to be better," Draco said with certainty. Seeing Narcissa’s eyes light up in gratefulness and the smiley dimples form on her features, he assured himself it was the right thing to say at that mother-son moment.

“How could I be so lucky to have such a wise boy,” she muttered proudly, kissing Draco at the top of his head. “But perhaps you should not restrain yourself too much during the holiday. I give you the partial alibi per se. Just keep it under control.”

Smiling, Narcissa got up, straightening up her impeccable posture as in the habit of the high-status woman. For the first time in that day, Draco noticed how elegantly she was dressed up: the black, partly lacy dress stopping at the level of her knees; the shiny-white pearl jewelry perfectly matching her entire outfit; dark yet not defiant high-heels; andhair fixed up in the tight bun. In Draco’s opinion, she looked too prim...even for herself.

"Mother, are you heading somewhere?" he asked curiously.

“Well…” she started, blushing. “I’m going to see my old friend in the coffee shop. I haven’t been there for ages, so it’s one of the chances to meet up with them. Hopefully, you are going to take care of yourself for a few days.” 

"Days?" he asked, shocked.

“You didn’t expect me to travel from town to town, did you?” she laughed lightly. “Bordeaux is quite a route to overcome. So I might be settling there for a few nights. Do you mind it, darling?”

Was he positive about the information? Did he mind? Partly yes. He didn’t imagine the prospect of wandering around the alleys of France on his own, especially on the first day of being there. But from the other side, seeing the joy painted on his mother’s face as she told him about the planned get-together made him feel less skeptical. Plus, getting rid of the extreme supervision for a few days wouldn’t be such a disaster as well.

As he calculated now, the ratio about the idea was 90% pro and 10% against.

"Of course not," he said simply, smiling at his mother.

"I knew you would understand." The crease of uncertainty on her forehead disappeared, and she let out a sigh of relief. "Meanwhile... I have already booked you the brunch downstairs but seeing as you are not in the wholesome state, I might order a delive-"

"Don't..." Draco opposed, rising from the bed and throwing the nearest shirt he could find over his head. "I'll come down. Some fresh air may be a cure for a hangover. Oh, and speaking of hangovers -- do you happen to have an anti-hangover potion?"

Narcissa let out a quiet chuckle and clapped her hands, seemingly satisfied with herself. Her tranquil gaze landed on the cupboard. "As a matter of self-preservation, yes, I do. Try searching inside the bedside cabinet."

He thanked her and then they talked with each other a little bit longer until Narcissa took the pocket watch out of her handy purse, noted the time ("Merlin's Beard, I am so tardy! I'm going to be alone on the platform if I stay here a minute longer!), and –a little startled with her inadvertency – hurriedly declared she should get going ("I really should get going Draco!”). Pecking her son twice on the cheeks as a farewell, she rushed towards the door and, for the last time, turned around to blow a brief motherly goodbye kiss. She left in such a hurry that the only sign indicating her presence in the room a few seconds ago was her familiar perfume lingering about in the air.

Draco gathered his clothes, and after half an hour of very difficult preparations while dealing with the consequences of yesterday's actions -- because the potion finally hits after two to three hours -- he found himself in front of the hotel's restaurant. As he walked in, he had to admit the room enchanted him with its lovely atmosphere, which brought back the memories of his first Hogwart's magical feast as an eleven-year-old boy.

With the large windows allowing plenty of light in, the entire space was in the classical style. The whole floor was clad with marble tiles in the white-like color; the walls were purely white and, apparently, someone must have put a lot of effort not to let a single dust spot appear in there; the ceiling was created in the concept of the sky resemblance making an impression of the real clouds hovering over heads. Three enormous chandeliers made a very good fit with carved wooden tables and similarly-looking chairs.

"Sir, would you like to make an order?" The decently looking waitress walked over to his table, with a white apron around her waist and green, deep eyes staring at him. "I'm Laura, by the way. I'll be serving you today."

He nodded, not really paying much attention to her primitive attempts of having a chit-chat. Cursorily glancing at the menu, he decided on having a french bagel with melted cheese and a coffee which was a specialty of the house as was written in the recommendations. The waitress scribbled something sloppily in her notes, smiled briefly, and then strode away.

The restaurant was almost fully emptied, and the only things heard in the background were a heated discussion of the couple beside the table and a composition of french, old songs prepared specifically for the guests.

Draco let out a small sigh of boredom, thinking yet again about the scenery of today. The only ideas that crossed his mind were either lounging in his stuffy hotel room or finding another hang-out spot to drown his sorrows.

After the War, he had found out it was pretty easier not to give in to any of the memories, blurring them out with the support of Scotch as a coping mechanism. Pansy and Daphne, his childhood friends, had tried to talk him out of it, kindly offering some tenderness and a chance for a conversation. But he had eventually stopped caring about any of that bullshit anymore.

That's why perhaps he'd just--

"Hi!" said a cheerful voice behind him, making him jump slightly at his seat with surprise. At first, he thought it was a mistake; that he must have been deemed as someone else considering he didn't know anyone around, so was in the opposite way. Turning around, however, made him realize it wasn't entirely the truth. "Do you remember me?"

"Hello." Of course, he remembered her. It was the receptionist from the previous day, whose name he didn't bother to memorize. Although he planned on avoiding potential candidates for a talk today, he said truthfully, "Yes, I do. You work here, right?"

"Yeah," she confirmed, smiling. "Can I join?"

For a moment, his sluggish brain did not process what she was asking about, and that made him frown. The girl probably comprehended what it was about because she explained, reading his confused expression. "...the table".

"Oh," he said, feeling more than embarrassed for his dumb reaction. "Yeah, help yourself."

"Thanks," she mumbled, pulling out the chair to make some room for herself. "Tough night, huh?"

The inquiry made him suddenly realize she must have witnessed the whole scene yesterday -- him asking her for a favor, Narcissa drilling her out for any clues about his disappearance, his arrogant attitude, and scurrility as he spoke to her. For sure, if she were smart enough, she would deduce what the situation was about.

He couldn't help it, but a wave of shame pierced through his body, and his stomach rolled slightly.

"A little," he answered minimizing a dimension of the spree, almost like a lie, and then he shook his head. "Listen, sorry about yesterday. I might have been...rude."

A small smile of courtesy formed on her lips. "I presumed you were a little off. Happens..." she said tentatively, gripping both of her hands together. "Oh, and about yesterday -- you lost this at the lobby." She took his wand out, and Draco's stomach made a second roll, the heartbeat hastening like a speed of light. He quickly tried to bring his face to the natural expression, but the girl had noticed that, and curiosity filled her eyes. "I thought I should give that back. In case it was valuable or something."

Fucking great... How was he supposed to elucidate that?

His throat felt so dry he couldn't let out a word of excuse. The moment was so mortifying to him he just reached for the familiar wand and nodded politely in gratefulness.

"Mhm..." Draco hummed, barely audible and momentarily deflated. "It's just... Something I've been training with..."

What the fuck is that supposed to mean, dolt?!

"Oh," the girl unconsciously flipped her hair off the shoulders, probably trying to make sense of the information. Furrowing her brows, she put her hand under the chin. "Are you a magician?"

"Kind of..." he agreed, not happy about the reputation he had just created for himself, but at the same time satisfied he didn't have to make up more explanations.

Luckily for Draco, the uncomfortable pause was rescued by the arrival of the food -- thank Merlin -- and even though he hadn't been hungry at all, now he felt an unexpected appetite to eat up the awkwardness. The girl probably caught a hint it was about time to end an encounter because she grunted.

"Listen," the girl started, clearing her throat yet again. "I better get going. But..."

The next thing Draco knew was that she was reaching to her pocket again, this time taking out something similar to a quill, only without ink. He assumed it must some kind of muggle invention, only a mechanical-like version. The girl uncorked it and suggestively drew out her hand, clearly signifying he should bring his hand closer as well. He obediently did.

"France is a big city," she said, glancing at him and sounding serious. "If you ever needed someone to show you around, let me know."

Without any preamble, her soft, delicate fingers grasped his forearm (he made sure to give her the right one), and with a few scrawls on his skin, she looked at him merrily, blushing slightly, and then left a table.

He stared after her for a while, looking at her curls bouncing behind her back as she walked away at a slow, monotonic pace. After a few seconds, she disappeared out of his sight, letting him finally peek at the note she had left:

'Call me, Y/N,' and a nine-digit number attached.

XOXOXO

A/N: I know this part might have contained too little Draco x Reader momento, but I promise it’ll get better as a plot develops. Also -- is it only my impression, or is Narcissa as changeable as the weather in Germany lol.

[rwby-diaries]

Happy birthday Ruby!

Our most adorable shooting star is up! Ruby was born on October 31st (kept from CRWBY canon)! She came into the world just a pink little thing, and she stole everyone’s hearts with just one look. Her family loves her so much and so do we!

Line Art by: @bosiphas

Colour by: @data-plays-viola

Ficlet by: @lameclub

Edited by: @bosiphas @yang-diary @data-plays-viola and @thetopazvulpix

Ficlet under the cut!

“Happy birthday Ruby!’’ Different voices all cry out in unison as Ruby stands there with her eyes big and wide.

“You guys shouldn’t have!’’ She says awkwardly - causing Yang tomorrow her eyes and smirk in her direction.  

“Jaune spilled the beans, didn’t he?’’

Ruby scoffs loudly, “Whaaat? How could you possibly assume that our good, kind-natured friend Jaune--’’

“You don’t have to defend me, Ruby. It’s pretty obvious,’’ Jaune says while scratching the back of his head with an embarrassed smile. Weiss rolls her eyes as she walks over, taking Ruby’s arm and leading her in the other direction.

“You can count yourself out of the next surprise party,’’ Weiss says with a pointed look back at Jaune. Ruby giggles before turning around to better keep up with her friend. They begin to approach a round table not that far from them - causing Ruby to let out a giant gasp.

The table is decorated with many different trays of sweets and baked goods - carefully placed in order of colour and type. Ruby turns back towards her friends.

“You didn’t have to do all of this!’’ she says with a big smile on her face as her eyes well up with tears.

Nora giggles, "Ren spent the last two nights making sure every cupcake was perfect, didn't ya buddy?"

Nora finishes the question with a poke to Ren’s ribcage and a smile. Ren looks down at her with a puzzled look on their face, "You only turn 15 once - I don't see why I should hold back." Yang shakes her head as she leans on their shoulder with a smirk.

“We aren’t making fun of ya bud! No need to be self-conscious about the amount you made.

“Anyways,” Yang adds with an even bigger smirk, “Nora’s bottomless pit she calls a stomach will probably eat half of this in like an hour.”

Ruby giggles as she takes a single cupcake and, without an ounce of hesitation, bites into it. The sweetness burst to life in her mouth, causing them to hum in appreciation. “Oh! This is so good Ren, maybe the best thing I’ve ever eaten!’’ She exclaims as she quickly devours the rest of her sweet.

Yang whistles, “That’s a bold statement - considering we grew up around the self-proclaimed 'Best Cook in all of Remnant' - Uncle Clover.’’

Ruby blinks for a few seconds before she laughs in response. “Listen, both are on the same level as the other - actually this reminds me of my 13th birthday,’’ Ruby says happily as she finds herself becoming more distant and lost in thought.

~~~

"Uncle Qrowwww!" Ruby shouts as she jumps onto his arms; he catches and holds her up with ease. "I can't believe I get to spend my birthday with both you and Uncle Clover!" Her eyes sparkle as her legs dangle back and forth mid-air.

"How was the ferry ride from Patch? Hope it wasn't too scary to travel on your own." Qrow questions with a head tilt which only causes Ruby to scoff in response.

"You're talking to a future huntress here, Uncle Qrow - a little boat ride wasn't gonna scare me," Ruby says with a big smirk on her face before she continues "Besides I barely ever get to see you guys these days and no way was I going to spend my birthday alone!"

Qrow chuckles as he affectionately ruffles their hair. "Oz decided to let me have a free weekend. Coincidentally, Mr. Tin Man  felt the same for Clover," he smiles as she jumps back down to the ground.

"Tin man?"

Before Qrow could respond to her inquiry - the front door swings open and another voice is heard. "So, our favourite lil' whirlwind is here already?" Clover says with a smirk as he leans on the doorframe. Ruby lets out a squeal as she zips across the front lawn and practically leaps into her uncle's chest, knocking the man back a couple of feet.

"Uncle Clover, it's been so long!" Ruby cries out as they hug him tightly and Clover smiles warmly down at her. As she drops back down and takes a step back, she can barely contain her excitement, frantically patting her legs. Clover takes a few seconds to recover from the intensity of Ruby's hug, then looks down at her with a proud smile.

"I swear you've grown an inch or two since I last saw ya!" He exclaims with a short gasp - inspecting them closely.

Ruby giggles, "It's actually just my new boots," she explains as she shows them off proudly which causes Clover to whistle into admiration. Ruby pauses for a moment and gestures for their uncle to come closer, the other doing just that, as they stretch up to his ear in a stealthy fashion.

"But if anyone else asks - I finally had my growth spurt." Ruby whispers.

Clover takes a second to process that before he snorts and stands back up, "Your secret is safe with me munchkin." He finishes with a wink and ruffles their hair.  Ruby let's out a playful grunt as she frantically goes to fix her hair back to the way she liked it just as Qrow approaches from behind them.

"I'm gonna pop these bags up to your room, squirt, and then I hafta check on your birthday surprise," Qrow explains as he easily picks up and carries in her assortment of different backpacks and cases. "Why dontcha join your uncle in the kitchen?" He suggests with a smirk towards Clover - who beams brightly in return. Ruby nods enthusiastically and takes hold of Clover's arm.

"Yesss come on Uncle Clover, time's a wastin!" They cry out as they tug Clover in the direction of the kitchen which has her uncle laughing warmly; allowing for his nibling to drag him in the direction she wanted to go.

"We'll see you soon babe - shoot me a text when everything's ready!"  Clover shouts back towards Qrow and the other nods in agreement.

As the duo separated themselves from Qrow - they enter into the kitchen. The whole room was rather neatly kept - totally unlike Ruby’s kitchen at home, which often fell victim to plates and dishes piling up, especially if it was just Ruby and her dad.

On the table in the middle, there was a variety of different baking utensils and ingredients - all neatly sorted and ready to be used. Ruby gasps loudly as they sprint into the room, admiring her surroundings with great excitement.

Clover trails in not far behind the other and chuckles softly, "I was going to have the cake and everything else ready for you, but I remembered how much you love to bake, so I waited to make the cupcakes."  He tells them while watching the young kid take in the sight before them with big eyes.

"Always! Just because it's my birthday doesn't mean I don't want to make badass cupcakes-" Ruby stops herself when she realises what she let slip past her mouth and clears her throat. "Doesn't mean we can't make awesome cupcakes," they correct themself with an innocent smile. Clover rolls his eyes playfully, choosing to ignore that in favour of wanting Ruby to enjoy her birthday.

"Anyways! We should get started - would you like to do the honours?" Clover says as he passes her the bowl of butter and Ruby nods in a dramatic fashion. As she dumps its contents into the mixing bowl before her, her uncle pours some casting sugar in before presenting Ruby with the whisk.

"Use it wisely, young one." Clover says.

Ruby gasps while taking it carefully and nodding, "I won't let you down good sir." She tries to keep up the serious demeanor but she couldn't contain the giggles that were building up deep down. As they begin to whisk the ingredients together, Ruby starts to ponder on a few things.

She was excited beyond belief about spending her birthday with her uncles - it was a rare sight when both of them could attend. But… there were small things that were nagging at Ruby and refusing to let go. Their sudden quietness immediately catches her uncle's attention, who then turns to face her.

“Something on your mind?” Clover asks in a gentle tone - completely surprising Ruby who lets out a tiny yelp. It didn't take her long to recover from that sudden question as Ruby looks down at the mix and sighs.

“I'm happy to be here with both you and uncle Qrow but… It's my first birthday without Yang.” Ruby speaks very quietly as she slows to a halt and their hair falls onto her face - hiding her true expression. Clover watches with soft eyes as he lowers himself down to her level.

"I know how hard it must be with Yang being on that school trip and your dad being busy," Clover starts in a gentle tone while pushing Ruby's fringe back once more, "but trust me when I say you're going to have a great birthday with the most awesome surprise."  He gives her a big smile as the words seem to do the job of cheering her up. Ruby's expression lights back up and they wipe their eyes

"Thank you Uncle Clover," she says with a lopsided smile. Clover laughs as he kisses her forehead and stands back up - the pair returning to their tasks.

"So uncle Clover - a birthday surprise huh?" She asks with a sly smile.

Clover glances down for a moment before chuckling to himself, "You got that right." He doesn’t elaborate further, simply gesturing for her to stop the whisking for a moment. As he adds a small tablespoon of vanilla extract, while Ruby's curiosity reaches an all time high.

"I wonder what it could be - maybe a mega awesome present-"

Clover laughs, "Ruby I know you have long figured out I'm the weak link when it comes to surprises," he says with a side glance down towards the kid.

Ruby giggles. "Yeah I found out when you accidentally told Yang that dad was considering the motorcycle license-"

Clover hushes them with a small laugh, "Which your dad never ever lets me live down."

"But I promised your uncle I wouldn't breathe a word of it - so will a simple reassurance that you will love it suffice?" Clover asks.

Despite the desire to know brewing deep down within Ruby - she understood this was something super important to keep a secret. With a sigh, she finishes her whisking and nods in agreement. Clover pats her on the head

"Not much longer now," he says while taking the bowl away.

"Now remember - 15 minutes in the oven or you'll burn them!" Ruby calls as Clover goes to fill the pre-prepared cupcake pan with the batter.

Clover scoffs,"You're talking to the 'Best Baker in all of Remnant' here Ruby. I ain't about to let these cupcakes burn on my watch!"

After the batch has been fully cooked and decorated, Clover's scroll finally dings on the counter loudly. Ruby's head perks up.

"Is that Qrow telling us everything is ready?!" They ask while frantically patting the table.

Clover laughs, "Let's see." He walks over and picks the device up. After being silent for a few seconds, the man looks back up and smiles. "We have to head out back."

Ruby follows behind her uncle enthusiastically - as he leads them down the hallway.

Excitement was thrumming all throughout Ruby's body as they got closer and closer to their destination. About a dozen different scenarios were rattling around in their head at once - but they just couldn't come to a solid conclusion. Was it a new cape? Maybe they're getting a super cool motorcycle too?! Clover stops before the backdoor and turns to Ruby.

"Close your eyes buddy," he tells her with a big smile. Ruby did exactly as she was told and soon after did they feel Clover gently take their arm and begin to lead her forward.

Ruby could feel the cool breeze of the outside world as they were continued to be led by her uncle - the shuffling of feet could be heard too. After a few seconds, Clover orders her to stop and she does just that.

"Can I open my eyes now?!" They exclaim, growing more impatient by the second.

Clover laughs, "You can now."Ruby's eyes flutter open. After taking a moment to adjust to the sudden sunlight - Ruby focuses her gaze right ahead of her, letting out a huge gasp at the sight before their eyes.

"Happy birthday Ruby!"

Different voices yell in unison, coming noth only from her Uncle Qrow, but also from her dad and sister, standing next to Qrow with huge matching grins. Ruby begins to bounce on the spot before jetting across the grassy garden.

"Oh my gosh!" They yell, tackling all their family in one swift motion, everyone being knocked to the ground by the force of it. Everyone laughs wildly as Yang and Tai embrace Ruby.

"You said you guys couldn't make it!" They say with tears in her eyes and Yang swiftly wipes them away, a soft smile on her face.

"You didn't think I'd miss your big birthday bash, did ya sib?"

Tai nods, "I decided to get off work early and Yang finished up her Huntsfolk Observation Trip quicker than expected." The trio finally stand back up and Tai his head tilts in Qrow's direction before continuing.

"Qrow managed to pull some strings to make sure we were all here," he says with a smirk.

Yang scoffs, "I had to make sure these old timers were doing your birthday right." She gives both Tai and Qrow a smug grin. Tai playfully jabs his daughter in the ribs and Yang snorts in response.

Ruby's face lit up - not sure how to react. Tai's face softens for a moment as he turns back around to pick up an item he dropped when they fell, picking up a small book with a pink bow neatly placed on top of it.

"I wanted you to have this. We all spent the last week getting all the pictures printed and organized." He explains in a quiet tone while placing the book into Ruby's hands.

Ruby stares at it, seeing the words 'Ruby's Birthday' printed on the top stirred emotions deep down. Everyone crowds around them with supportive looks which encourages Ruby to open the book, letting the pages fall open somewhere around the halfway point.

As Ruby looks down at the page, she could see Yang holding their baby self with the help of Tai, her older sister’s eyes wide with wonder.

"Yang insisted that she held you the moment she laid eyes on you," Qrow chuckles fondly.

Yang gives a quick snicker in response, "I just knew how awesome my baby sibling was the moment I saw them," she says while ruffling Ruby's hair and the other pushes her off with a smile.

"What is it with all this hair ruffling today?!" Ruby asks with giggles sprinkled in between words.

As they flip backwards to the previous page, they see two pages of Qrow and Clover holding them as a baby as well.

"Clover of course, had to make a luck pun," Qrow says with a smirk in his husband's direction and the other stuck his tongue out playfully.

"So nothing much has changed between now and then?" Ruby points out which causes everyone else to laugh alongside them. Ruby turns the page further back towards the front of the book, seeing a picture of Tai.

"I remember when your mother went into labour - I quickly ran back into our room to specifically get that shirt," Tai explains with a short laugh, pointing at the red ‘#1 Dad’ shirt in the picture.

Clover scoffs, "You were planning that gag ever since Summer became pregnant too."

Tai waves him off “I’m the embarrassing father - I have an image to maintain!’’ He laughs and Ruby snorts in response  - looking up at her dad with happy eyes. After a moment, Ruby’s attention once again falls back to the book before them - as they flip to the first page of the book and Ruby finds herself growing silent.

Tai looks down at them with sad eyes as he places his hand on her shoulder "She wasn't scared at all when she was pregnant with you - I was more frightened than her." That comment has Ruby look up to her dad with a sad smile as she let him continue.

"She did everything in her power to make sure you were brought into the world safely and surrounded by love," he explains as everyone around them watched on in a wistful way "Your mom loved you so much Ruby. Every moment she spent with you was everything she could've hoped for."

That was what brought on the tears - as Yang and Ruby both found themselves starting to cry. Everyone  then closed in for a group hug. Nobody moved for a few moments, just choosing to instead enjoy each other's presence in total serenity.

"One last thing," Yang says with a smile as she pulls back and taking out a small camera. "Every year me and Ruby take a picture together for their birthday," she explains as she gestures for everyone to squeeze together "And this is the first time we've all been together in a long long time."

Yang places the camera on the nearby picnic table and sets a timer "Everyone says cheese!" She cries out while rushing over just in time as everyone screams out that word excitedly. The camera clicks with a flash and everyone starts to giggle. Qrow gives Ruby a quick pat on the head.

"Now let's dig into some birthday cake, shall we?" He suggests and Ruby gasps loudly.

"Birthday person gets the first slice!" She exclaims as she zips over in a burst of petals.

~~~

“That’s such a sweet story Ruby,’’ Pyrrha says with a warm smile on her face and placing her hands on top of heart in a fond manner. “Would you like to take a picture with all of us?’’

That question easily catches Ruby’s attention as her eyes go wide, “Oh my gosh yes! I’d love nothing more,’’ they say while jumping on the spot and clasping her hands together. “It’ll show off our awesome costumes too. I dont have one good birthday photo in Halloween costumes, and I’ve almost always had a Halloween birthday.’’

Weiss raises an eyebrow “Ruby, you were born on Halloween, every year is a Halloween birthday." Yang hushes Weiss with a playful push.

“You can survive one night without making a sassy remark Ice Queen,’’ she teases which obviously irritates the other but after a moment, Weiss takes in a deep breath and seemingly composes herself.

“Does anyone have a camera then?’’ Weiss asks.

Everyone looks around at each other before shrugging and Nora groans, “Where’s Velvet when ya need her.” . Blake’s head perks up as she takes out her scroll and gestures to it.

“It’s not as traditional, but I think your scroll could work.’’ She says with a small smile.

Yang’s face lights up “Once again - Blake is here with the big brain,’’ she says with a wink which in turn causes Blake’s cheeks to flush red and she looks down at the floor with a tiny smile. Ruby takes out her device and beams brightly.

"Everybody squeeze in - I’m pretty short,’’ she says loudly and everyone begins to crowd in around them, all trying their best to get in level with the camera. With a bit of effort, Ruby manages to hold the scroll as high she possibly could and she gives a big smile.

“Everyone say cheese!’’ She yells and everyone screams that word at the same time.

A flash on the scroll lights up the room before Ruby lowers it down - inspecting the picture that was taken. As they look at the photo, tears begin to well up in their eyes and she sniffles lightly.

Yang glances down with a fond look on her face and pats Ruby lightly on the head, “All good Rubes?’’ Ruby wipes her eyes and nods frantically.

“It’s everything I could’ve hoped for.’’

[nicketynic]

Prompt: Jon Snow falls in love with Sansa Rivers, Brynden's bastard.

Catelyn Tully Stark had never forgotten the strange, painful parallel of watching her uncle walking through Riverrun’s gates, her lord father’s bones in tow, cradling a babe bearing his look, imagining it eerily similar to Eddard’s return to Winterfell, the return that brought his bastard son inside the walls of his ancestral seat before his trueborn heir had ever graced them. 

Her feelings for Jon Snow aside, Sansa Rivers was her dear uncle’s only child, bastard-born or not, beloved enough to be brought with him to RIverrun as he took up regency for Edmure. Through letters, Catelyn watched her grow, transitioning from sweet, spirited girl to kind, dutiful young woman, thoughtful and grateful toward every bit of advice Catelyn offered. 

By twelve, Sansa had stepped so naturally into the role of Riverrun’s surrogate lady, just as Cately had before her, and remained so at sixteen when Robb’s march south saw armies and lords aplenty descend on the castle. Then Ned was gone, and sweet Sansa was a steady source of comfort and support in a sea of grief and loss. How could she not love this wonderful, giving girl, everything she would have wanted in another daughter if the Mother had seen fit, for all she never regretted helping Ned secure his bloodline, for all that Arya was a willful, spirited, irreplaceable gift?

Ned was lost to her, and a solemn specter of his likeness stood stalwart at their son’s side. While loss and his unwavering loyalty toward Robb had eaten away at the bitterness toward the bastard, nothing could stop her hackles from rising the first time she saw Snow’s eyes land on Sansa, widening with surprise and interest. So intent was she on diverting that attention, she nearly missed when Sansa began to return his gazes, until she was as moon-eyed as the boy. It was only the march into the Westerlands that relieved Catelyn’s vexation with the whole affair, and as the war raged on and months became a year, then two, she became certain the infatuation had long passed. 

Now, Jon Snow was a Stark-born bastard of a different variety, no longer a political unknown but the last scion of a dead dynasty, poised to have his pick between several noble seats. Some argued Dragonstone was his right so long as he let the name Targaryen die, Robb stood eager to see him landed and titled in the north, and Uncle Brynden himself had mused whether Harrenhal would be an acceptable compromise (granted to House Tully by way of Whent blood), if only to keep his daughter close by. 

Catelyn was wrong that time and distance would kill the attraction between Snow and Rivers, for all that Sansa had never spoken of or inquired about him within her hearing. Sansa herself had presented her desire for Jon Snow’s hand in marriage, and Brynden was showing no signs of refusing. Feeling the weight of his niece’s gaze upon him, Brynden raised his head, bushy silver brows over Tully blue arching expectantly. 

Catelyn hesitated for a moment, straightening subconsciously in her chair before she spoke. “Uncle, are you certain this is the decision you wish to make? The boy has prospects now, but the Targaryen legacy is liable to haunt him for the rest of his days. His children as well. Is it wise to subject Sansa to that?”

Brynden studied her for a long moment, deep wells of Tully blue full of something impossibly sad and wise. “Trust me when I say, little Cat, there can be no better judge of that girl’s happiness than Sansa herself. Her life’s already been hardship enough since the day I gave her the name ‘Rivers.’”

For the first time since his fateful decision, Brynden Tully was fully certain he had made the right choice when he plucked up a little red-haired waif from obscurity all those years ago, Tully auburn a beacon to draw his eye among a group of war orphans at Fairmarket’s motherhouse. All the evidence he needed was the soft, besotted look in Sansa’s eyes, the confidence in the way she spoke of Jon Snow’s love being true. That was all he could have possibly wished for the child who held his heart even if she wasn’t born of his body, much like the clever Cat sitting nearby. 

Let it never be said that the Blackfish of Riverrun didn’t look after his own. 

xx

Contrary to their elders’ assumptions, Sansa Rivers and Jon Snow hadn’t been blinded from the hardships of their world by infatuation or innocence, and had long since forged their own path ahead together. 

This day, Jon sat quietly in the shadow of several large old elms in Riverrun’s godswood. His eyes were closed, whether in prayer or sleep his audience was uncertain, only that he paid her approach no notice until he felt the light pressure of her hand on his shoulder, warm breath tickling against his skin with a whisper in his ear. 

“Perhaps it is improper to interrupt a man in such serious contemplation, but the solemnity on your face should be far removed from the beauty of this day.”

He jumped at the initial touch, glowering. Sansa allowed herself a few giggles at his disgruntled expression, leaning against his shoulder and letting her lips tease against the sensitive place below his ear. 

Jon looked at her sharply, and she responded with a soft reassurance and a firmer kiss to his neck. “I circled this clever spot you found from every direction I could conceive of, love. I only saw you since I knew where to look. We’re safe.”

Jon relaxed, turning in her arms to shift her closer, Sansa settling comfortably in his lap. She circled her arms around his neck, drawing his mouth to hers in a lingering, adoring kiss. She drew back at the need for air, giving him a cheeky smile. “Husband.”

“Wife.”

xx

For weeks, Sansa had felt the weight of eyes on her. Over the years of men coming and going from Riverrun, she had become accustomed to the hard, lustful stares thrown her way, unabashed in their audacity given she was bastard-born with no noble title to protect her modesty. The only thing that kept their stares as only stares, their hands from never daring to pinch or grope, rip or bruise, was the power of her father and cousin’s affection for her. Nothing more, certainly not through any virtue of her own, as barbed, gossiping tongues saw fit to remind her every season she was forced to play host to the ladies and daughters of Cousin Edmure’s bannermen. 

When she finally distracted herself enough for the chaos of preparing for war, she was shocked to discover the owner of these particular eyes. King Robb’s bastard half-brother, taciturn, solemn Jon Snow. A man who seemed too serious, too stoic, too devoted, for any woman to draw his eye away from his intense focus on duty. She puzzled over his interest, and several times she felt the burn of his gaze, she turned around to seek the source. More often than not, his expression was carefully composed into a sullen frown, and he was quick to turn away, but once or twice, she caught him unguarded. 

His expression naked and open, wistful yearning laid bare for her to see, unique to the entitled vulgarity she’d reluctantly grown used to over time. His was a quiet longing, appreciative and warm every time his eyes landed on her. Still he wouldn’t approach, not even as she began to return lingering looks of her own, not even when her smiles grew soft and inviting. He never came. 

So she went to him herself.

“I hope I’m not interrupting, my lord. Please tell me if my presence is unwelcome, and I’ll leave you be.”

“Your presence could never be unwelcome, my lady. And I know we’ve discussed that I’m no lord. Please, call me Jon.”

“Then you should remember I’m no lady, but I know from experience you’ll demure. So be it.” She smiled, slow and enigmatic. “Jon.” She drew his name out, testing out the sound, and Jon could have died from shame at the flash of heat it caused him. 

“Jon,” the sound of her voice, soft, husky, and alluring, was intoxicating, his name slipping from her tongue sweet as honey. “Jon, I’ve felt your eyes on me for weeks. Always watching me. Never approaching, Why? Am I wrong”

He couldn’t remember a time when his tongue had ever felt so thick and at a loss for words. “N-no, you’re not wrong.”

“Do you want me, Jon?”

She’d bewitched him, surely, how else could he justify actually giving voice to his next words? “Yes,” he choked out, voice hoarse. “Gods help me, do I ever.”

Her beautiful face hardened, something in her eyes growing cold. “So I’ve often seen, more through the years than I care to count. You’ve been kind, Jon. Courteous to a fault. Do you feel you have more a right to me because you haven’t resorted to slobbering and pawing?”

“No!” Jon went milk-pale, horrified at the very implication. “I would never dishonor you! I was never going to tell you, I swear it. Never belittle your worth with a delusion that I’d have any hope of your hand.”

“Hand?” In her confusion, something softened, peering at him with a puzzled, considering expression. “You mean to wed?”

Jon looked ill at the very idea of continuing to discuss his feelings, but he resolved to finish if only she could feel some measure of safety in his presence again. “A boy’s dream, my lady. I know that. I would never hurt you. Please believe me.”

“Oh, Jon.”  She drew closer, and closer still, panic rising in him as he saw faint tears glistening in her eyes. “I do. I so wished I was right, that what I saw in you was true. You just proved that.”

Hands on his shoulders, lips a breath away from his, Jon trembled, fists clenched at his sides to keep from touching her. “I won’t dishonor you,” he ground out. 

“Then wed me. But don’t leave me without knowing your love.”

“You can’t mean-”

“But i do. You return to war in a few days.”

“And you want to make yourself a landless bastard’s widow?”

“The hope is that I don’t become a widow at all. But where’s the stigma in being a bastard’s widow when I’m a bastard myself? I adore you for your honor, Jon Snow, but it’s not your honor I want to know before you ride into battle.”

“Gods help me. Gods help us both.”

It was the gods he prayed to save them that they wed themselves before later that night, kneeling before the sad-faced weirwood, then bedding down beneath its red-dripped branches. 

He kissed his love with the virility of youth, with the guilty passion and love he’d been harboring. They separated only before the need for breath became too great. He exhaled softly, not daring to open his eyes as deft fingers threaded through his dark hair to pull him into another kiss. His arms tightening around her, his hands grew restless, aching to explore further. Desire raged through him in a sudden storm of longing, tantalizing him to the point of desperation. 

He groaned, a low rumble resounding through his chest. At the sudden sound, they pulled away, each regarding the other with shy, darkened eyes. 

It was Jon who broke through the tentative silence. “I cannot leave you with child, Sansa,” he whispered softly, touching his hand to her cheek. 

She leaned into the touch, gently sighing at the contact. “There are ways around it, love, for all that I would love to have that piece of you with me.”

“I want that as well. Someday.”

“Then come back to me.”

Jon shifted closer, dipping his head to press his lips to her ear. “Always, so long as I am breathing.” He kissed her again, allowing his lips to linger for just a moment before descending in a trail of soft kisses down her jaw and neckline. Sansa responded with a breathless gasp, her hands working up into the folds of his tunic to meet bare skin. He groaned as she touched him, aiding her in allowing the garment to fall away from his shoulders. Drawing her into his embrace, her body molded into his as he pressed close. She gazed down at him, brushing heavy hair away from his eyes, tracing her fingers along the strong features of his face. The intensity of his dark gaze followed her every movement. “Love me, Jon. Please?”

He did not hesitate, his hands beginning to stroke and caress, his mouth seeking hers in a gentle, lingering kiss. Locked in a lover’s embrace, he pressed her back against the ground, the soft earth and the fragrant grasses of the garden floor cushioning their fall. Their world faded to the touch of mouth and skin, passion overwhelming every sense but that of each other. 

Jon sighed contently as he gave into the moment. “I’ve missed you so very much.”

“I missed you as well. Thank you for keeping your promise.”

He kissed her softly, his eyes so warm and full her heart swelled with feeling. “I promised you always, as long as I breathe. I wasn’t certain you would still want this, knowing I’m not who you thought.”

“Nonsense. Jon Snow, Jon Waters, Jon Blackfyre, it doesn’t matter, as long as you remain Jon at your core. And Jon loves me still.”

“As long as I breathe,” he repeated softly, this time catching her mouth in a deep, soulful kiss. Sansa’s arms twined around his neck as she opened beautifully to his passion, his ardor, his devotion, fingers burying in his hair to drag him impossibly closer. 

She pulled back just enough to speak, only a breath’s distance between their lips. “And if my kisses steal your breath away?”

“Then we’ll share it. We did promise to share this life together.”

“Then i can’t wait to share that journey with you.”

[star-killer-md]

Could we get some possessive Kylo?? of the nsfw variety?? thank you!!

A/N: God I love possessive Ky. He’s just so good. Also I feel like theres a huge difference between jealousy and being possessive and totally don’t see Kylo as the ‘jealous type.’ There’s definitely less envy in him and more like ‘don’t touch what’s mine.’ Anyway, have some semi-sappy and possessive smut. 

Unsurprisingly, Kylo has a hard time communicating his feelings for you out loud. The words get tangled in his head and escape him completely when he’s face to face with you. Even if it wasn’t so hard to describe how incrediblefascinatingbeautifulperfecttoogoodforhim you are, Kylo doesn’t think that any of those could really do you justice—could never capture how you transform every space you fill into something truly miraculous. How inexplicable it is that you’ve chosen to stand beside him.

Because of this, Kylo tends to show his affection and appreciation for you through his actions. Mostly by being attached to you at the hip. At any meeting, or his patrols of the base, or his training sessions, he always insists that you accompany him. And when you’re both alone in your shared quarters, he almost always has at least one point of contact with you. 

Since he places so much importance on physical proximity and closeness, Kylo can get a bit possessive. If he can’t be near you, touch you, display for everyone to see who you unequivocally belong to—who he belongs to—then he tends to lose control of his temper. 

It isn’t unheard of for certain officers or advisors of the Supreme Leader to be ‘relocated’ after standing a bit too close to you at banquets or letting their thoughts of you wander a bit too far in his presence. Kylo tries his best to keep his anger in check, knows you hate to see him upset, so sometimes he uses those times as opportunities to remind his staff who’s princess you are. 

It was not out of the ordinary for Kylo to suck dark galaxies of bruises into the lovely expanse between your breasts and neck. He’d lay you down at the end of the day, after all your tedious meetings and painful hours spent unable to hold you to him, and worship you. Leave you to bear his marks for weeks after. He adored how they looked on your pretty skin, and loved even more how it caught the eyes of everyone who passed you in the base. 

When Kylo was particularly upset with the way a certain officer was leering at you, he’d send them all out of the room to wait in the hall just outside while he took you on his throne. Bounce you up and down on his cock until you screamed for him, until they heard how beautiful his name sounded spilling from your lips. You always tried to keep quiet, buried your face in his neck and tangled your hands in his hair and tried not to moanwhinecry out for him. But he knew well enough by now how to make you come undone, get your pussy to clench around him and gush all over his cock. It wasn’t long until every advisor and representative got wise to what exactly the Supreme Leader was up to. And to be appropriately chastised for lusting after what was his.

Really though, Kylo was often ashamed of how possessive he could be. He knew how much you valued your freedom and it was hard to comprehend sometimes that you chose to be with him. Wanted him. But in those moments when he pulled you off into empty supply closets or unattended hallways and hiked your legs around his waist, slotting his hardening cock against you clothed core—pressed his lips to yours and wound his fingers around your pretty neck—you always kissed him back just as eagerly, always slipped your tongue between his lips and grinned into his mouth. 

Sometimes Kylo wished he could find a way to express the complicated amalgamation of things he felt for you a different way—one that didn’t involve him being buried to the hilt inside you. But being as near to you as your bodies allowed was the closest he could get to sharing the terrifying warmth that bloomed in the pit of his stomach when you smiled at him. And he desperately wanted to be the only one who got to see it. Luckily you didn’t seem to mind.  

[havenoffandoms]

Ghosts of the Past - Geralt x Jaskier

This is long (nearly 5k) and I won't apologise for it! Also posted under my pseudonym on AO3 Rose_SK. Here's the link. Anyway, hope you like it!

Warnings: implied smut, that's it

Summary:

Jaskier remembered a time when he was but a carefree young lad running barefoot on his family’s large estate, chasing butterflies and singing at his heart’s delight in between history and algebra lessons. He remembered his mother, a soft and loving woman, tell him that good things always happen to those who wait. However, the cherished memory of her wise words left a bitter taste in Jaskier’s mouth. He had waited long enough – two decades, to be precise, and nothing good had come of it.

Why is it that whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days it’s you shovelling it?

Geralt’s words echoed in Jaskier’s ears like a cruel mantra. He had replayed those words over and over in his mind. The memory of Geralt’s harsh tone coupled with the angry expression marring the witcher’s otherwise handsome features made Jaskier flinch every time his mind wandered back to that fateful day when Geralt had sent him on his way. Jaskier was beginning to doubt that he had ever been a worthy travel companion to Geralt, despite his many efforts to the contrary. When had the bard been anything but caring to this grump of a witcher? When had Jaskier ever given Geralt any reason to resent him, what, for being too kind? Too joyful, too interested in Geralt’s stories, too in love with a man who believed himself too monstrous to deserve any form of praise, attention, or love?

If Jaskier was at fault for being too good a friend, then he would gladly take the blame but that did not take away the pain he felt at Geralt’s rejection.

If life could give me one blessing it would be to take you off my hands.

It simply was not fair.

Jaskier remembered a time when he was but a carefree young lad running barefoot on his family’s large estate, chasing butterflies and singing at his heart’s delight in between history and algebra lessons. He remembered his mother, a soft and loving woman, tell him that good things always happen to those who wait. However, the cherished memory of her wise words left a bitter taste in Jaskier’s mouth. He had waited long enough – two decades, to be precise, and nothing good had come of it. Geralt was still as clueless as the first day they met, clueless that Jaskier had fallen head over heels in love with the witcher at first sight. Granted it did not take much for the bard to fall in love – he was, after all, a lover of humanity. He gave his heart away too freely, and got it handed back to him trampled and broken most of the time. Jaskier had learned to move on quickly from his flames, but with Geralt he had always found himself unable to forget the witcher. Even when Geralt would disappear for months on end resulting in Jaskier distracting himself by inviting perfect strangers to his bed. Once, Jaskier managed to seduce a knight to share his bed for the night and imagined that it was Geralt’s rough, calloused hands gripping his hips as he pounded Jaskier mercilessly (and somewhat sloppily). The next day, when the bard convinced a pretty maid to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh, he had positioned her with her rear facing him as he gently made love to her from behind and pictured Geralt in her stead. The witcher was always on Jaskier’s mind, even when the bard knew full well that he was competing for Geralt’s attention with Yennefer of Vengerberg. The competition was unfair, granted. Her dark curls framing her pale face, and those fascinating irises the colour of amethyst would bewitch any man, even witchers.

Damn her! Damn the djinn for linking Geralt’s and Yennefer’s destinies. Damn Jaskier for clinging onto the belief that if he waited long enough, he would be able to wear the witcher down. Damn the world.

But most importantly, damn Geralt of Rivia for triggering all kinds of feelings in Jaskier.

Jaskier tripped over the protruding roots of a pine tree and his body hit the muddy ground heavily. He cursed under his breath as he felt a sharp shooting pain in his foot. Trust him to twist his ankle in the middle of the forest, probably miles away from any kind of healer. He would now have to hobble his way through this treacherous thicket of trees, hoping he would reach civilisation before nightfall, or he would make a great snack for the wolves and other creatures looming in the darkness.

Jaskier could almost hear Geralt chastising him for his clumsiness, but no matter how irritated the witcher would have been, Jaskier knew Geralt would have helped him onto Roach and ridden to the next village demanding the help of a healer. He had done so before when Jaskier nearly choked to death on a tumour in his throat occasioned by a trickster djinn. Jaskier had never seen Geralt so worried, and it had filled his heart with hope that the witcher actually cared about him more than he cared to show.

I said some things to him. I’d like it not to be the last thing he remembers.

Geralt was convinced that Jaskier had been fast asleep at that point, but Jaskier had heard every word. Geralt regretted his words, which implied that unlike what he claimed witchers did have feelings. Some feelings might have been repressed more than others because of the various mutations, but they were there and that deduction had filled Jaskier with hope. A hope that was quickly taken away when the bard had seen Geralt and Yennefer having sex amidst the rubble. Damn Geralt of Rivia for breaking Jaskier’s heart, over and over again, and damn Jaskier for always running back to him like a lost puppy. Well not this time, Jaskier vowed to himself although he knew that if he ever saw Geralt again he would probably follow his heart rather than his head… again. He was a poet, after all. Poets did not think or speak with their minds, but with their hearts.

The setting sun cast a dark shadow over the forest and Jaskier felt anxiety take a hold of him. The sound of howling wolves in the distance sent his heart racing in his chest and sweat to trickle down his neck. Jaskier had to get a move on, and fast if he hoped to get out of this forest alive. He hobbled faster than before, ignoring the pain in his ankle. He stepped on dead leaves, fallen branches and brittle twigs on his way and probably caused quite a commotion in his wake, but the wolves would cover more ground than him in considerably less time. It was a race against time and Jaskier had no other choice but to win. His doublet got caught on the rough bark of a tree and tore at the sleeve. Jaskier’s panicked breaths echoed in the vastness of the forest. The world around him darkened considerably as the sun set further below the horizon. Jaskier noticed with dismay that he could not see the sky above his head because of the thick foliage of the trees. An owl hooted close to him, making the bard jump and let out a terrified squeal. He could hear the howling again, but this time closer. The wolves were on his trail.

Then, in the near distance, a flicker of light caught Jaskier’s eye. The tiny yellowish dot contrasted against the dark surroundings. Light! Where there was light, there were often people. Knowing this was his only hope, Jaskier hobbled faster than ever in the direction of the dot, noticing how it was growing larger and larger. Soon, other yellowish dots joined the first one and Jaskier deduced that he was getting closer to an abode, perhaps even a whole village. With some luck, Jaskier would find friendly people there who would put him up for the night. A small, cosy-looking wooden hut finally came into view and the bard felt relief wash over him. At this point, Jaskier was dragging his injured foot behind him as he emerged from the forest and rushed to the door, crushing some flowers and other plants on the way. He hoped his host would not be too upset about the destroyed flora. Jaskier urgently knocked on the door, feeling the whole structure rattle at his panicked actions. The bard heard movement behind the door, hesitant and slow, and it took everything Jaskier had in him not to shout at whoever housed there to hurry up lest they wanted wolves at their doorstep. Finally, the door opened several inches and revealed half a face of a woman with bright green eyes and fiery red hair.

“Can I help you?” her soft, melodic voice inquired when she saw Jaskier.

“Awfully sorry to bother you so late my good woman, but I am injured and need shelter for the night. If you would be so kind to let me in. I promise I mean you no harm. I am an unarmed bard travelling to… somewhere. See,” Jaskier shifted so that the woman could see the lute strapped on his back, “just my instrument, no sword, crossbow or quiver. Please good lady, would you allow a traveller to seek shelter in your home?”

The red-headed woman eyed Jaskier suspiciously, clearly pondering whether letting him in was a wise idea. Jaskier kept looking over his shoulder at the darkness of the woods, expecting wolves to jump out at him any time now. When the howling was heard again, painfully close this time, the woman opened the door wider and let Jaskier in. The bard let out a breath he did not know he was holding once the door shut behind him. He peeked out of the window to check whether the beasts had invaded his host’s garden, but he could not see a thing beyond the dark forest.

“Do not worry, they won’t come any closer than the forest,” the woman reassured him as if reading his thoughts. For some reason, Jaskier believed her and tore himself away from the window. He took in his surroundings for the first time since his arrival and noticed a variety of jars containing herbs, different coloured liquids and some even dead insects stacked on shelves amongst appliances usually used in alchemy.

“Your foot is injured” the woman stated, her tone cold and pragmatic but not unkind.

“How did you know?” Jaskier asked in surprise. The woman motioned for him to sit on a wooden seat close to her.

“You’re not leaning on it, which makes me think you’re in pain. Besides, identifying injuries is my job,” she added with a small secretive smile. Jaskier relaxed and went to take a seat next to the healer. He unclasped his lute from his back and placed it on the table to relieve his back from its weight. The woman knelt before him and took of Jaskier’s boot and socks to examine his ankle closely.

“Nice woodwork on your instrument,” the healer remarked without taking her eyes off his injured ankle, “Ebony?”

“It is indeed,” Jaskier confirmed, letting his fingers brush almost reverently over his instrument as a proud smile graced his lips, “bought it in Novigrad several months ago. Thank you for taking me in.”

“Don’t mention it. You do not strike me as particularly dangerous,” the healer prodded Jaskier’s ankle and triggered a pained hiss when she pressed on a particularly sensitive spot. She did not apologise for the discomfort she had caused.

“My name is Julian Alfred Pankratz, but people call me Jaskier,” he introduced himself.

“Which is it,” the woman asked as she rose and went to retrieve a jar filled with a white paste, “Julian or Jaskier?”

“Oh, I… I suppose whichever you prefer,” Jaskier told the woman, who was now rubbing the white paste on his swollen ankle.

“I assume that you were given the name Julian at birth, but since your name was not memorable enough for someone in your line of work, you went with the more snappy Jaskier,” the woman guessed correctly, “Dandelion… a name befitting of a poet. Would you recite some of your poetry to me, Dandelion?”

Jaskier was not too sure how to react, but the way the woman’s green irises stared at him expectantly compelled him to grab his lute and pluck at the strings absent-mindedly as he contemplated which song to perform.

The fairer sex they often call it,

But her love’s as unfair as a crook

It steals all my reason

Commits every treason

Of logic, with naught but a look

Jaskier felt bile rise in his throat as he sung the ballad no one had got to hear him perform yet.  Inspiration for him had come to him after Geralt’s painful rejection. A song about Yennefer manipulative hold on his witcher. A song about Geralt being too blind to notice the spell he was under. A song of longing, and heartache and lust. Jaskier always coming last whenever Yennefer was involved. It was almost as if Geralt lost all sense of logic when Yennefer was around. He would walk through fire for her, just like Jaskier would walk through fire for Geralt. Despite that, she had broken his heart and left him alone on that mountain, angry and lost. And yet when Jaskier had tried to pick up the pieces, Geralt had pushed him away. How is that just?

I’m weak, my love, and I am wanting.

Jaskier knew he would never see Geralt again. All because of Yennefer.

She’ll destroy with her sweet kiss, her sweet kiss.

Jaskier blinked the tears away that threatened to spill as he ended the song. He did not need the healer to see him so weak. The room was filled with total silence. The healer was busy cleaning utensils with hot water. She seemed unaffected by Jaskier’s song, which reminded him of Geralt’s lack of emotional responses whenever the bard performed a new song for him.

“You are a sorceress,” Jaskier deducted.

“What gave it away?” she asked but did not seem alarmed or surprised.

“I knew someone, doesn’t matter who. The changes that sorceresses and mages undergo change them in many ways. They learn not to let their feelings get in the way of their magic. Not to blow my own trumpet, but my songs often trigger vivid reactions. I sometimes envy you, you know.” Jaskier did not look at the sorceress, too scared he would see a mocking glint in her eyes. She will never understand his pain.

“I have heard about you, Dandelion. Your reputation precedes you. I know you have happy ballads, too. Sing me the song about the witcher, Geralt of Rivia,” the sorceress demanded, still not looking up from her chore. Jaskier hesitated, wondering why he should entertain her when she was not showing no compassion for his state of mind. Then again, she had tended to his wound.

“Would you at least tell me your name?” Jaskier asked, believing he was at least entitled to that if he was to spend some days with the sorceress until he recovered.

“Visenna. Now play.”

And so, Jaskier played.

888

“You seem to know the witcher Geralt really well,” Visenna commented on the second day, distracting Jaskier as he tried to write a new ballad. It was difficult enough to compose when his heart felt so heavy with sorrow that all his verses came out depressing and pessimistic without having to entertain a sorceress who seemed far too invested in Geralt for it to be a casual interest.

“I just have an active imagination. I can embellish any story. Give me a grain of salt, and I shall deliver a pearl. After all, it’s my job.”

Visenna stared at Jaskier intently, and the bard wondered if she could tell he was lying. Even if he hated Geralt for the cruel words he had directed at him, Jaskier was ever the loyal companion and would not deliberately compromise Geralt’s safety. He reserved that kind of pettiness for his enemies. At the minute, he was not sure whether Visenna was a friend or a fiend, so he reserved judgement until he knew more.

“I think you’re not being entirely truthful with me,” Visenna said as if reading right through Jaskier. Perhaps she was, come to think of it.

“We barely know each other. Even though I am eternally grateful for your help in patching me up, I cannot risk the safety of friends.”

“Geralt is a friend, then. I admire your loyalty, bard.” Visenna stepped closer to where Jaskier was seated. A sad expression took over her beautiful features, along with something else the bard could not quite read. Hope, perhaps? Jaskier was not used to sorceresses showing their emotions so plainly. After all, the only feeling the last sorceress he had encountered could muster was cruelty.

“I do not mean your friend any harm. Quite the opposite, in fact. Geralt and I know each other.”

“You do?” Jaskier questioned in a suspicious tone.

“We share the most primitive bond there is. That between a mother and her child.”

Jaskier could not believe what he was hearing. He thought that perhaps he was dreaming, but he quickly discarded that thought when a sudden jerk of his foot reminded him of his injury. Visenna watched Jaskier battle with his conflicting thoughts patiently. He had no idea where to take the conversation now that it was revealed that Visenna was in fact Geralt’s mother. Jaskier had so many questions, which brought up a range of conflicting feelings. The bard finally settled on confusion.

“You… but you’re a… I don’t understand… I thought…”

“That sorceresses couldn’t conceive? You thought right. And I thought the same as you when I met Geralt’s father. Yet, here we are.”

“Geralt’s father? Of course, that makes sense, you need a father and a mother to make children, it’s just… until this point I just thought that Geralt was…”

“An orphan?” Visenna supplied, “he isn’t. He never was. I took care of him for the first six years of his life.”

“You say this like he should thank you for that. You’re his mother. It was your job to protect him. Instead, you let the witchers of Kaer Morhen kidnap him and turn him into a trained killer.”

Jaskier’s confusion was slowly replaced by anger the more Visenna revealed about herself. The sorceress remained unfazed as she stared at Jaskier condescendingly.  

“Vesemir did not kidnap my son. To tell you the truth, I sent Geralt away to be trained at Kaer Morhen.”

Jaskier felt his anger flow hotly through his veins. He could not believe a mother would willingly send her child away to a place where they put young boys through a terrible ordeal, which only a handful of them survived.

“You willingly sent your son away?”

“Bard, when young girls are suspected to show signs of magic, they are sent to Aretuza to train. I merely wanted my son to receive the best education, to unfold his potential. A boy born from a sorceress was bound to be destined for great things. I could not have taught him as well as I would have liked to.”

Jaskier wanted to argue with that logic, but he could not. He did not know much about Kaer Morhen – and Geralt had never been willing to provide any information on what it was like growing up in the witchers’ keep. Jaskier had nothing to go on.

“Well if you were expecting to be reunited with your son, I am afraid to say that he and I have parted ways for good. He wished for me to be taken off his hands, and so I left. I do wish you the best of luck finding him. He is famous across the Continent, someone is bound to have seen him.”

Visenna raised an eyebrow at Jaskier’s words, but she did not press him for a story. Instead, she grabbed her coat and went outside to tend to her herb garden leaving behind a beyond confused Jaskier.

888

On the sixth day, Jaskier was getting ready to leave. The sorceress’ ointment had done wonders and he was able to walk on his foot without feeling any pain apart from a slight discomfort in his joints from not putting any pressure on his ankle for nearly a week. Visenna had packed some supplies for him and had insisted he stayed for breakfast before taking off. She had not mentioned Geralt again but had asked Jaskier to play many ballads for her. The bard had gladly complied. He was halfway through ‘Toss a Coin’ when Visenna abruptly silenced him by placing her hand over his lips. Her eyes were fixated on the door as she remained perfectly still, almost as if she were listening for any movement outside her hut.

“People linked by destiny will always find each other,” she whispered under her breath, but Jaskier caught her words nonetheless. Even if he wanted to question her words, Visenna was still covering his mouth and Jaskier knew there was no point in fighting her. She was probably a lot stronger than she looked. Jaskier could hear the faint sound of horse hooves thumping on the ground rhythmically before they came to a sudden stop. Shortly after, the door was kicked in and even though Jaskier’s first instinct was to flee and hide, Visenna was holding him firmly in place. All Jaskier could do was let out a scream muffled by the sorceress’ hand and widen his eyes in horror.

“Let go of him, whoever you are,” a deep voice rasped before Jaskier heard the distinct sound of metal on metal as the stranger unsheathed his sword. Something stirred in the bard upon hearing the voice that sounded far too familiar to be a coincidence.

“Good morning, Geralt. Put this sword away before you hurt someone with it.”

Jaskier tensed at the mention of the witcher’s name and at the sudden realisation that he had associated the voice with its correct owner. Geralt was standing before them, sword brandished and pointed at Visenna, an angry scowl on his face as he snarled at the sorceress.

“I said let him go. Now!”

Visenna took her hand away from Jaskier’s face and stepped away from him and towards Geralt. The witcher did not lower his sword, but he did not make a move to stab Visenna either. She brought her delicate fingers up to the blade and gently pushed it down.

“I let him go. Now you put your sword away. Was that not our unspoken agreement?”

“I never agreed to anything.”

Visenna stepped further into the light until her face was merely inches away from Geralt’s. She gently cupped the side of his face with her hand and Jaskier noticed Geralt’s expression falter as he got a better look at her features. The witcher dropped his sword as he scanned Visenna’s face. Jaskier wondered if Geralt remembered his mother at all. His question was answered when the witcher’s jaw tightened as he finally regained control over his own emotions. The next words that came out of his mouth took Jaskier by surprise.

“How do you like my eyes?” Geralt asked with pursed lips and if Jaskier did not know any better, he would say that the witcher was fighting back tears. “Do you know, Visenna, what they do to a witcher to improve his eyes?”

“Stop it,” Visenna ordered, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Do you know that it doesn’t always work?” Geralt pressed her, causing her to take several steps back as if physically wounded by her son’s words.

“Stop it, Geralt!”

“You don’t get to use that name,” Geralt hissed through clenched teeth, “Vesemir gave me that name.”

Visenna moved away from Geralt, revealing Jaskier to the witcher. His amber eyes considerably softened when they met Jaskier’s cerulean blue ones. The bard had never seen the witcher so vulnerable than in that very moment. Jaskier was tempted to put all his pent-up anger aside and gather Geralt in his arms to support him through what appeared to be a more difficult reunion than what Jaskier and Visenna had originally anticipated. Before the bard could make a move, Geralt’s eyes snapped back to Visenna.

“I need to know why,” said Geralt, his voice surprisingly steady considering the shimmer in his eyes. Jaskier stepped closer to the witcher because he had a feeling that Geralt would not do anything rash if Jaskier was close. Perhaps the bard was being too confident in his belief, but Geralt would never purposefully hurt him. He would not. He would never, Jaskier was convinced of this.

“No answer will give you what you want, Geralt,” said Visenna in a shaky voice.

“Three out of ten boys survive the trials,” Geralt retorted in a bitter tone. Jaskier was now almost pressed to the witcher, and against all expectations, Geralt positioned himself in front of the bard. Whether the witcher intentionally meant to shield Jaskier’s body from any attack was unclear, but the bard liked to think that if Geralt had gone through all the trouble of looking for Jaskier then part of the witcher wanted to keep him safe. “Tell me, at least, that you didn’t know this before you left me on his doorstep.”

Jaskier reached out a hand and gently circled Geralt’s wrist. It was not much comfort and more of a silent reminder that Jaskier was there, that Geralt was not alone. The witcher’s words shocked the bard. Jaskier had no idea how perilous those witcher trials were. By the sounds of things, Geralt had gone through much suffering as a young boy. Suffering that neither Visenna nor Jaskier could fathom. The bard’s heart clenched uncomfortably in his chest at the thought. All the pain, physical and emotional, that Geralt must have gone through… Jaskier felt an inexplicable hatred pool in his stomach as he stared daggers at Visenna. How much had she known about the witchers’ ways before sending her only son to be trained there?

“It was our destiny to meet again, Geralt. You were a special boy. You were a miracle, even. You should never have been born, and yet there you were. You were destined for great things. I wanted to give you your best chance. I was confident that you our paths would meet again some day.”

“You trusted destiny rather than try and find me yourself?”

“That’s enough, Geralt. Don’t ask anymore questions,” Visenna snapped at the witcher as a tear rolled down her pale cheek.

“Why not?”

“The answer will only hurt us both,” was the only explanation she gave. Jaskier tightened his hold on Geralt as if that action alone would hold the witcher back if he decided to pounce on the woman who had given birth to him.

“Geralt… let’s go,” Jaskier suggested, his voice raspy as he fought the anxiety building in him. “Come now friend, there’s nothing for you here.”

“Stay out of this, Jaskier,” the witcher rasped before snatching his hand away from the bard’s grip.

“Your friend Dandelion is right, Geralt. It is time for you to move on, my son.”

Geralt wanted to argue, Jaskier could feel it. There was no point. Visenna would be stubborn about the matter. Jaskier had not known her very long, but he had a feeling that she was not the kind of woman to submit easily.

“I have so many questions,” Geralt maintained stubbornly.

“None of which I can answer in a way that will satisfy you, Geralt. Or in a way that will make you forgive me. What then is the point of me answering them?” Visenna inquired.

“To give me closure,” said Geralt, his voice close to breaking.

“As I said, none of my answers will ever give you closure. Farewell, Geralt.”

Next time Jaskier and Geralt opened their eyes they were miles away from Visenna’s hut.

888

“Jaskier?! Are you alright?”

“Yes.”

“Did she hurt you?”

“No. She healed my twisted ankle.”

Jaskier felt slightly dizzy. Visenna had somehow transported them somewhere else, probably through some form of magic. Geralt fussing over him was not helping in the slightest.

“Why did you come for me?” Jaskier asked, and his words came out harsher than he intended them to sound. Geralt looked taken aback.

“I…”

“You what? Haven’t you insulted me enough? Do you want to add something else? I thought that getting me off your hands was the only blessing you could ask for, so why seek me out if not to rub salt on my open wound?”

“Jaskier…”

“I am not done,” Jaskier yelled, unable to control his anger any longer. He was tired, confused and in need of answers. But first off, he would get to speak his mind whether Geralt liked it or not. “You are the absolute worst, Geralt of Rivia. One minute you’re hot, the next you’re cold. One minute you like my company, the next you throw me away like a used tissue. And that is all her fault. Yennefer will always take precedence over me no matter how often she drags you through the mud and tramples your heart. In the meantime, I mean nothing but the very best for you and you treat me with even less distinction than you would a stray dog. I will not let you treat me like this any longer. And unless you have a damned good reason for why you said those things to me, then I don’t want to hear any kind of apology from you.”

Geralt remained silent for a while after Jaskier’s rant. He had the decency to look bashful, like a puppy whose owner just rubbed its nose in its own wee. Jaskier thought the expression looked nothing short of cute on Geralt’s face. The bard chastised himself for that thought. Geralt looked up at Jaskier, his eyes shimmering in the same way they had when he was speaking to Visenna.

“You’re right, nothing I can say that will justify the harsh words I throw your way. I just… I guess the only thing I can say is that you were right, old friend. About Yennefer, that is. She’s bad news. I did not appreciate how much your presence makes a difference in my everyday life, Jaskier. You always whistle tunes to yourself when you walk. That sound has become so familiar that when I found myself travelling on my own again thinking that I had messed up so much I might never ever hear your whistling again, I-“

Geralt did not finish his sentence, and he did not have to. Jaskier understood plainly what the witcher meant to tell him, and the unspoken words touched him beyond his own comprehension. A minute ago he was angry, nay fuming, at Geralt and now… he was once again ready to forgive him.

“I needed to make sure that you were okay. You deserved an apology. You deserve more than just words to show you how sorry I am, but… I understand if from now you’d rather not see me anymore. I mean,” Geralt let out a humourless laugh, “even my own mother couldn’t bear my company.”

Jaskier’s resolution broke at those words. He let out a heavy sigh and closed his eyes, more as an attempt to hide the tears welling up in his eyes at Geralt’s heartfelt words. When Jaskier opened his eyes again, Geralt had not moved from his current position. He was not looking at the bard either, probably bracing himself for a rejection.

“I could never stay mad at you for too long, dear friend. And I know just the way you can make it up to me.”

“Anything you want,” Geralt assured him, not quite trusting his own voice by the sounds of things.

“Come closer,” Jaskier said, beckoning the witcher closer with his hand. Geralt did as he was told and once he was only inches away from Jaskier, the bard interlaced his fingers with the witcher’s calloused one. “Close your eyes, Geralt.”

“Wha-“

“Just trust me, alright? Please?”

Geralt hesitated a second longer but eventually closed his eyes. He was on edge, Jaskier could feel it, but the bard would not have the courage to do what he meant to do with Geralt watching his every movement.

“I need you to promise me that whatever the outcome of the next couple of minutes, you will not hold any of my actions against me. Alright?”

“Jaskier…”

“Just promise me, Geralt.”

“Fine, fine… whatever it takes to get you to forgive me.”

Jaskier smiled softly and leaned into Geralt’s personal space, gently brushing his lips against the witcher’s. The bard did not miss the sharp intake of breath and Jaskier was about to retreat but quickly changed his mind when he felt Geralt reciprocate the kiss. The witcher’s surprisingly soft lips tasted the bard’s timidly. Geralt was not rushing through the experience; rather he explored the curve of Jaskier’s lips, darted out his tongue to taste them and even cupped the bard’s face as he did so. Who knew the witcher was capable of such tenderness?

“Geralt,” Jaskier sighed in pleasure when he felt the witcher’s hand wander down his neck to tickle the exposed chest, “We should probably take this somewhere more… private.”

“I have waited long enough for this to happen. We are not doing anywhere.”

Who was Jaskier to argue with that logic?

[autistic-girl-academic]

Hypmic OC Crew: Freestyle Angels

so I’ve seen a lot of people posting their Hypmic OCs lately, and that made me want to buckle down and finalize the details for mine!

An all-female team based out of Tokyo’s Minato Ward, the Freestyle Angels are technically an independent crew - they got together to drive out crews who were abusing their claims to the territory, but aren’t interested in winning more territory themselves. (Not that they’d qualify for the DRBs anyway, of course.) Rather, they serve as a foil/rival team to the Chuohku trio.

Sumire Kuino, AKA Queen of Street

“Alone we can do so little; together we can do so much” - Helen Keller

Occupation: Humanitarian aid organizer

Birthday: October 7th

Age: 30

Zodiac: Libra

Height: 6′0″

Weight: 165 lbs

Blood type: AB

Likes: Bargains, fixing things, dogs, birdwatching

Dislikes: Wastefulness, unpaid debts, technology, selfish people

Favorite food: Chazuke

Least favorite food: Fugu

The daughter of a corrupt businessman and his mistress. Her father was an associate of Sairo Tohoten, who helped him flee the country when he got in trouble with the authorities, leaving a young Sumire and her mother behind. Sumire’s mother, only viewing her as another mouth to feed, likewise abandoned her daughter once she’d found a new lover. Frightened at the possibility of ending up in an orphanage, Sumire struggled to fend for herself on the streets until she was taken under the wing of an older homeless man named Takayoshi. He would go on to raise Sumire as his own, with her quickly coming to call him ‘Grandpa’ and taking on his family name. Over the years, Sumire became increasingly protective of him in turn, and he and his circle of friends would jokingly call her ‘queen’ for her assertive, take-charge nature; Sumire was always exasperated by the nickname, but grudgingly grew to accept it.

Takayoshi was the sort of person who was always willing to lend a hand and always kept an eye out for those who needed it, and Sumire followed his example. After he passed away, she became a guardian for anyone with nowhere to go, spending her days building shelters, distributing food, and standing up to whoever threatened the people that depended on her. She had fleeting hopes that the Party of Words would remedy some of the ills plaguing society, but found that little changed once the H Age began. Before the formation of the Dirty Dawg, Minato Ward went through a tumultuous period where it rapidly changed hands between many crews who abused their power. Sumire stole a set of Hypnosis Mics off of one such group and began using it to defend the defenseless, forming a duo with Ageha Hinokuchi called the Rough Diamonds, then a trio once they met Kaori Sakuragi.

Her microphone takes the shape of a street sign, while her speakers are a graffiti-covered castle made from debris. Her ability, Bulwark, decreases the damage done to her allies, albeit at the cost of taking it herself. Her personal rapping style is based off of Hime.

Personality-wise, Sumire’s an incredibly caring person under an intimidating exterior; her default stone-faced expression rarely changes and she speaks very bluntly. She won’t really judge or try to control the choices of those she helps, but if she needs to put her foot down for someone’s own good, her naturally commanding presence makes it hard to not do what she says. She’s a quick learner who can fix up just about anything she puts her hands on (with the exception of hi-tech gadgets) and a highly efficient penny-pincher; show her something with a high price tag and get ready to hear a thorough breakdown of just how many groceries it could buy. Her biggest flaw is that she doesn’t always take care of herself as well as she does others, requiring her teammates to step in and force her to take the occasional break.

She deeply respects Jakurai’s work, but finds Hifumi too flashy for her tastes. She’s also helped Dice a few times in the past, but he finds her kind of terrifying and tries to avoid her. The one person who can immediately make her lose her composure is Rei; plenty of his victims have ended up on the streets, and one of them even committed suicide despite Sumire’s attempts to save them. Unless her teammates stop her, she’ll attack him on sight.

Ageha Hinokuchi, AKA HI-FLYA

“Once freedom lights its beacon in man’s heart, the gods are powerless against him” - Jean-Paul Sartre

Occupation: Fitness & self-defense instructor

Birthday: May 6th

Age: 28

Zodiac: Taurus

Height: 5′6″

Weight: 138 lbs

Blood type: B

Likes: Pro wrestling, action movies, dancing, the beach

Dislikes: Muscle cramps, energy drinks, smoking, conformity

Favorite food: Barbecue

Least favorite food: Sea cucumber

A former member of the Party of Words. As a child, she lost her parents to an armed robbery, leading her to support Otome’s goals of eliminating conventional weapons from Japan. However, she increasingly found herself unable to turn a blind eye to the ways in which the Party manipulated innocent people. Once she learned about the True Hypnosis Microphone, she attempted to sabotage the facility where they were produced, but was discovered. In the fight that followed, a fire broke out; she fell from a great height into the flames and was presumed dead by the Party members who had been trying to apprehend her. However, a friend of hers in the group discovered that she’d survived and smuggled her to safety. After recovering from her wounds, she took on a new name and face, leaving her old identity behind to become Ageha Hinokuchi.

Her goal of stopping the Party of Words remained unchanged, and for a while she was constantly on the move, collecting evidence of their crimes and trying to come up with a way to stand against them. In Minato Ward, she happened to cross paths with Sumire Kuino, who had stolen a set of Hypnosis Microphones and was using them to defend people in need. Though initially reluctant to use one herself, she was forced to when Sumire was outnumbered and lured into a trap. Sumire, who was a firm believer in always repaying what she owed, asked what she could do in exchange for Ageha saving her life. This sparked a deep bond that eventually led to Ageha divulging her past to Sumire, and they formed a duo known as the Rough Diamonds. They later met Kaori Sakuragi and rechristened themselves the Freestyle Angels (incidentally, Ageha came up with both names, the latter because she was a fan of Charlie’s Angels).

Her microphone takes the shape of a portable music player held on an armband and a pair of headphones with butterfly wings on them, while her speaker is a four-sided boxing scoreboard. Her ability, Reverb, allows her to hit her opponent twice in one go, although the second hit isn’t as strong. Her personal style is inspired by Akkogorilla.

In contrast to Sumire, Ageha is fun-loving, always wears a smile, and is overflowing with energy; this is largely due to regretting how she previously lived, as someone blindly obedient who didn’t fully appreciate the joys of life. She can quickly befriend just about anyone and is a bit of a flirt, but only to tease. All of this belies a keen observational eye, though, and she’ll play up being an airhead to make others underestimate her. She knows a wide variety of martial arts, with kickboxing and aikido being her specialties. Because she currently lives and works in Roppongi, she’s also good with foreign languages.

Ageha is a big fan of Sasara’s comedy routines. She's suspicious of Ramuda because she knows he was involved with Chuokhu, but isn’t fully aware of his nature as a clone. Likewise, she detests Rei for having worked on the True Hypnosis Mic, but is much better at hiding it than Sumire.

Kaori Sakuragi, AKA wallflower

“Be not another, if you can be yourself” - Paracelsus

Occupation: Self-employed craftsperson

Birthday: December 5th

Age: 20

Zodiac: Sagittarius

Height: 5′3″

Weight: 116 lbs

Blood type: A

Likes: Homemade things, aromatherapy, reading, gardening

Dislikes: Cameras, busy places, the dentist, controlling people

Favorite food: Croquettes

Least favorite food: Beef tongue

Child-star-turned-idol, lead singer of the wildly popular group ‘Cutie Blooms’, Kaori seemingly vanished off the face of the earth one day. In truth, years of constant media presence, overwork, and pressure to please her demanding stage mother had driven Kaori to have a mental breakdown. Unable to be in the presence of other people without suffering severe panic attacks, she shut herself up in her apartment just before the start of the H Age for two years. When a paparazzi tracked her down and began harassing her for interviews, she fled and became lost on the streets of Minato-ku, but was rescued by Sumire Kuino and Ageha Hinokuchi. Seeing them wield their Hypnosis Mics in her defense reminded her of her original love for singing, and she begged them to make her the third member of their crew.

While her teammates have been helping her work through her trauma, Kaori is still afraid of having her face or voice recognized. She keeps her features obscured by glasses and masks as much as possible, prefers to stay out of sight, and primarily communicates through a tablet that reads out what she writes; she’s very quiet and stammers a lot when she does speak. During her years as a shut-in, she learned to provide for herself in a number of ways, such as growing her own vegetables and making clothes and other handicrafts, the latter of which she sells online.

Her microphone takes the shape of her tablet and stylus, while her speaker is a greenhouse that overflows with more and more flowers as she gains confidence during battle. Her ability, Tongue-Tied, scrambles her opponent’s speech. Her personal style is based off of Haru Nemuri.

Kaori is sensitive, timid, and somewhat pessimistic, but still possesses a very strong determination deep down at her core. She despises the fake persona that was forced upon her by the idol industry and wants to “win back her true self”. The more comfortable she gets around someone, the more she shows her passionate and cheerful side. She’s also very creative and good at memorizing small details, but at the cost of sometimes getting lost in her own thoughts and not noticing what’s going on around her.

She’s an avid reader of Gentaro’s novels, having sent him lots of anonymous fanmail in the past. She’s also recently started listening to Jyushi’s music.

[obaewankenope]

The Second Life of Sandu Shengshou, chapter 2

[Ao3] 

Getting to Cloud Recesses earlier than the guest lectures that had been the beginning of a whole lot of fucking drama is, Jiang Cheng accepts, easier than he expected only because his parents seem inclined to grant him any wish now he’s not dead anymore.

Apparently, there’s rumours that the son of Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan either a) never really died and eloped with some rogue Cultivator (he’s twelve, what the fuck?) who then spurned him, b) is a fierce corpse that decided to just act like nothing was wrong at all (that’s not how fierce corpses even work, and Jiang Cheng would know since his brother is the Yiling fucking Patriarch) or, c) is a doppelganger with the exact same ability to be absolutely murderously protective of his siblings, going so far as to threaten his own parents if they so much as looked at his shixiong wrong.

The rumours are, naturally, a little bit right and a whole lot wrong. Well, one of them sort of is which is honestly better than he expects of people who know fuck all about him. Jiang Cheng isn’t a doppelganger of course—isn’t he though; it’s not like he’s the same twelve-year-old who died an ignoble death on a night-hunt because he’d been insistent that he could handle it, shut up Wei Wuxian!—but he is absolutely willing to throw down with anyone who bad mouths his brother; including his mother.

His mother, the purple spider who still terrifies him because she’s his mother, but who stops and looks at her son with wide eyes and an honest sort of pride at his very fierce desire to fight her. Gaining some outward display of approval from his mother apparently is as simple as growing a backbone. Who knew?

His mother’s behaviour toward Wei Ying has definitely changed for the better since Jiang Cheng has taken it upon himself to make it very fucking clear that no-one is permitted to hurt him. As much as Yu Ziyuan is the Madam of Lotus Pier, Jiang Cheng is the Sect Heir and he’s lived as a Sect Leader during shitty times, peaceful times, and absolutely soul-destroying times. His mother respects the fact that her son can stop Zidian without being its master.

Jiang Cheng is going to have to address that too because he sort of misses Zidian even if he’s okay with only Sandu right now. He’s thrashed Wei Ying half a dozen times since he “came back” with moves that he knows his brother won’t learn for another year. It’s had the added bonus of encouraging his brother to really go all in for studying how to beat him again, and made his parents look actually sort of proud of him.

The fact that he and Wei Ying both team up to encourage A-Jie to improve her own sword work draws surprise from many because everyone knows A-Jie is going to marry the peacock and will just be an ornament in Koi Tower rather than an actual fighter. Jiang Cheng and his shixiong both resolve to make sure A-Jie is more than what others expect her to be because no. Jiang Cheng lost both his siblings because of others expectations and biases of them. Fuck that.

A-Jie doesn’t thank them in the beginning because she has spent years accepting the fact that her cultivation isn’t high enough, but Jiang Cheng knows that a core can be strengthened through a variety of ways. A-Jie needs to be passably good with a sword for focus reasons, and also because sometimes having a sword helps stave off danger because no one likes a sword pointed at them, but the primary tools Jiang Cheng and A-Ying agree A-Jie should learn are talismans and arrays.

Talismans are useful for any cultivator, especially when the cultivator knows someone as insanely creative as A-Ying or someone with an unfair advantage like Jiang Cheng. He definitely isn’t smug about “coming up” with new talismans that are definitely ones A-Ying would have thought of eventually. He really isn’t.

Gusu Lan invites the Sect Heir of Yunmeng Jiang to Cloud Recesses two months after he makes the request of them. He politely informs Lan Qiren—acting in the place of his secluded brother until his eldest son can take his place—that A-Jie and A-Xian will be accompanying him. The fact that he doesn’t word it as a request for Lan Qiren to extend the invitation to his siblings is irrelevant because Jiang Cheng refuses to leave them in Lotus Pier without him there to make sure they’re safe.

Sect Leader Lan responds that the siblings of Jiang Wanyin are welcome also to Cloud Recesses.

How wise of him.

Of course, Jiang Cheng is well-aware that Lan Qiren will regret allowing A-Xian to enter Cloud Recesses and get anywhere near his precious second nephew, but Jiang Cheng doesn’t care about how Lan Qiren will feel about it when he knows Wei Ying will be happy with Lan Wangji.

After Jiang Cheng has a chat with Wei Ying about teasing and flirting and how they’re one-in-the-fucking-same when it comes to a certain Lan. He’s well-aware the conversation is going to be excruciatingly awkward for them both but Jiang Cheng raised a nephew alone and rebuilt a Sect; he watched the world change and grow and helped it do so. He can tell his brother that when he talks about how nice a certain cultivator’s eyes are, his ears, his fucking nose that Wei Ying wants to marry said cultivator even if they happen to be made out of fucking jade and have no facial expressions to speak of!

Wei Ying is very confused and assumes Jiang Cheng has a crush.

He pushes him in the river and leaves him to swim to shore, shouting at A-Xian that he’s an idiot who won’t know love when it literally ties them together with a white ribbon in a damned cave.

Yeah, Jiang Cheng learnt about that little event thirty-seven-years after it happened! He’s still a little sore about not being told his brother had gotten married at fifteen.

Just a little, mind.

* * * *

Acting Sect Leader Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen greet Jiang Cheng and his siblings when they are presented in the Welcoming Hall of Cloud Recess. Lan Wangji is standing off to the side, near his brother but further back, clearly showing that he is there because it is his duty and not because he cares about Yunmeng Jiang invading Cloud Recess.

Jiang Cheng doesn’t really care about how Lan Wangji feels about their arrival disrupting the Second Jade’s seclusion. He’s more interested in shoving Lan Wangji and his brother at each other while also possibly dropping as many hints as he can that Wen Ruohan wants to destroy Cloud Recesses because he’s an evil bastard who needs to die, die, die.

Just a normal day for Jiang Cheng.

“Welcome, Jiang-gongzi, Wei-gongzi and Jiang-guniang,” Lan Qiren says and he sounds mostly sincere about the welcoming. Jiang Cheng knows that won’t last the moment A-Xian opens his mouth. “I hope your stay at Cloud Recess will be peaceful and beneficial to you.”

Jiang Cheng and his siblings bow in unison, a practised move that he roped A-Jie into who then roped A-Xian into by giving him that look of hers neither of them can resist.

“Jiang Wanyin, Wei Wuxian, and Jiang Yanli are honoured by your hosting of us at Cloud Recess,” Jiang Cheng replies, still bowing, and he’s pretty pleased that he doesn’t mess up the words or sound unnecessarily aggressive. Decades of playing politics makes interactions that would have once had him a nervous mess at twelve seem like a breeze.

He could probably even talk to Wen Ruohan without cursing in the bastards face. Jiang Cheng straightens from his bow. No, no he couldn’t, actually. Wen Ruohan is too much even for Jiang Cheng to handle without attempting murder outright.

Sect Conferences are going to be a challenge.

Rooms have been prepared for them and they are directed to them by Lan Wangji who, Jiang Cheng notices, keeps an exceptionally tight grip of his sword. A grip that seems to tighten even more whenever Wei Ying smiles or laughs with his Shijie. It’s almost nauseating to realise that Lan Wangji was interested in Wei Ying from the start.

Jiang Cheng is appalled. It’s not romantic. Nope. Not at all.

His brother is horrifyingly oblivious if he didn’t notice this about Lan Wangji. Even now, three years before they would have originally met, Lan Wangji seems interested in Wei Ying in a way the Second Jade obviously isn’t in Jiang Cheng or A-Jie

Jiang Cheng sighs.

Why does Jiang Cheng have to suffer having such an oblivious genius for a shixiong?

He’s going to have to include A-Jie in his scheming for shoving Lan Wangji and Wei Ying together. His sister, Jiang Cheng knows, will assist without hesitation. A-Jie has always gone above and beyond for her XianXian. So much so, she died for him.

That will not be allowed to happen again.

First things first, Jiang Cheng needs to figure out a way to talk to Lan Xichen and build up some sort of rapport with the soon to be Sect Leader. One of the biggest issues he faced in his first life was the way Yunmeng Jiang was isolated from the other elite sects; partly due to Jiang Cheng being Jiang Cheng but also due to scheming bastards who he will not allow the chance to start scheming this time around.

That means he needs to engage with Lan Xichen, Zewu-Jun, First Jade of Lan, and not make a fucking fool of himself. Easy.

It is not easy.

Getting the chance to talk to Lan Xichen is easy but the chance to talk to him alone without Lan Qiren or Lan fucking Wangji following and joining in and talking—well, Lan Qiren joins in, Lan Wangji just stands there like an ice sculpture that someone didn’t even bother trying to make look human—is next to impossible.

In the end, Jiang Cheng employs both of his siblings as distractions just so he can at least say five damned words to Lan Xichen without one of his relatives lurking.

He doesn’t want to know how A-Xian keeps Lan Wangji distracted, he doesn’t, but A-Jie at least will distract Lan Qiren with discussions on the running of a sect. Bless his sister. Also bless his brother, but silently; A-Ying’s ego is big enough as it is.

Lan Xichen is, at least, pleasantly polite about talking with Jiang Cheng alone which is nice. Nice and with the expression on Zewu-Jun’s face, apparently alarming. What does he think Jiang Cheng is going to do; attack him in Cloud Recess?

Jiang Cheng is an angry twelve-year-old with a lifetime of experiences. He’s not stupid, just rash sometimes.

“I assume Zewu-Jun is aware,” Jiang Cheng says with all the seriousness a twelve-year-old can muster; a lot when that twelve-year-old is a scowling ex-sect leader, “of the rumours surrounding my being alive.” Lan Xichen nods. “They’re wrong. Mostly.”

“Your request to visit Cloud Recess was intriguing young master Jiang,” Lan Xichen says with that bland smile of his that absolutely screams discomfort at the topic but a stubborn refusal to admit discomfort. Jiang Cheng had seen it a lot in relation to Jin Guangyao in those later years. “Sect Leader Jiang informed us of your death and your return. It has caused some discussion among the Elders.”

Some discussion is probably Lan-code for quiet shouting about wicked sorcery to bring him back to life or something equally fucking stupid from them. Jiang Cheng doesn’t roll his eyes but he wants to.

“I have no idea how I came back,” he tells Lan Xichen because it’s true, he doesn’t. “I remember dying and then waking in a forest clearing with a fierce corpse trying to eat my face.” Lan Xichen doesn’t grimace at the mental image like A-Ying had, but there’s still a flicker of horror.

“That must have been an unexpected surprise,” Lan Xichen says with all the tact of a Lan.

“Bigger surprise was my own parents taking turns trying to kill me,” Jiang Cheng replies with a shrug and that makes Lan Xichen grimace a little.

Jiang Cheng finds the expressiveness of this still-teenaged Lan Xichen to be very fascinating. In an academic sort of way. Lan Wangji, even as a teenager, is more like a wall of ice whilst his older brother has more emotional nuance. It’s interesting.

“That’s not the important thing,” Jiang Cheng continues, ignoring how Lan Xichen’s expression very much says that is the important thing. It’s not, but he can understand how Lan Xichen thinks it is.

Parents trying to kill their child is sort of a big deal, but Jiang Cheng honestly is just pleasantly pleased that he has parents still. It’s almost novel.

“What, then, is the important thing, Jiang-gongzi?”

There’s a little note of frustration in Lan Xichen’s words that makes Jiang Cheng want to smirk at the other. It’s a reminder of dull Sect Conferences where Jiang Cheng got to watch Lan Xichen become steadily more and more annoyed with people. He finds it somewhat reassuring to know that the Sect Leader Jiang Cheng came to know in a distant acquaintance sort of way isn’t all that different from this young Sect Leader now. Well, Sect Heir, still, but Jiang Cheng knows that’s not going to last much longer.

“The important thing is that I’m a lot older than twelve and have been for a long, long time,” Jiang Cheng says, holding up a hand when Lan Xichen frowns at him. “My mother attacked me with Zidian which protects against possession, so no, I’m not possessed. I’m still me, just not the me who died on a fucking night-hunt I shouldn’t have actually snook out to join.”

Jiang Cheng watches Lan Xichen closely. The First Jade isn’t reaching for his sword, or liebing, but also doesn’t seem to be reacting at all to Jiang Cheng’s words.

Maybe he’s in shock?

“I became Sect Leader at seventeen, after Lotus Pier was attacked and my Sect was decimated. Only my brother and sister and I escaped because of my mother.” Jiang Cheng’s voice doesn’t break or tremble as he says this out loud for the first time. It doesn’t. It just gets a little... Just a little.

“I lost my core and my brother, the idiot, gave me his and I went to war. We won but my brother paid the price for fear and hatred, and I didn’t save him. I lost him” Jiang Cheng confesses, quietly. “I lost them both.”

There’s tears in his eyes and the Jiang Cheng of ten, twenty years ago would have wiped them away angrily, denying that he was crying at all. But Jiang Cheng had died an old man who suffered so much and learnt to value the happiness he seldom had.

He doesn’t wipe away the tears.

He lets Lan Xichen see them.

He's earned the right to be unashamed of feeling.

“I came back and I don’t know why but they’re alive and they’re safe and I need your help to keep them that way,” Jiang Cheng tells Lan Xichen with more seriousness than he’d ever possessed as a twelve-year-old. “I need you help to protect everyone.”

Lan Xichen finally speaks. “From what?”

Jiang Cheng scowls. He knows there’s a hatred in his eyes, he can’t and won’t hide it. “Wen Ruohan,” he spits the name like he’s coughing up poisoned blood. “He tried to take over the cultivation world. Attacked Cloud Recess and Lotus Pier. Your brother was captured in the attack here.” Lan Xichen looks at Jiang Cheng with the horror of an older brother who is tasked with the care of a younger.

“He survived the war,” Jiang Cheng tells him, because Lan Xichen was many things in Jiang Cheng’s life, but right now in this time, Lan Xichen is an older brother who hasn’t done anything against Jiang Cheng or those he loves. He can be kind.

The relief on Lan Xichen’s face reminds Jiang Cheng of the relief he felt after those three months. It stings.

“Why are you telling me this?” Lan Xichen asks. “What do you believe I can do?”

Jiang Cheng is silent. The question of what he wants Lan Xichen to do is difficult to answer. It’s not that he wants Zewu-Jun to do anything specifically; Jiang Cheng is well aware that Lan Xichen has obligations and duties here at Cloud Recess. He doesn’t want to ask Lan Xichen to help him kill Wen Ruohan before the bastard starts a war, but he sort of does because help would be nice.

Really, what Jiang Cheng wants Lan Xichen to do boils down to don’t fall for a lunatic with a chip on his shoulder just because he’s the son of a whore, and don’t let said lunatic kill one of the only decent people who has some fucking integrity as well as, maybe, don’t just sit by and let an entire people be wiped fucking out in an outright act of genocide. Also, support your brother and be happy for him being with A-Ying without being biased against my brother.

He can’t actually tell Lan Xichen any of that, of course, because Jiang Cheng doesn’t know how to.

He’s silent long enough that Lan Xichen finally speaks again.

“Jiang-gongzi?”

“Protect Cloud Recess from attack,” Jiang Cheng blurts, saying something at least. He wants to tell Lan Xichen more, he needs to tell someone but Zewu-Jun isn’t who he wants to actually talk to about all this.

His siblings are.

“Ward it, protect your treasures better, your library,” Jiang Cheng bites out. “Don’t ignore your responsibilities even when you’re grieving. Don’t let your brother suffer for being righteous. Don’t let my brother suffer for doing the right fucking thing! Just- just don’t fuck up.”

Jiang Cheng stands quickly. Lan Xichen rises also; he looks distressed. Or worried.

“Thank you for your time, Sect Leader Lan.” Jiang Cheng bows. His body feels like he’s jumped into the cold pool that he knows exists at Cloud Recess. There’s a sharp ache in his chest and his lower dantian burns. “I must go.”

Lan Xichen isn’t finished with his own bow before Jiang Cheng is rushing out the room.

A-Jie and A-Ying aren’t in the guest rooms they’ve been given for their visit. Jiang Cheng takes the opportunity presented by this to throw himself into their shared room and slam the door behind him. His knees fold of their own accord and Jiang Cheng ends up leaning against the wall by the door, knees tucked to his chest as he tries to just breathe.

Thinking about what he needs to do is one thing, saying it out loud is something different. Lan Xichen had asked him what Jiang Cheng wanted him to do.

Jiang Cheng doesn’t even know what he wants to do.

Writing to Cloud Recess and arranging his brothers introduction to Lan Wangji was something Jiang Cheng did because he wants his brother happy. Lan Wangji makes A-Ying happy. He’s planning on dragging Jin Zixuan to Lotus Pier at some point for A-Jie, but that requires more planning than a letter to Cloud Recesses did.

Jiang Cheng has lived an entire life where he ended up almost entirely alone. He had only a nephew for sixteen years and a Sect he had to rebuild in a place that was burnt to the ground. A-Ying came back and it still took Jiang Cheng so, so long to accept his brother again and not drive him away with his anger and inability to communicate.

Things are better now, in this second life, but the first has left Jiang Cheng wounded in ways he can’t explain.

Before everything went wrong, the three of them were inseparable. The Twin Prides of Yunmeng who were wrangled by their beloved A-Jie. Jiang Cheng has already endeavoured to improve A-Jie’s cultivation, with A-Ying’s help, and he is determined for them to be known as a trio rather than a pair.

The only people Jiang Cheng can really talk to about what he has lived through are the two people he loves more than he has ever loved anyone else besides his nephew.

A-Jie, Jiang Cheng knows, will handle what he tells her better than A-Ying. A-Ying will learn of how he was an excuse to destroy their Sect and how he, Jiang Cheng, blamed him for years for things A-Ying was tricked into.

Jiang Cheng is terrified he will drive his brother away with the truth.

But Jiang Cheng knows A-Ying deserves to know.

He just hopes A-Jie will be willing to wrangle them both a little longer and keep A-Ying from fleeing out of misplaced guilt.

Jiang Cheng let’s out a choked laugh, wiping at his face with his sleeve. Who is he kidding, A-Jie can wrangle them both with a look; Jiang Cheng knows A-Jie will be able to keep A-Ying from running from them.

Jiang Cheng will help.

He lost his brother once before, he will never let that happen again. Never.

* * * *

Jiang Cheng is introduced to the Elders of the Lan Sect and decides, almost immediately, that he hates them. They’re stuffy, obnoxious, and make him long for the days when being angry and intimidating made up the majority of his tools for interacting with other Sects.

Unfortunately, he’s twelve.

The Elders expect Jiang Cheng to answer their questions and don’t like it when he does because there are no records of any cultivator having returned to a previous time in their life, it is not possible!

Jiang Cheng, personally, doesn’t really care if they think its possible or not because he’s living proof that it is.

There’s very little he can do to convince them so, in a burst of temper, Jiang Cheng snaps at the Elder currently denying his existence.

“The late Madam Lan didn’t die until Lan Wangji was six.”

The Elders fall silent. Lan Qiren is in the room and he goes pale at Jiang Cheng’s words.

Another Elder, not the one who drove Jiang Cheng to snap, asks him: “how do you know this?”

“Lan Wangji told my brother and I about her after drinking a cup of wine that had been mistakenly placed in front of him at an Inn we were staying at,” Jiang Cheng answers. “He did not recall the conversation in the morning and my brother and I decided not to mention it to him because it clearly distressed Hanguang-Jun even fifty years later.”

“Fifty years...” Lan Qiren says softly, staring at Jiang Cheng.

“Summon Lan Wangji.” The Elder who had been denying Jiang Cheng’s existence as someone who had died and returned to his life ordered. “I do not believe this fantasy. Let us ask Lan Wangji if he has informed Jiang-gongzi of his mother.”

The way the Elder says ‘mother’ has Jiang Cheng wishing he could give the man a tongue lashing that’d make his mother weep with pride. So much disdain for one who is gone.

How un-Lan-like of that Elder.

Lan Wangji arrives quickly and comes to stand near to Jiang Cheng. He’s close enough that Jiang Cheng can see the tension in the Second Jade at this unexpected summoning.

Lan Wangji has—this time—done nothing wrong and whatever he’s expecting of the Elders, the order to discuss his mother is definitely not something he ever expected judging by the actual emotion Jiang Cheng witnesses cross Lan Wangji’s face. There’s a raw sort of pain in his expression that Jiang Cheng understands on a level he doesn’t think any of these fucking Elders have ever experienced.

Losing a parent hurts. Losing one that loves you hurts worse.

“When did you drink alcohol with Jiang-gongzi?” That same Elder demands of Lan Wangji, not mentioning Jiang Cheng’s brother.

“Alcohol is forbidden in Cloud Recess,” Lan Wangji replies. The Elder scowls at him.

“When, Lan Wangji, did you drink with Wei Wuxian? ” The Elder presses and Jiang Cheng really doesn’t like the way he says A-Ying’s name. “When did you act so shamefully?”

“Lan Wangji has not drank alcohol at all,” Lan Wangji replies. “Not with Jiang Wanyin. Not with Wei Ying.”

If there’s one thing Jiang Cheng will take from this clusterfuck of a meeting with the Lan Elders, it will be hearing Lan Wangji call his brother Wei Ying.

“Lan Wangji does not lie, Elder Yu,” Lan Qiren says, before Elder Yu—Jiang Cheng will remember him—can say anything. “It is a well known fact that my nephew has never lied.”

“This is true, Lan Qiren,” another Elder says, her expression serene. “If it is true that Lan Wangji had not drank alcohol with either Jiang-gongzi or Wei-gongzi, then we must accept Jiang-gongzi’s word as truth. Just because such an event has never been recorded before in the history of cultivation does not mean it has no happened, or is impossible.”

Jiang Cheng decides that he likes this particular Lan Elder. They have a brain, that’s nice to know.

“If Jiang-qianbei is willing,” the Elder continues, “then his wisdom will be welcomed.”

Oh, Jiang Cheng definitely likes this Elder.

Lan Wangji is dismissed and Jiang Cheng, having thought on it in his room before his siblings returned after his talk with Lan Xichen, keeps what he shares with them both vague and informational enough to have them curious and eventually respectful.

Except Elder Yu. He seems to just dislike everything Jiang Cheng has to say. Fortunately, the other Elders are more interested in hearing about Jiang Cheng living an entire life, dying and then waking up as a twelve-year-old.

He doesn’t mention the Sunshot Campaign or what happened to his brother and family. He does mention his Sect being attacked and his becoming Sect Leader, but he doesn’t tell them the when, who, or how of it all. The Elders seem more interested in the academic aspect of his return.

Jiang Cheng can use that.

The Lan Elders are, since they’re Lans, pretty well respected across the cultivation world. Their belief and interest in his circumstances will help him in the long-run.

Jiang Cheng learnt the hard way that sometimes you have to set a plan in motion years in advance. This time, however, he’s the one setting the plan and he’s not going to fuck it up.

The Sunshot Campaign will happen, it has to; the Wen are too powerful even without Wen Ruohan in charge and his heirs are fucking nightmares. Jiang Cheng will have to fight a war and see his disciples die in it. He will see his siblings fear for him and for each other. All of it, for a second time.

But the end result will be different, Jiang Cheng is determined to make it different. The Wen were powerful and not all of them deserved their fates. The Jin cannot be allowed to steal political power in the vacuum that the obliteration of the Wen, the destruction of the Jiang, and the decimation of the Lan allowed them to take. The Nie cannot be harmed by the violent death of their Leader.

So many things need to be taken care of early on.

One of those things is the payment for a prostitute to be freed. Another is a child to be collected by a Jiang disciple before another can set them down a dark path.

Jiang Cheng has more than just his hope that things will be better in this second life; he has a century’s worth of experience, knowledge, and skill and the stubborn will and determination to make the impossible a reality.

Fate and destiny will not rule him. They will not rule those he loves.

Jiang Cheng will fight the world for those he loves. The world will learn to back down because, this time, Jiang Cheng won’t.

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Even in defeat, we make the victors bleed

“This is Fleet Master Halbrum to all ships, prepare to engage the enemy.”  Halbrum’s voice boomed over the encoded signal ciphers before being sent out to the surrounding ships. The crew on the command deck undisturbed by their leader’s booming voice as they had switched into full combat mode for the coming battle.  “I want Admirals Colvog and Slov to take their fleets around and harry their left flank while Admiral Mordbar takes his fleet below the galactic plane and engage the enemy from below.” The aide Halbrum spoke to rushed off to their console and relayed the orders. “Admirals Volin, Harcrov, and Mulip spread wide along their right and force them to stretch their lines. When they do Admiral Volin will switch and rush in.” Another aide bowed and rushed off.  “And what of the remaining Admirals Fleet Master?” Halbrum turned to his second in command Karek who was handing off last minute information to an aide.  Halbrum smiled. “They will stay with us in the center. We will force the enemy to divert the majority of their fleet to contend with us here while we encircle them from the sides.”  Karek stepped forward and observed the tactical display, nodding in silence.  Halbrum chuckled. “You disagree with my strategy old friend?”  Karek shrugged. “I do not doubt it is a good strategy Fleet Master.” “But?” Halbrum chimed as he took a sip from his golden goblet. “But, I wonder if it is perhaps far too grand of a plan for our current foe.”  Laughing the Fleet Master slapped second on the back. “A fine observation my friend.” He rose from his command throne and stepped forward. His towering body dwarfed the surrounding crew and even his second, but that wasn’t anything special for his people. Those bred for leadership often displayed such characteristics and were then trained with the full might of the Volin Republic’s military to be the greatest leaders.  He wore clothes of the finest materials and yet still in step as not to be considered overdone by military standards. Halbrum placed his gloved hands on the tactical display and motioned for Karek to join him. “Were it any other foe these tactics would be overkill and I would be reprimanded upon our return.” He stared at Karek, his eyes a cold stare that had seen a thousand void wars. “But complacency will only lead to defeat. No matter the foe, we must always take every battle as serious as the last.”  Karek nodded as the aides returned. “All orders have been acknowledged Fleet Master, but several admirals are unhappy and wished to express their doubts.” Halbrum turned his gaze to the now cowering aide, his fury barely contained. It was one thing for his second to say such things, but another for those under him to question him.  “You will tell them to follow my orders to the letter. Their opinions are not required nor should they be spoken. If I want them I will ask.” Quickly bowing the aide retreated away to relay the Fleet Masters statement.  He returned his gaze to the display. Their foe had marshaled some 300 ships to face them. This hardly seemed a threat considering the Volin had brought some 1500 ships, but Halbrum was aware that this was the largest fleet concentration they had face since the invasion had begun. This would be no skirmish, no single ship duel; this would be a battle.  The enemy comprised mainly Frigate and Cruiser class vessels with only a few heavier Battleship and Carrier ships near the center and rear. The Volin fleet had their faster Frigate class vessels on the wings of the fleet ready to circle in and use their speed to outpace the enemy. Cruisers would follow after the Frigates to use their larger weapons to aide the Frigates. And finally the core of the fleet of Battleships and Carriers surrounded the pride of the Volin Navy, the super Dreadnought “Herald of the Deep” which Halbrum had taken as his personal command ship.  “Communications!” Halbrum shouted. The communications chief quickly rising to his feet. “Open a line of communication with the enemy.”  “Aye Fleet Master!” Halbrum returned to his throne while smirking at the questioning gaze of Karek. “We have a line Fleet Master.”  Halbrum sat down and looked at the main display. “Good. Open the channel.”  The deck became quiet as the screen fizzled for a few moments before clearing up and displaying the bridge of the enemy flagship.  “This is Fleet Master Halbrum of the Volin Republic.” Halbrum announced, imbuing his words with every ounce of authority he had in him. “Your fleet is vastly out numbered and there is no hope of victory. I would advise a surrender to save further bloodshed.”  The Volin on the deck all gazed at the display with eagerness. Despite having launched the invasion nearly a year ago none of them had ever seen the face of their enemy. The engagements largely being void clashes between ships. What they saw was disappointing. Their enemy was relatively normal sized, their heads covered in fur, arms barely reaching their waist, and most disturbing of all they came in too many varieties. Different skin colors, limb length, body size, hair style, etc. There was too much difference between them that could ever make them feel at ease.  On the other side sat an elder looking alien. They wore a simple looking uniform that covered most of their body, their fur grey and what skin that could be seen wrinkled with age. Behind them stood a dark skinned female with a similar uniform as the elder but minus the cap.  Halbrum watched as the elder leaned over to the dark skinned alien behind him with a hand over his mouth and appeared to say something to them. Halbrum couldn’t make it out but the dark alien appeared to chuckle.  “I am Commodore Marvin and behind me is my second in command Captain  Brianna.” The figure behind the commodore nodded slightly. “We have received your message and agree that further bloodshed would be pointless.”  Halbrum was somewhat taken aback by this. Protocol dictated he issue the terms before a battle but he had never had a foe accept them.  “Therefore we humbly accept your surrender.” Halbrum was confused at the commodore’s words. “Excuse me?” The Commodore straightened themselves and twirled the hair just above their mouth. “We agree that further bloodshed is pointless and accept your offer of surrender. I promise that you will be well taken care of until the conclusion of the conflict at which poi-” “YOU ARE THE ONES TO SURRENDER!” Halbrum roared, his fist striking down on his command throne with such force it shattered the arm of it sending fragments flying across the bridge. The commodore turned to his second and command who simply shrugged. “Why would we surrender?” he spoke to the enraged Fleet Master.  “You are vastly outnumbered and out classed.” Halbrum rose from his throne and descended to the deck below, his footsteps sending his crew cowering. “You have no chance for escape. This is your one chance.” There was a deathly silence that filled the bridge, none of the crew dared breath.  “So,” the Commodore finally cut in, “you will not be surrendering to us? Well that’s disappointing.”  Halbrum roared and had the link cut.  “ALL SHIPS ENGAGE! OBLITERATE THE HUMAN FLEET!”  --------------- Despite being outnumbered the humans had put up a fight. They had stretched their lines to the limit in an attempt to hold back the rushing Volin ships, but sheer numbers had driven them back and each loss was a considerable blow.  The battle had lasted nearly four hours now but the end was within sight. The humans had some 25 ships circled around their last Battleship while the Volin had 1305.  Halbrum was stood gazing at the final stand of his enemy. Their arrogance was what brought them to this; their stupid human pride would now see every ship destroyed and left a floating husk in space as a warning against all those that stood in the way of the Volin.  “Fleet Master,” Halbrum turned at the hushed words of Karek, “a word in private if you please.” “I have no time for words in-” “Please!” Karek’s serious undertone catching Halbrum briefly off guard. He relented and allowed Karek to lead him off the bridge.  “I implore you to spare the remaining ships.”  Halbrum stared at Karek for several seconds before letting out a deep laugh. The laugh seemed to swallow the hallway whole before Halbrum ran his fist through the metal plating of the wall just inches from Karek’s head.  “Why?” Halbrum said as he leaned down. “They offended me so choose your words wisely.”  Karek stood un-phased by the sudden killing intent. “If we spare them we boost the Republic’s standing to the wider galaxy, and we also lay the foundation for your future ascension to emperor.” “How?” Halbrum said as he withdrew his fist. “If the other senators see that even after these enemies insulted your generous offer you decided to spare their lives they would be more willing to support your future claims for the title of emperor. They would see you not as a tyrant but as a noble hero.” Halbrum paused to consider Karek’s words. “I am grateful to have your council old friend. You will be rewarded for your foresight.” “Duty is its own reward.” Karek bowed as Halbrum returned to the bridge.  “All ships are to cease fire on the humans. Communications, open a direct line to their flagship again.”  Hail of fire raining down on the circled human ships ceased and the screen lighted up once more to show the enemy’s bridge. It was doused in smoke from minor fires from nearby consoles, electrical cables hanging from the ceiling and sparking, several bodies of human crew laying on the floor.  A moment later the dark skinned captain limped on to screen. “This is acting Commodore Brianna.” Halbrum sat on his command throne, unable to hide the smug grin on his face as he looked and the now beaten and broken leader. She appeared to struggle to stand straight, a strand of blood falling from her face forcing her to close her right eye, her left arm in a sling.  “Yes.” Halbrum thought. “They have paid enough. Time to be magnanimous” “Where is Commodore Marvin? I wish to offer terms of surrender once more.” Halbrum spoke. Brianna tilted her head to the side. “He died about an hour ago. I have taken command of the fleet. Did the title not give that away?”  Halbrum let out a low snarl at the remark but a glance from Karek reminded him of the bigger picture.  “Very well. Commodore Brianna, the Volin Republic once more offers you terms of surrender. You have fought bravely and as true warriors. There is no need to die on this battlefield.”  Commodore Brianna gazed around her bridge. She started to say something and then stopped herself several times as her gaze passed over the bodies of the fallen on her deck. Finally she stopped gazing and stood in silence. “Let me ask you Fleet master.” She spoke, her eyes rising to stare directly into his. Halbrum felt like he was staring into a beast of his homeworld that knew it was cornered. “Where else must a true warrior die but on a battlefield?”  Halbrum was struck silent by the words. “I...” He began but failed to find the right words. Brianna laughter took Halbrum by surprise as he saw the Commodore in the fits of a loud outburst of laughter.  “Your mistake was thinking that we expected to win this battle. We knew from the start we were all dead on borrowed time.” Halbrum’s confusion was getting the better of him. “Then why fight at all? Why fight against unwinnable odds?!?” A faint smile crept on to her face. “Because sometimes that is all you can do. I love my world, I love my people, I love my crew and most of all I love my family back home; and if it means that every moment I spend here fighting you gives them another moment of peace and happiness from this war then by hell I will fight you with every fiber of my being.”  “Fleet Master, the enemy fleet is reorganizing.” came the call from the chief scanning officer. Halbrum tore his gaze away from the Commodore to see the human ships forming a spear like tip with their remaining ships.  “Is this meant to impress me Commodore?” Halbrum chuckled. “Do you think there is some honor in a final charge? Trying to take as many of us with you into deaths cold embrace? Well it’s pointless because every moment you delayed us will be one more I spend bombing a city, or atomizing another of your planets, or driving you back until your family looks up from your homeworld to see our ships flying above you. Your sacrifice means nothing.”  The human ships engines suddenly lit up and all 25 ships began prowling towards the Herald of the Deep. Commodore Brianna’s smile finally crept across her entire mouth. “All railguns fire!” she shouted. The flash of twenty three railguns firing at once briefly lit up the surrounding space.  Halbrum looked on with disinterest. “Shield status?” he causally remarked. “80% and holding Fleet Master.” “He returned his gaze to Brianna. “You see, all poin-” Suddenly there was another flash and this time a shudder ran through the decks of the Herald. “Shields at 60%!” “How are they firing so fast?!?” Karek ran over to a nearby console and looked at the data. “They’ve turned off the safety protocols!” He shouted back as another deeper shudder ran through the ship.  Halbrum saw one of the human ships suddenly explode, the overheating from the rapid fire overloading the railgun. “ARE YOU INSANE?!?!” He shouted at Commodore Brianna as she was walking away from the screen.  She turned back and flashed a grin. “You’ll win this fight, but that doesn’t mean we won’t make you bleed for it.” She terminated the transmission as the remaining ships fired another salvo.  “Shields at 49% and falling!” Four more human ships exploded but the rest continued their suicide charge towards the Herald. “ALL FLEETS FIRE ON THE HUMANS!” shouted Halbrum. The guns from a thousand ships roared back into life once more and began hammering the dwindling human ships.  Shields flickered to life and then shattered under the strain and several more human ships were destroyed, yet their pace never faltered and they fired again.  “Shields at 28%!” “Divert all shielding to the point they are concentrating fire!” “But Fleet Master, that will leave portions of the ship unshielded!” Halbrum grabbed the aide and threw him across the bridge. “JUST FOLLOW ORDERS!”  A far greater shudder than any before rocked the Herald causing several lights and consoles to briefly lose power. “Shields at 19%!!!”  The human fleet had been reduced to 4 Frigates, one Battleship, and a carrier limping behind with a trail of smoke. The sheer size of the enemy fleet was acting against them as now they could not bring their full firepower against them in such close range without friendly fire. The final ships let loose yet another salvo of railguns.  “Shields at 5%! They're about to collapse!!!”  ----- From the bridge of the battleship “Tide Breaker” Commodore Brianna watched as the shields surrounding the Herald begin to flicker rapidly. She calmly sat at the command throne as explosions wracked around her. One of them throwing her forwards off the throne and casting her to the deck. She opened her eyes to see the helmsmen laying dead beside her, a piece of shrapnel wedged deep into his right eye. With her last effort she pulled herself up and took the helm. Through her bloody eyes she saw the last of her escorts destroyed aside from the carrier. The enemy had focused all fire the ships with railguns completely ignoring the carrier. Their sacrifice would not be in vane.        “This is Tide Breaker hailing the USS Enterprise.” Brianna coughed as she used all her strength to hod the ship steady. “We read you Tide Breaker.” Came the response, loud with static. “What are your orders?” She laughed. She had always wanted to hear those words and it figures they be some of the last ones she ever heard. “Make them bleed Fly boys. Tide Breaker out.”  She turned her gaze on the ever expanding mass of the Herald of the Deep. “All hands!” She called out over the comms, unsure if anyone was still alive besides her as she pushed the last burst of energy into the engines. “It has been an honor to serve with you. The order is, RAMMING SPEED!”  ----- The Battleship smashed into the shields and imploded on itself sending a massive explosion outwards. The shields of the Herald finally caving under the strain and shutting off completely. Halbrum breathed a sigh of relief as he returned to his throne. For a moment he had thought himself in actual danger.  He had just sat down and gazed at the display just as the USS Enterprise emerged from the cloud of debris. Every hangar door suddenly opening and a full seven wings of bombers and fighters pouring out.  They strafed the super Dreadnought from bow to stern, the Herald’s massive guns unable to target the smaller craft. Bombs blew holes on every deck, fighter gattling fire shattered view ports and sent thousands of Volin scream into space before the defense shutters could close, and the USS Enterprise after dislodging all of her craft rammed head on into the ship.  The last sight Fleet Master Halbrum saw was the prow of the Enterprise crashing into his bridge, the crew frozen in place by the suddenness of the attack, and Karek breaking for the door to flee.  Commodore Brianna was right, Hulbrum thought in his final moments. The humans had indeed made the Volin bleed for  their victory. 

[elfrootaddict]

SHE IS THE KEY - Chapter 1/5

DESCRIPTION: Solas is desperate to meet the person who survived the explosion at the Conclave. Things certainly didn’t go as planned. 

SERIES: Halla & Wolf

VOLUME: 2

“If you will allow me Lady Cassandra,” begins the stranger as he holds his staff out in front of him while keeping a respectable distance. “I can try help get answers from the prisoner. Better yet, I may even find a way to seal the Breach.” 

With a unimpressed expression slapped across her face, Cassandra grumbles, “Considering the fact that you are the only one who has come forward to assist us with your… self-proclaimed knowledge,” and then releases a loud, audible sigh. “I would be stupid to decline your help. Even though you are a mage.” 

Offering only a meek smile and a respectable nod as a response, the stranger holds his true intentions to himself. Should this Cassandra discover his secret, she would undoubtedly make him a prisoner, too. Or simply kill him. Naturally, neither result suits him. 

With nothing left to discuss, Cassandra gestures at the stranger to follow her lead with a flick of her hand, “Come-” but quickly looks back cautiously. “What is your name again?”

“Solas.”

“Come then, Solas. The prisoner is this way.”

With their no-nonsense exchange lasting only a few heart-beats, Solas does appreciate the straightforwardness of Cassandra. As they make their way through Haven’s Chantry, Solas notices how she carries this poise of divine purpose in her stride and posture. Clearly she has an unrelenting drive to figure out who killed the Divine and the hundreds of others attending the Conclave. However, despite being the Right Hand of a murdered Divine, Solas can tell her determination comes not only from the expectations of her position, but that there is an undeniable sense of deep personal loss, too. 

After several minutes of silence between them, they turn right at the end of the dimly lit passage. They then come across a single, wooden door with two guards situated on either side. 

As soon as the guards notice their approach, they straighten themselves up and salute, “Lady Cassandra, Sister Nightingale has gone to speak to her scouts. Still nothing from the prisoner.” 

“Thank you,” remarks Cassandra as she tilts her head back. “This is Solas. He will be assisting us. You may allow him access to the prisoner but nowhere else.” 

A wise decision, but unnecessary. 

“Understood, Lady Cassandra.” confirms the guards united as they relax their arms back to their side. 

Cassandra steps closer and begins to open the door before stopping half way. With heavy eyes looking down towards the ground, she looks over her left shoulder and murmurs, “I need to know how the prisoner survived,” and with her narrow, hazel eyes she looks up at Solas fiercely. “I need to know… why they killed the Most Holy.”

With her pain and confusion palpable in her voice, Solas can feel his stomach turn in knots with guilt. He may not have been the one who killed all those people, but he knew who did. He allowed them to find the key to do it. 

It was not supposed to happen this way.

Cassandra finally opens the door fully and makes her way down a few steps before stepping further into the room. Solas stops at the top of the steps and quickly takes in the space: a square, split-level room with steps that lead further down to a landing with holding cells hiding in the darkness of the faintly lit room. And in each corner of the room is a pillar, followed with a guard situated in front of each one.

“This…” murmurs Cassandra as she squares her stance on the other side of the room. “Is the prisoner.”

Looking down at the centre of the room Solas notices a small, lifeless shape lying on their right side with their back facing the door he just came through. He was expecting the prisoner to at least be awake and in a holding cell. Instead, they lay completely unconscious on the cold, stone floor. 

His with staff in his right hand, Solas makes his way down the stairs. Immediately he can’t help but notice the prisoner’s elegant, female curves. The edges of her sweeping silhouette highlighted by the subtle light coming from the torches. 

As Solas gets closer he notices her clothes are dirty, the edges scorched, burnt and dyed the colours of the earth. Taking his best guess, the clothes appear to be human scouting armour. Then, quite unexpectedly, Solas tries not to gasp aloud as he notices the tip of the women’s ear cutting through her silver hair, lying loose on the floor. 

She’s an elf?

With her arms behind her back and holding onto a deep frown, Cassandra breaks the silence, “The prisoner has been unconscious for almost half a day now. Nothing we have done has worked.”

Solas decides he needs to get a better look at this elf in human clothes and slowly walks around the prisoner, taking in every detail. All her angles slowly being revealed. 

Now standing in front of Cassandra, and facing the prisoner, Solas supports himself with his staff as he gets down on one knee. With the room being so poorly lit, Solas leans in even closer so that he may study her face more accurately. He needs to make sure that she isn’t one of his. 

Managing to get a better look, Solas is startled to find so much blood covering the prisoner’s face and notices that it clearly came from two deep wounds.

The first wound is under her corner of her right eye and about an inch long, while the second one is far more ghastly. This one is almost two inches long and runs diagonally from the left side of her mouth, crossing over her top and bottom lip, and then all the way down to her chin. The wound is so deep that it has completely split parts of the skin, revealing some of her teeth underneath. 

Then he notices the simple, lavender-coloured vallaslin on her left cheek underneath her silver blood-soaked hair. 

Dalish. With the markings of Mythal. You are not one of mine.

Then quite unexpectedly, a bright bolt of luminous green magic flashes from the prisoner’s left hand, lighting up the entire room. Solas is startled and jumps back up onto his feet and looks at Cassandra quizzingly. 

“We do not know what it is,” answers Cassandra with a mild shake of her head. “Her hand lets off this… magic every now and then. We believe it to be related to the Breach but not how it is related. This is why we need your help.” 

“I see,” Solas looks back down towards the prisoner. “You are correct in your assessment, Lady Cassandra. This magic is indeed tied to the Breach. I will need a couple of hours, and then you’ll have your answers.”

“I’m glad to hear it. We do not have time to waste. So the sooner you figure this out, the better.”

Cassandra then makes her way towards the door, leaving Solas behind with the prisoner and the four guards. With the four guards looming over him however, Solas knows he won’t have the freedom he needs to figure out who this prisoner is and how powerful the magic on her hand already is. With them still in the room, he can’t access certain skills and abilities, and he will need to use them in the hours to come. With a massive hole in the Veil, there is far too much at risk and no time for him to take the extra measures of precaution.

Being self-taught and a dreamer, Solas’s magic would be considered different than what a usual mage can do from the Circle, and the last thing he needs is unnecessary attention. Also, he occasionally likes to talk to himself out loud. This particular quirk helps him gather his thoughts and focus his line of thinking. And considering what he knows, he can’t have the guards hear him discuss such matters. Even if he speaks in Ancient Elvish. His privacy is essential to his success.

“Lady Cassandra, if I may have but one request.”

Almost at the door, Cassandra turns around to face him, “And what might that be?”

“I would like to be alone with the prisoner.”

The audacity of an apostate asking to be alone with the prisoner Cassandra doesn’t know and trust, causes her to catch her breath in shock as she stares long and hard at Solas. 

Solas attempts to convince her, “To figure out this magic, I am going to perform a variety of tests. If anything goes wrong, I wouldn’t want anybody else to get hurt. I don’t want to put any more lives in danger.”

After a few more intense moments of staring at Solas, Cassandra then reluctantly drops her shoulders as she releases a loud sigh. With Solas being the only mage around who claims to have the necessary skills to help stop the Breach, Cassandra realises that this is perhaps out of her hands. At the moment she knows she is desperate and pulling at straws, and perhaps Solas knows this, too. Nevertheless, this apostate came to her and said with his knowledge, he would be able to help. He also took a serious risk coming to her as all mages are now declared apostates, and she has every right to take him and lock him away for simply being a mage. No one would question it.

Taking a few steps forward, Cassandra continues to glare at Solas from afar, “I am no fool, mage. You should know that I used to be a Seeker,” and points her index finger towards Solas. “So, if you try to do anything stupid, I will kill you where you stand.”

Solas gives a slight, polite head bow to indicate that he understands. 

“Good,” Cassandra drops her hand and turns back around on her heel. “Guards, we will leave this mage alone with the prisoner.”

The guards reluctantly leave their positions and promptly follow after Cassandra, but not without each one giving Solas grave looks of concern. They don’t approve of this at all. 

Once the door finally closes behind them, Solas relaxes his shoulders and kneels back down towards the prisoner, placing his staff on the ground. It is now so quiet, that the faint sound of water dripping in one of the cells can be heard while the prisoner slowly breathes in and out.

Solas reaches for the shackles that are keeping the prisoner’s hands tied together, and brings them closer to him as he reminds himself that the magic came from her left hand. Taking hold of her left wrist, while leave the right hand to dangle, he begins to study her palm. 

Starting from the wrist and all the way through to the base of the middle finger is a large, gaping wound. The exposed flesh is seared and burnt. Now holding her wrist using only one hand, he traces over the wound with his fingers from the other. Starting from the bottom, he slowly makes his way up her palm. 

Solas closes his eyes as he can feel the magic vibrating. The wound is clearly the result of the magic that penetrated her hand, which now lies beneath her skin. As Solas reaches the tip of the wound, the prisoner’s fingers involuntarily curl down onto his. Her hand is also unusually warm as it radiates static-like energy. 

How fascinating.

Solas gently places her shackled hands back onto the ground and releases a loud, audible sigh, “So, da’len. What am I to do with you?”

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

READ ON AO3

Halla & Wolf Series

[princess-of-luxure]

Half Hearted

A mysterious stranger rescues you from an untimely demise at the hand of some Qliphoth roots. Over the course of the ensuing month, a whirlwind romance quickly develops—only to be snatched away just as quickly.

Some things aren't meant to last.

Fandom: Devil May Cry Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Relationships: V (Devil May Cry)/Reader Characters: V (Devil May Cry), Griffon (Devil May Cry) Content Warnings: Blood, Background Character Death, Near-Death Experiences

Written for day two of whumptober as the tags say, prompt was 'Explosion.' I, uh... I'll admit the prompt only looses relates to what actually ended up being the whump in this fic, but uh, technically it was inspired by the prompt, so good enough. 

Fic under read more.

When the infernal tree had first invaded Redgrave City, many of your family members and friends had fled. That was probably the wise thing to do, you mused as you picked your way through rubble and debris, the best way to keep safe. You had seen what the demonic roots did to their victims, and it was far from a pretty sight; a nightmarish vision that you were sure would be burned into your memory for the rest of your life.

Still, you found you couldn’t leave with the others, a soul far too kind and compassionate for its own good tying you to the ruined city. You may have had a chance to run, but others were not so fortunate. Your heart bled to think of those who were alive but trapped, who, without outside assistance, had no hope of escape. True, death by the tree’s roots was an unpleasant way to go, but at least it was over quickly. Death by starvation, dehydration, infection and who knows what else… such a fate was not so kind.

Today saw you combing through the ruins of what you believed might have once been a church. You had never spared much of a thought to religion, but you wondered how many people were praying desperately even now to a God that seemed deaf to their pleads. You couldn’t imagine putting so much faith into a belief that was anything but concrete, but whatever gave people their hope; it was scarce these days.

You were violently snapped out of your thoughts when you saw a small pool of blood trickling from out behind a pillar. It looked fresh, and with a gasp, you ran to check the source. Sure enough, a middle-aged woman was collapsed against it, her life draining from her through an uncountable amount of gouges in her skin, chunks of flesh completely torn away.

Hands trembling, you fell to your knees besides the woman, blood soaking your pants as you reached into your bag for your first-aid kit. You knew it was a futile attempt right from the start, that she was practically already dead, but you’d be damned if you didn’t try. “What happened to you?” you whispered as you worked at bandaging up her stomach, which seemed to be where most of the blood was coming from.

“Demons…” the woman rasped, the action causing even more red from dribble from the corner of her mouth. “You… should…” You didn’t hear the end of her sentence as her head lolled forth onto her chest. Cursing under your breath, you placed two fingers against the pulse point in her neck—nothing, as expected.

You drew back from the body, shaking your head. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you,” you whispered. “Rest in peace.”

You stood in silence for a moment as you debated what to do now. It didn’t take long for you to decide that you couldn’t just leave the corpse lying around to become a demon’s next meal, so with great effort, you dragged it up and slung one of its arms around your shoulders, beginning to drag it towards the exit to the church. You were well aware that this literal dead weight made you a sitting duck if any devils decided you looked like a tasty snack, but what else could you do?

As it turned out, demons should’ve been the least of your worries. Before you could make it more than a few steps, the ground heaved underfoot, and the architecture around you, which was barely standing in the first place, shuddered and collapsed, the dust and debris settling with a note of finality. You were trapped.

The nightmare hardly ended there. From underneath the rubble, a writhing mass of the infernal roots emerged, their razor sharp tips glinting as they sought out new prey, fresh blood. Sought out you.

You couldn’t stop the scream that was torn from your throat as you dropped the body you were carrying, backing up frantically only to slip on a slick patch of blood. You slammed your eyes shut as you crashed to the ground, throwing your arms up to shield your head and curling into fetal position as if that could save you from your imminent death.

A primal growl filled your ears, followed by a wet squelch. You didn’t know what was happening and you didn’t dare to look, but after a few seconds, it finally registered with you that you were alive. There was no burning pain, at least, so—so you had to be alive, unless the screaming of the tree’s other victims had misled you. Somehow, you didn’t think that was it.

“Ey Shakespeare, this one’s alive!” a strange voice cawed from above. Cawed? You cracked your eyes open to see the weirdest bird you’d ever seen in your life fluttering in front of you. You were not sure how it made human sounds with its three be—oh shit, this was a demon.

“Do not fear.” You turned your head to see a man perhaps equally as strange as the demonic bird approach you, hair as black as the ink that swirled across his body, green eyes bright as he took you in. Behind him, you could see the roots turning to ash and crumbling. “We mean you no harm.”

We? He must’ve have been referring to himself and the bird. And… the cat, apparently, noticing what appeared to be a panther stalking into your peripheral view. You got the idea that, just like the bird, it was far from an ordinary animal.

The mysterious stranger followed your gaze and chuckled. “Cat got your tongue, it seems,” he remarked, before extending a tattooed hand to you. Still partially in shock, you took it, allowing him to help you to your feet. “Are you quite alright?”

A million questions swirled around in your mind instead of any sort of coherent answer. A human that kept company in the form of demons… Without permission, you found yourself blurting out, “Who are you?”

Your savior blinked in surprise, then a slow smile spread across his features, containing trace hints of a smirk. It made him look devastatingly handsome, and despite your situation, you felt your breath catch and your heart skip a beat. Surely no man on Earth could look this pretty, and yet here this stranger stood before you, looking like some kind of fallen angel. You almost didn’t catch his response. “You can call me V.”

V. Just one singular letter, and it only served to add to his entrancing mystery. Now that the shock of your near-death experience was starting to wear off, you could—

“Hey, get it together, lovebirds!” the devil bird interjected, cackling as it received an irritated glare from V. “I dunno if you’ve noticed, but this is no place for chitchat!”

V sighed, extending an arm for his… pet? Companion? Friend? to perch on. “Griffon is unfortunately correct—”

“Hey, what do you mean, unfortunately?!”

V continued as though he hadn’t heard the outburst. “We must leave this place, post-haste.”

“How?” You glanced around once more to confirm what you already knew. The exits were all blocked, clogged by the initial destruction caused by the roots emerging. “There’s no way out.”

V gave you a cryptic smile. Like every other expression he made, it caused the wings of a thousand butterflies to beat frantically in your stomach. “If the doors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear to man as it is, Infinite.” Before you could question what the hell that meant, V snapped his fingers. You could only watch in fascination as the color seemed to drain from his hair, leaving mystical white locks in its wake.

You nearly leapt out of your skin as there was a booming crash behind you. Turning, you found a hulking monstrosity of the slime variety had just broken through one of the clogged exits, clearing a path.

Looking back to V, you found he was smirking again. Goddammit, that smirk was going to be the death of you, the curve of those pretty lips… Once again, you almost missed his next words. “Shall we?” His hand was extended to you again, this time not a necessary help but an invitation. A choice.

An invitation you would be a fool not to accept, a choice that was easily made. You carefully slipped your fingers through his. “We shall.”

The look he gave you, full of wonder and intrigue, would have been reward enough. If V had departed after rescuing you here, it would have been disappointing, but it would have been enough.

He didn’t. He didn’t leave, vanishing into the night as with so many romantic stories of handsome saviors. V stayed.

And that was more than enough.

Until it wasn’t.

~*~*~*~*~* ~*~*~*~*~* ~*~*~*~*~* ~*~*~*~*~* ~*~*~*~*~* ~*~*~*~*~* ~*~*~

“There is a smile of love, And there is a smile of deceit, And there is a smile of smiles In which these two smiles meet.”

A month had passed since V had rescued you from the Qliphoth’s bloodthirsty roots. After introducing you to his friends, the devil hunter Nero and the mechanic Nico, you had quickly fallen into a routine, and these days when you scoured the city for survivors, you had a rude bird, silent cat and a beloved emo poet to watch your back. Not that you’d ever called V an emo poet to his face, of course—it was an inside joke between you and Griffon.

With each day that passed, the bond between you and V only grew deeper and stronger. It started off innocently enough, furtive glances and secretive smiles that were laden with meaning. As time flew by, it became open, longing looks, touches that lingered a second too long, earnest conversation throughout the night, and Griffon shrieking for the two of you to leave room for Jesus, until it culminated in falling onto the couch together with a trembling, hesitant meeting of lips.

It was bliss. In the weeks that followed you were both subjected to endless snark from your companions, but it hardly bothered you. Why should it, when you were lucky enough to be able to call the embodiment of perfection yours?

Today found you laying with your head in V’s lap, his slender fingers carding through your hair as he read aloud to you from his book of poetry. His dulcet tones filled your mind like a pleasant fuzz, leaving you dazed and floating in the realm between dreams and wakefulness.

You didn’t notice he had stopped reading until he spoke, gently brushing a thumb over your cheek. “Are you awake, my love?” There was a hint of teasing in his voice.

“Mm.” You fluttered your eyes open, greeted by the ever wonderful sight of your partner’s breathtaking smile, laced with hints of a smirk as it had been on the day you met. You had grown to love that smile, that almost-smirk. “Depends on if you’re going to go back to reading.”

V chuckled, a low sound that was more melodious than any bird song to you. His hand slipped to cradle the back of your head as he drew you in for a sweet kiss, a heavenly thing that left your lips tingling and bliss permeating your every sense of being. Kissing V was and would always be your favorite pleasure, always leaving you chasing more of that heady feeling. His kisses were more intoxicating than any alcohol, and if the last thing you ever felt was V’s warm lips upon yours, well, that would be just fine.

“Though nothing would bring me greater pleasure…” He was speaking again. Damn, you really needed to stop with the zoning out over him. “...I’m afraid I have a mission to see through.”

That caught your attention. Blinking, you sat up, studying his expression. “I’ll come with you,” you began to say, but V was already shaking his head.

“As much as I enjoy your company, this mission would be too dangerous for you, I’m afraid. I must go after Urizen.” Urizen. The demon responsible for ruining Redgrave City. The demon responsible for you meeting V. “He has been left unattended for far too long, and time is a luxury we can no longer afford.”

V stood and you did the same, chewing on your inner lip as your partner retrieved his cane. “Be safe, V,” you murmured, an almost pleading quality to your tone. “You’ll come home, won’t you?”

There’s a melancholy look in emerald eyes, and only you would notice the way his grip subtly tightened on his cane. “Of course, my love,” he replies softly, and as he steps out into the daylight and out of your sight, leaving you alone with nothing but the anxiety that gnaws at your gut, you think he might be lying.

(He does return, months later, but his features and expressions are unfamiliar to you and the name he calls himself—Vergil—is a stranger’s.)

[cutesuki--bakugou]

Little Nurse

For Day #1 of the @mha-xmas-challenge

Christmas Challenge | Day 1 - Catching A Cold

Category | One-Shot

Pairing: Bakugou x Koge (OC) Koge’s Tag

Rating: E, no warnings

Word Count: 2,072

“Aachoo!”

Koge gave a small, sarcastic gasp from the sound of sneezing that came from upstairs, loud enough to get through a closed door and over the roaring sound of cartoons on the television. “Oh goodness. What a sneeze.” She looked down at the tiny figure of her daughter, who was eagerly bouncing her body up and down without actually lifting her feet off the floor. Crimson eyes locked on her mother, the two year old had both tiny hands on Koge’s leg, waiting impatiently for her to finish her work. “Ma!” She spoke through her pacifier, bringing a smile to Koge’s lips.

“Yes, Natsuki, I know. That was Daddy sneezing, wasn’t it?” After mixing a vitamin C boosting powder into a glass of water, Koge placed it onto a tray. Already on it was a bowl of soup, which was a special recipe graciously given to Koge by her mother-in-law, to which her darling husband had already thrown a fit about. Bakugou had never been one for his mother’s home remedies, but Koge had seen this stuff work, and she was determined to get him feeling better as quickly as she could. Having just hit a high fever yesterday, her lover was totally miserable, and it broke her heart to see him so pathetic. In fact, she was pretty sure this was the first time he had gotten sick since he was a pre-teen, so the way he was handling the situation was absolutely ludicrous, in Koge’s opinion.

At first, it had been denial. Then more denial, followed by further denial, all the way up until he hit a 103 degree fever and had gone through an entire box of tissues in only two hours. Even then, he refused to believe it, stating that it must have been an aftereffect of a villain’s quirk, one which he must have captured recently. Koge had effectively told him that he was stupid, forced his stubborn ass into bed and medicated him. Now, he was beyond needy, so delirious with fever that he had screamed about not being able to find the remote to the television, when it had been in his lap the entire time. Koge loved Bakugou to the deepest depths of her soul, but he could really be a moron sometimes.

Her attention was pulled back down to her daughter as she continued to bounce, finding her enthusiasm exhausting. “How many times do you think Daddy has sneezed today?” Natsuki stopped bouncing, looking at her hands as she put up a variety of fingers, before displaying two to Koge confidently. Koge smiled, picking up the tray in front of her to take upstairs. “Two? Oh man, that sure is a lot. I’m going to take this to Daddy now, you stay- ah, Natsuki!” Before Koge could even take a step, the tiny girl took off out of the kitchen, vanishing behind the wall with her light blonde hair bouncing vigorously in its ponytail. With a sigh, Koge followed, having to be careful with each step so that she didn’t spill the food.

“Natsuki! Baby, you can’t see Daddy right now.” Much to her dismay, the tiny speed demon was already halfway up the stairs, a skill that she had acquired very quickly after learning how to walk. In fact, Koge was pretty sure the child had come out of the womb with the willpower of a god, learning to walk before she could even crawl. Her daughter was a completely different experience compared to her son, who was very attached to Koge in contrast to her highly independant daughter. Bakugou had always claimed that she was going to be someone amazing who would one day even surpass him, and Koge didn’t doubt a word he said.

As she passed through the livingroom to the stairs, she looked over at the couch, spotting her son sitting on the floor at the coffee table. He was drawing, tongue sticking out of his mouth with extreme focus. He had just turned four, and was very mellow compared to his sister. “Matsuki, baby, I know you’re drawing, but could you come help me, please?” Pale blue eyes that matched her own locked onto her before the child stood, quickly making his way over. “Yeah, Mama. Need me to open the door?” Matsuki made his way up the stairs with Koge following, still being careful not to spill the soup. “Please hun, thank you. And try to keep your sister from barging in if possible, I don’t want her to catch this stuff.”

“Yes, Mama.” Matsuki looked back at her a few times as they headed up, concern on his face, as if he were worried about her having to carry the soup. Besides the eyes, Matsuki was nearly an exact clone of Bakugou when it came to looks. Personality wise, however, he was incredibly soft and timid. He had an extreme sense of empathy, even for something as small as an ant. Koge loved that about him, though she could already see him struggling in pre-school and with other kids. With a father like Bakugou, an extremely well known and powerful Pro Hero, Matsuki had a lot on his shoulders that was starting to weigh him down. Everyone expected big things of him, and told him that constantly. Koge vividly remembered the defeat on his face when he had told an adult that he had wanted to be a doctor instead of a pro, and that person had the audacity to tell him that he had no other choice than to follow in his father's footsteps.

If not for the child in her arms, Koge would have knocked that man's teeth out, though that didn’t stop her from giving him a piece of her mind. Bakugou had even been the one to pull her away from that confrontation, with Koge still spitting venom even as she walked away. She hated people like that, and if she were honest, the world of Pro Heros was nothing but constant stress and ridiculous expectations that often times made her sick. On top of that, she was constantly worrying about Bakugou’s safety, no matter how strong he was. So, in a way, she was thankful for this little cold that kept him home with her, where she could take care of him.

When she finally reached the top of the stairs, Koge gave a small roll of her eyes at the sight of her daughter, trying to hop up to reach the doorknob to where Bakugou was resting. Matsuki quickly made his way over to her, putting his arms awkwardly around her tiny torso to pull her back. “Natsu, Mama said you can’t go in!” The pacifier in Natsuki’s mouth flew out, though was successfully caught onto her clothing by the clip and string Koge had bought to limit the loss of them. “No, Da!” The tiny girl struggled against her brother, desperately reaching for the doorknob. Koge shook her head as she approached, stopping beside the door. “Natsuki, that’s enough.” “What’s going on out there? Sounds like a -cough- damn wrestling match.”

“Sorry, Katsuki. Baby, open the door for Mommy, please.” Koge address Matsuki, who successfully got his sister to sit on the floor. “Yes, Mama.” Though, the instant the door was opened, Natsuki tumbled her way into the room, pushing past her brother with a sudden burst of speed of which Koge had never seen before. “Ah, Natsuki!” She could only watch in defeat as her daughter rushed over, first climbing up onto the cushioned bench that sat at the foot of the bed before onto the mattress itself. Clumsily climbing over the thick layers of blankets, she crawled her way over to her father, who was already sitting up and looking at her in a numbed state of annoyance.

Natsuki plopped down beside him, putting her pacifier back into her mouth. Koge sighed, walking into the room as well with her son following. “I’m sorry, we tried to stop her, but she’s so stubborn. Like someone we all know.” She smiled at Bakugou as he glowered up at her, though the tissue shoved up one nostril ruined any sense of intimidation he was trying to give off. Paired along with the pale complexion, bags under his eyes and exhausted expression, he looked all around pathetic. “Well if she gets sick, you can’t blame me.” Bakugou’s voice was hoarse and nasally with stuffed sinuses, and Koge could tell that he was in need of another round of medication.

“Katsuki, you need to eat this and then take more meds. Have you checked your temperature recently?” Koge walked over to the pop up table she had set up beside the bed, placing the tray down onto it. Bakugou grumbled at the thought of putting food into his mouth, looking away from it in disgust. “I haven’t. But I don’t know if I can eat. Especially not that garbage my mom made.” He quickly brought his arm up to cover his mouth, giving a series of coughs into his hoodie sleeve. The instant he lowered his arm, he was suddenly poked in the face by an object, startling him a bit and pulling his attention to the small girl beside him.

Peering up at him with intense focus, she was holding the digital thermometer up towards his lips, once again poking him in the chin. Carefully, Bakugou took it from her. “What, you little squid? You want me to take my temperature? I don’t think you want to know what it says.” He glanced at Koge before pushing the button to turn the device on, placing it in his mouth with the sensor under his tongue. Matsuki came closer, crawling up onto the end of the bed as well. “Daddy, I tasted Grandma’s soup, it’s good. It’s not gross like you said.” Bakugou raised an eyebrow at his son, silenced by the device in his mouth. Koge smiled, sitting down beside Bakugou’s legs. “He wanted to taste test it for you, to make sure that it was good. He thinks it’s delicious, and so do I.”

Bakugou glared at the steaming soup beside him, not responding until the thermometer beeped and he removed it from his lips. “Then she must have not been the one to make it.” He turned the thermometer towards Koge, allowing her to read the small screen. 102.8 wasn’t exactly a good thing, but it had gone down a little from that morning. “Ah, still high. Well-” She was cut off as Bakugou gave a small hiss, suddenly smacked in the face with his box of tissues by Natsuki. Taking it from her, he did his best not to glare at his daughter, taking in a deep breath the best he could to stay calm. “Thank you, Natsu-” Next was the television remote, which was something he wasn’t entirely sure why she had picked, as it had nothing to do with his recovery.

Stifling her giggles, Koge covered her mouth, smile on her lips. “Aw, she’s just trying to help you.” Matsuki laughed softly as his sister stood, placing her tiny hand on Bakugou’s forehead, as if to feel for a temperature. Bakugou placed a hand on her back gently to steady her, allowing her to ruffle his hair a bit, as she always enjoyed doing. “Natsu, I think you’re a miracle worker. I already feel- ah no, you don’t need that.” The child suddenly yanked the tissue out of his nostril, which Bakugou promptly took from her tiny hands, tossing it into the trash can beside the bed. With this, Natsuki sat back down, leaning against Bakugou’s torso. As he let his arm rest around around her, she tenderly stroked his stomach, obviously mimicking the way Bakugou rubbed her back when he held her during naptime.

Koge patted Bakugou’s leg gently, gaining his attention. “I’ll take her so that you can eat and then get some rest.” Bakugou shook his head, clearing his throat a bit. “No, it’s fine. I don’t want any of you catching this, but… Honestly this is the best I’ve felt. And she’s already asleep.” Sure enough, Natsuki had completely crashed. Koge gave a small sigh, laying down across Bakugou’s legs in defeat. “How about we all just take one big family nap.”

“Let’s do that, Utsuro. As long as that means I don’t have to eat that garbage.”

[cecke8]

Your Ginger Housemate - Part 12

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There we go. After long last, Part 12 is here. Sorry for taking so long. It’s not that it was difficult to right, it was just very difficult to figure out the plotline for this one. Hope you guys like it! 

- Y/n’s POV -

You awoke disorientated, engulfed in darkness. You sat up groggily and rubbed your eyes, it felt as if you had slept for hours upon hours! But that couldn’t be right, could it? It would mean you had missed your alarm, besides, it was pitch black... almost. Slowly, you dragged your body around and lifted your head to see that the blind on your window, which usually allowed light to flood your room, had been forcibly shut and shoved against the glass with a pillow. It had been broken for weeks, and you hadn’t really felt you had the time to fix it. You could only think of one person who would try to help with little to no consideration to what he used.

“Jerome,” you groaned, dropping your head back onto the pillow. (Looks like you just going to have to replace the whole curtain and its railing now.) You couldn’t stay mad at him though, he had gone out of his way to make sure you slept in. So what was he up to? 

As you mulled over possibilities, you heard chuckles from downstairs and remembered your parents were home - alone with him! 

You bolted into action, wrestling your snagged legs out of the sheets and jumping out of bed. Without a second of hesitation, you were whizzing down the hallway and flying down the rickety, wooden staircase skipping two or three steps at a time. You arrived at the dining room entryway puffing.

Three pairs of eyes swivelled to greet you, one set shocked, another set curious and the last very amused. The owner of the shocked eyes was the first to react.

“Aw, good morning sweetpea. How was your sleep?” Your mum asked with a cheery smile, holding a steaming cup of what you presumed to be coffee, tightly with both hands close to her chest. You simply stared, dumbfounded at the scene before you. 

There was Jerome, smirking behind your parents back wearing a khaki t-shirt and slim jeans. Why did he always have to look so good? You shook your head and glanced around the kitchen. 

Pancakes, eggs and bacon had been piled onto four separate plates, and since both your mum and dad were sitting down, it seemed Jerome was the chef.

“It was uh, it was great mum,” you smiled weakly at her and took a seat at the small dining table.

“That’s wonderful honey. Now, let’s let go of the pleasantries, why did you never tell us?” Your mother’s tone changed into a disappointed frown. Your mouth went dry. He didn’t tell them, did he? Of course not, they both seemed far too calm for such facts.

You coughed, “Uhm, what do you mean?”

“I mean, why didn’t you tell us that Tyrone was such a marvellous cook?!”

The tension in your muscles instantly melted away,

“Yes, well, sorry,” you smiled sheepishly. Jerome could cook? Well, Jerome didn’t cook, but Tyrone certainly did. It smelt delicious.

“Well, it’s nothing. I’ve been meaning to pull my weight around here more anyway.” Jerome said it in such an innocent, bashful manner that it could be the maniac ginger that was the act.

Breakfast went without a hitch. Your mum found Tyrone “too charming and far too modest for his own good” while your dad smiled and listened, glancing in your direction from time to time. It made you wonder what he was thinking. And the food was marvellous. You made a mental note to ask about the clothes and cooking as soon as you two were alone. Which didn’t come too late, your mum was dying to see the city and your father was immensely interested in the architecture the city contained, so they were off as soon as they could.

After many waves smiles and air kisses (primarily from your mum) they had driven off and you had shut the door and strode to the kitchen. Expecting a mess, you were shocked to see it was spotless apart from a grinning redhead sitting on the kitchen counter, legs swinging and boots hitting the cupboard door. 

“Imma’ guess you have just a few questions?” Jerome enquired as he held up his hand squinting through the closed gap his fingers made.

You crossed your arms, suddenly very aware that you were still in your pyjamas which weren’t entirely conservative.

“Well, yeah. Of course, I do. Like, where did you learn to cook like that?”

“Oh, that’s easy. I had to cook for my mom all the time. She was too drunk. She would... make me using a variety of, well, let's just say techniques. So I sorta had to learn. Haha, she probably woulda been a fire hazard - never expose alcohol to an open flame.” He giggled at his joke.

You couldn’t help but smile himself, hadn’t you originally thought of Jerome as a fire? Not just his hair and sparking eyes - sparkling never really fit with the mischief and dark humour that was embedded in them - but his unpredictable actions and moods. Unpredictable. Just like a flame. 

Jerome jumped off the counter, a smirk plastered on his face. 

“I dunno why you’re so worked up over all this. Brandon seems to like me, he’s interested in ‘what I do’,” he made quotation signs, grinning broadly, “And well, Patricia loves me!” He threw his arms out wide, clearly pleased with his deceiving performance. He began to strut to the loungeroom. Yes. Strut.

You were flabbergasted. Was Jerome really finding this situation fun? You were turning into a wreck. It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours and already you had chewed your nails down to torn nubs on your right hand, the left was almost complete after this morning.

You followed the overly optimistic ginger, mouth open to point out many worrisome things in this situation, reasons why he shouldn’t be feeling so good about himself right now and was he seriously on the first name basis with your parents already?!

You nearly ran face first into his shoulder as he suddenly halted and spun around. Catching your facial expression, he held your lips together with two fingers.

“C’mon dollface, give it to me this time. I’m good at this.” His eyes twinkled with... pride?

You flicked your head to the side to the loose grip silencing you fell away. Crossing your arms, you walked to the couch and collapsed onto it sideways, exhaling loudly. While you massaged the bridge of your nose, trying to cope with the rising pressure of anxiety once more, you heard Jerome’s footsteps move around to the front of the couch. He crouched down beside and sat down, his back towards you and his fiery head inline with your forearm. His hair always looked so soft and smooth. Why did a psycho care so much about his hair? And more importantly, why did you have to care so much as about a psycho.

Jerome huffed, and you wondered what he was thinking. It was always hard to determine. You strongly believed that just because his face was saying one thing, didn’t entirely mean his mind was the same. And he was so hard to track behaviour wise. His moods flicking between one and another as if there was a switch located in his brain that he, and only he could understand. 

He sighed again, louder and smiled. “I know what I’m doing. I’ve had to act uh... normal before you know.”

You snorted, “Yep. And last time you did you ended up in Arkham. So your really reassuring me Jerome. Please, just shut it.” You didn’t usually take out your stress and anxiety on other people, but today you couldn’t help it.

You felt his shoulder stiffen against your arm. You opened one eye to see his head twitch to the side and back. Jerome turned towards, his face contaminated with furious irritation.

Jerome hadn’t done anything that made you truly scared of him since the beginning. Sure, the things that made him laugh (such as the horror action movies he wanted to watch) and his carelessness for his own and anyone else’s well being made you worry, but he never did anything that gave you any reason to be scared of your own safety around him. 

Maybe you were being hopeful, but it was almost as if he was careful around you. Cautious; weary of reining in the full intensity of his uncontrollable moods. This time, however, in your annoyance, you had hit a nerve. It scared you. 

“It would have all worked if my old creep of a father stayed away from good ol’ detective Gordan,” he hissed.

The hairs on the back of your neck rose as he tilted his head to the side and a truly crazed look filled his eyes while the corners of his mouth curved into a slight smile.

“But nooo. He had to ruin the whole game by telling Jimbo and his twinkie,” he spat.

You realised his hand clenching and unclenching like a piston working to cool down an overheating machine. Whether or not it was working, you were unsure. 

Struggling to find your voice, you croaked out the only words your terrified mind would allow.

“J-Jerome. Please...” Your voice broke before you could finish your plea. Fear constricting your throat.

The switch flicked, and the fire in his eyes burnt out. His eyebrows furrowed for a second as he looked down. When he looked back up at you, it was almost as if he was in turmoil while the small, insane smile that had scared you witless was no more and was instead a clenched jaw. The mood swing left you slightly shocked, but the fear continued to hold you still.

“Jerome?” You whispered.

Jerome stood up abruptly and strode to the door that led into the alley.

“Jerome, what are you doing?” You worried as the ginger grabbed his hooded leather jacket (you had to buy him a new one that was a little less conspicuous than the black trench coat with stains and a bullet hole). 

It was still daylight. He could get caught!

Jerome sighed heavily, almost a growl, as he opened the door and looked back at you standing hopelessly in the loungeroom. The past fear still had your hands shaking. He must have seen it.

“I had to go to... I dunno. College. I had to go help with a project or something. Just... yeah.” Without looking at you again, Jerome sauntered out the doorway, letting the doorway slam shut.

What the hell? Was all you could think. Things were good, even if they were stressful, and now this? What were you going to tell your mum and dad? 

What was wrong with Jerome? Why were you dealing with all this?

Although irrational, you couldn’t help but feel it was your fault. Why couldn’t you keep your big mouth shut?

What’s wrong with me? 

- Jerome’s POV - 

What’s wrong with me?

 I know, I know, it’s a little shorter for how long an update’s been, but trust me - there’s going to be more action in the next part!

If I’ve missed anyone who has already sent me a request to be on my taglist for ‘Your Ginger Housemate’, I’m truly sorry, but some usernames would not work. If you would like to be o the taglist, send us a request and I’ll put your name down. If you would like to be tagged in any other stories I have, then specify and it will be done. Thanks for reading!

Taglist: @sp00der-m00n @unicornwitch870 @skellingtonarmy @rockyrocket15

[magic713m]

Guiding Through the Cruel Sea

This is the first in a series of Dark!Percy stories I am writing.

Percy Jackson was swinging his sword, sparring with another half-blood. He and his opponent were surrounded by other half-bloods who were watching in awe. But behind them were a variety of monsters, roaring and cheering to the fight. The two dueled around the Prominade of the Princess Andromeda, which was acting as the mobile base for the rising Titan army.

After Percy joined Luke, he was told the huge cruise ship was enchanted to remain hidden from the gods’ sight. After a few weeks on board, practicing his abilities (which he had plenty of practice, being surrounded by water) he eventually learned how to use the ocean to maneuver the ship, making for smooth sailing. As long as he didn’t try to manipulate water too far from the ship, he could avoid conflicting with his father, Poseidon’s, domain.

Usually Percy would’ve ended this fight, but he had a lot on his mind. Specifically, the reoccurring dreams of an old friend who was in trouble. The problem was, he now knew they weren’t dreams, and he needed to do something. He just didn’t know how, yet. He had to find a way to convince Luke to allow him to leave and help his missing friend.  

Finally, Percy had found and opening in his opponent’s technique, and attacked. Percy disarmed his opponent, pushed him to the ground, and held him at sword point. Monsters continued to cheer, with some shouting for him to kill the demigod.

He lowered his sword, “You’re getting better, but I your technique is still too predictable. Once I knew your moves, I could see your next attack a mile away.”

He offered his hand to the defeated opponent, and helped him to his feet. “Alright,” Percy said, looking to a line of other demigods, “who’s up-”

“Percy!” he heard someone shout. He turned to see the unclaimed demigod, Chris Rodriguez, running to him, “Luke needs to see you. He’s in his cabin.”

Percy frowned, not liking the idea of going to Luke’s room, which had another occupant that Percy did not want to be near.

“Thanks”

Percy ordered the recruits to spar amongst themselves. Before leaving, he also gave monsters a threatening glare, causing some to flinch. It was a look that said, ‘Touch those kids, and you’re dead.’

Percy made his way up to the cabin, passing various monsters and Mist-blinded mortals. He felt a sudden chill, which got colder as he walked closer to the room. He had to catch his breath when he was just outside the door before opening it.

He was greeted to Luke and his two monster guards, Agrius and Oreius, standing and watching two new passengers, who were seated with their backs to the door, facing Luke.

“Please come in. I have a surprise for you,” Luke welcomed in a friendly tone. Percy walked in and reluctantly closed the door behind him. Once he was beside Luke, he got a better look at the two people in the chairs. One was a huge guy, with messy brown hair. Percy also saw that the boy had a single eye: a Cyclops. And judging from identity of his companion, it was probably the same Cyclops Luke mentioned that had arrived at Camp Half-Blood days ago. That person next to the creature had blond hair, and grey eyes, which were now burning through Percy as she glared.

“Annabeth,” Percy breathed out. She said nothing, holding her angered expression.

“It seems we had some stowaways,” Luke said, “I thought you might want to see an old friend.”

There was so much going through Percy’s mind right now. He imagined seeing some of his former friends again, but now with Annabeth right there, he was at a loss of words. Months of being surrounded by monsters had made him long for his old friends. Once Luke felt Percy was committed to the fight, and more demigods arrived on the ship, the feeling of loss became easier to bear. But still, Luke was becoming too close to Kronos, and the demigods were recruits who he helped train, but none felt brave to approach him as a friend.

And now Annabeth was here. He wanted to tell her he’d protect her. That she was safe, despite the monsters crawling around the ship. Still he could not look soft in front of Luke, or the monster in the big glowing box.

“How’d they get on board?” he asked. He tried to sound tough, but it was eclipsed by a slightly joyous tone.

“Apparently our security isn’t as strong as we thought. But that will change soon,” Luke motioned to the glowing sarcophagus. Percy shivered, and looked at the prisoners, still needing to play his role in the interrogation.

“Well,” Percy said to the two prisoners, “what are you doing here?”

Annabeth kept her composure and her mouth closed, as she stared at him in defiance. He stared back, almost like he was searching for secrets in her gaze.

“Dad wanted me to find you,” the Cyclops spoke.

“Tyson,” Annabeth turned her head to the Cyclops, looking shocked and annoyed at him.

Percy turned to the Cyclops, Tyson. The creature looked very nervous, and when he looked at Percy, the demigod could swear Tyson was silently pleading to him. Percy really felt some pity for the poor thing. It almost looked innocent.

“Well, Tyson, not sure who your dad is, but you can tell him-”

“It’s Poseidon, Seaweed Brain” Annabeth said, causing Percy to flinch hearing the name, “Some Cyclopes, like Tyson, are his kids.”

Percy could hear some snickers from the monsters. He looked closely at Tyson, examining further, searching for some resemblance to his apparent half-brother.

“Dad misses you,” Tyson said in that same innocent tone.

“I can’t believe you, of all people, Annabeth, would team up with a Cyclops,” Luke said, “How can you insult Thalia’s memory?”

“How could you poison her tree?” Annabeth said harshly to him, “You’re killing her again, and I’m the one insulting her memory?”

“I’m not insulting her. The gods insulted her long before I did anything,” Luke said, “She fought for them and this was her reward. If she were here right now, she’d be by my side with Percy.”

“Never!” Annabeth shouted.

“Wake up Annabeth,” Percy said, “You’re being used by Olympus like we were. It doesn’t have to be like this. Demigods are joining us every day, and we could use your brains.”

“Because you lack them,” she retorted. Percy had to fight back a smile from her retort.

“The Olympians are going to fall,” Percy continued, “Luke told me that they fear me. Because of some prophecy saying that by my sixteenth birthday, I’ll make a choice that will preserve or raze Olympus. But if you join us, you won’t have to go down with them.”

“Go to Tartarus,” she said.

“A shame,” Luke said.

Percy stood back as Luke instructed Oreius to take the prisoners to be fed to one of the monsters.

“Percy, go with him,” Luke commanded, “Make sure they don’t try anything.”

-

Percy had his sword prepped as he walked behind Tyson and Annabeth, whose hands were tied, while Oreius lead in front of the group.

As they were walking, Percy thought about the times he and Annabeth and Grover shared on their quest together last year. Percy suddenly had an idea. He looked into one of the bathrooms, and shifted his hand slyly, causing a creaking noise of the pipes.

“Stop,” Percy ordered, causing Oreius to stop. He pointed his sword at Tyson, inches from his face, “Who else is with you?”

Tyson looked at him with fear, as both him and Annabeth seemed confused. Another creaking noise was heard.

“Oreius, go and search the ship. Get others if you need them. If this is a quest, there should be a third member somewhere on board.”

“But the prisoners-”

“We’re in the middle of the ocean!” Percy yelled, “I can handle them. Just go!”

The monster looked disappointed, but walked back.

“Okay,” Percy said to his captives, “We don’t have long. You guys need to get out of here.”

They looked at him wide-eyed. “What are you planning,” Annabeth asked in suspicion.

“Helping you escape. Now let me see your hands,” he said, raising Riptide up.

Tyson immediately raised his hands, but Annabeth kept her hands down.

“Oh, this is, so, a trap” she exclaimed, “You want us to find the Golden Fleece for you.”

“That’s not it,” he said, “I need your help. Grover’s in trouble.”

This seemed to catch Annabeth’s attention.

“What do you mean he’s in trouble? How could you know?”

“Apparently him and I have some empathy connection. He’s been sending me distress calls for the last few weeks.”

“And you didn’t do anything about it?” Annabeth said.

“I told you, I’m important to them. Luke was not going to let me leave his side for a satyr. I need your help.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“What does it matter? He’s captured by some Cyclops called Po-ly-phe-mus,” he said, struggling to remember the name.

“Polyphemus?” Annabeth said, “He has the Golden Fleece. You want that, don’t you?”

“Luke wants it, but think, Wise Girl. Grover said the Fleece has strong nature magic, so if it’s true, wouldn’t Grover be drawn to it?” Percy explained.

She still looked at him skeptically.

“Look, all I know is Grover is able to hold off Polyphemus for now but if you don’t go soon, he’s dinner.”

Hesitantly, Annabeth showed her tied wrists, “Fine.”

Percy cut her and Tyson’s ropes.

“There’s a life boat at the end of the deck,” Percy said, pointing in the direction, “I can give you clear waters until you’re out of the ship’s view.”

“You’re not going to help us save Grover?” Annabeth asked.

“I told you that he’s in trouble and you know where to find him. I can’t leave. Now go.”

“Please let’s go,” Tyson begged to Annabeth while looking at Percy too.

She looked at Tyson and back at Percy. She armed herself with her blade and pack, and she and Tyson ran in the direction of the life boats. Percy looked over the side of the ship at the water until he heard the alarm go off. He turned to see one of the life boats speeding away from the ship.

-

A Day Later, Sea of Monsters

Annabeth struggled to stay awake on the lifeboat of the CSS Birmingham. Though the winds Hermes provided, had given her enough distance, she still tried to get as far as she could to get away from those monstrous sisters: Scylla and Charybdis. But the sun had not been very merciful, as she was trapped in the ocean, with no food or fresh water, with the sunlight baring down. She had no idea where she was, and she didn’t know which direction to swim towards, if she was heading to a refuge or another monster. Her eyes got heavier as her muscles got weaker.

Before sleep could consume her, she heard a loud horn, startling her awake, and her eyes shot open to see a fisherman’s boat moving across the horizon. She tried to stand and waved her hands, “Over here!”

She kept yelling and waving, though concerned she’d fall off the rocking lifeboat. For a second, she thought the boat would continue its course without her. But she saw as the boat turned to her direction. As it got closer, she saw that it wasn’t exactly well kept. It had rust, barnacles and it needed a paint job. She could barely make out the name of the boat, The Melicertes, written in blue letters on the side. The boat slowed, until it stopped right next to her lifeboat. Annabeth grabbed the latter and weakly climbed up onto the vessel. As she reached the deck, she laid on her back, at heard the motor start, and she drifted off.

When Annabeth woke, she found herself below deck, on a mattress in a messy living quarters. She did feel a little cooler, now out of the exposure of the sun.

“Are you awake?” a familiar voice said. Instinctively, she grabbed her dagger on her hip. She shot up, and pinned Percy to the wall with the dagger on his throat.

“I guess so,” he said.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded.

“Apparently helping you, again. Unless you want me to put you back where I found you.”

Annabeth’s pulled the dagger away from Percy’s throat, though she kept it close. “Where’s Luke?”

“Probably still on the Andromeda. It’s just me.”

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you right now?”

“27, 40, 70, 23” Percy stated.

“What does that mean?”

“That is where we are right now. I know exactly where we are. And you’ll need me to help navigate the sea.”

“What’s to stop you from killing me, if you can find the island on your own.”

“I know the coordinates, but I need you to help avoid the dangerous islands. I don’t know the Sea of Monsters and which places to avoid, so I need your help as well. We can find Grover faster if we work together.”

Annabeth thought for a minute, then cautiously lowered her blade from him.

“Thank you,” he said.

“You get us to the island, and you will tell me everything.”

“Okay.”

-

As they sailed, Percy told her about his time after she and Tyson escaped. He told her that after he freed her and Tyson, he was in trouble with Luke. He made his own escape from the ship and was able to hijack the fisherman’s boat. He told her that he entered the Sea of Monsters through the Clashing Rocks. Once on the other side, he could feel her in the water and went to find her.

As he was telling her his story, he coaxed her story out as well. He learned how she and Tyson were able to make land and how Clarisse rescued them from monsters in her riverboat and took them aboard before making for the Sea of Monsters. After the rescue, Clarisse decided to use the entrance guarded by Scylla and Charybdis. Percy was baffled, hearing that even Clarisse would be bold (and stupid) enough to try and destroy the monster whirlpool with cannons. After the failure to destroy the monster, the ship’s engine soon exploded.

“I saw Clarisse get off the ship before it blew.”

“What about the Cyclops?”

“Tyson-” Annabeth started, but stopped, looking down in melancholy, “He…He went to try and save the ship. He bought me enough time to get to a lifeboat before the ship blew up. He…saved me.”

“He sounded pretty cool. Wish I got to know him better.”

“So do I. I was so wrong about him. I…”

Percy didn’t know how to comfort her. He was about to pat her shoulder, but she hit his hand away.

“Don’t,” she said, angrily, “You don’t get to betray us and then turn around and try to be a friend. I don’t need your console.”

“You and Grover are my friends. And the Cyclops-”

“Tyson!” Annabeth corrected him.

“Yeah, Tyson. He was important to you.”

“Not just me. Sally too. Oh gods, how am I going to tell her-”

“Wait, what do you mean?” Percy asked, as he shifted from pity to curiosity.

Annabeth lips tightened and looked away, but she could feel Percy’s gaze intense.

“Why was Tyson important to my Mom?” he said, with more demanding volume.

Annabeth turned back to him and could not break the stare as he looked at her with a mix of anticipation and demand, “Because…Sally…she adopted Tyson. He’s…”

“He’s my adopted brother!?” Percy said, louder than he intended, “How…I mean…”

“When you were gone, I told Sally about you leaving. I wanted to keep an eye on her, in case you showed, and that’s when I saw her with Tyson. She told me he use to come to her candy store, and I guess she came to love him. When I first saw him in your-Sally’s-home, I thought he was trying to hurt you or Sally, and Sally stopped me from attacking him. When I was heading to camp, I still wanted to keep an eye on him and he helped me fight some monsters at the school that Sally enrolled him in. And he stayed by my side, saying he was supposed to find you.”

Percy was silent, his eyes unblinking, as the gears in his head went into overdrive. He knew he was related to some Cyclopes through his father and that didn’t really bother him. But the fact that Tyson was adopted by his mom was completely different. Tyson was there for her, and became a second child to her. Percy felt a bit jealous of that, but he was almost immediately sad again, thinking that Tyson was gone and Sally had lost another child.

“He…we…We need to get moving,” Percy proclaimed after some stammering. He decided to bury the thoughts for later. Right now, they needed to save another friend.

“Fine,” Annabeth said, “I need to see the chart. I can map the islands we can avoid and ones that are relatively safe.”

“Whatever you say, Wise Girl,” Percy said as he showed her to the map.

-

After Annabeth she looked at the charts, she determined their next obstacle before reaching their destination.

“We’re heading towards the Isle of the Sirens.”

Percy looked at the map, “Alright, well I think I could keep the ship out of hearing range-”

“I want to hear them,” Annabeth said, plainly.

Percy’s head snapped up from the map to Annabeth with his eyes wide, “Are you crazy? I thought people are supposed to go nuts after hearing their song.”

“Percy, I need to do this,” she stated, calmly.

“Why?”

“It’s something you can’t understand. I’ve heard tales. If you listened to their song, you’d comeback wiser.”

“Yeah, if you survive,” Percy said.

“I need this Percy. Please.”

Percy looked at her, and bit his lips. “Fine, but if we’re doing this, we are taking precautions.”

“No kidding, Seaweed Brain.”

They discussed the plan and Percy tied Annabeth to the ship outside. He made sure the ropes were extra tight before heading below deck, into his room and closed the door, blasting music in his headphones as he moved the ship toward the island. As the ship moved, he could hear Annabeth’s voice outside, screaming to him. He turned the music up louder to drown out her pleading voice, and potentially the siren’s song, until it was at the max.

Then he sensed it.

A body in the water, moving away from his boat. Keeping his headphones on, he saw Annabeth gone and the ropes had been cut, and saw her dagger laying on the floor.

“Hades” he said to himself as he saw Annabeth swim towards the island.

Percy stopped the boat, commanding it to stay, and jumped into the water and used his power to torpedo towards her. He got closer but the waves pushed him and Annabeth away from each other, sending one or both of them towards rocks, nets, or underwater mines. By the time Percy got his bearings, he saw her swimming closer to the island. He kept underwater, out of the range of the sirens’ voices, but Annabeth was still paddling, and he shot towards her, grabbing her ankle.

He was soon struck by a vision, which he imagined was Annabeth’s greatest desire. It was a picnic with her parents. Percy also saw Luke and a version of himself sitting there as well. Everyone happy to see her and in the background, a huge city of Manhattan, only rebuilt by her.

Once the vision cleared, Percy could feel Annabeth fighting and kicking him, trying to break free. Percy used all his force to pull Annabeth under the water with him, and he wrapped his arms around her as he swam away from the island before forming a bubble around them.

Once in the bubble, with the song completely silent, Annabeth stopped struggling and looked at Percy, realizing her present surroundings. She let out a heartbreaking sob and she leaned into Percy. Percy just held her close and let her cry, ignoring their surroundings, knowing for now, neither of them were in immediate danger.

He whispered to her, trying to comfort her. Once she calmed down, she listened to his plan to get her back safely. Feeling drained, she allowed him to continue to hold her, in the protected bubble, as he led her back to the boat. He also instructed the boat to continue moving pass the island as they followed it under the water. Once Percy was sure they were out of earshot, he stopped the ship and brought them back to the surface.

The two climbed up the latter and Annabeth just rested on her knees, wiping away any lingering tears as Percy reached the deck.

“Are you okay,” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she said quickly, “I just didn’t know…”

Percy contemplated his next words carefully before speaking.

“I saw it,” he stated, “You rebuilt Manhattan. Your parents, Luke…me.”

“You had no right!” she scolded him. Her face red with anger and embarrassment.

“I didn’t mean to,” he said, “I just saw it when I was rescuing you. I’m sorry.”

Annabeth inhaled and collected her thoughts, “I guess you didn’t know.”

“Your temptation…is saving me and Luke?”

She looked away, but Percy kept prodding, “Annabeth, it wasn’t your…it isn’t your fault. What I did, it was my choice. You aren’t responsible for me or ‘saving’ me.”

“You just left,” Annabeth said, “You left with Luke and I had to find out from Chiron that you betrayed us. I never even knew why…”

Annabeth’s voice faded as she was holding back her sorrow, “I guess nothing’s permanent.”

“He said he was sorry I was born,” Percy said, and she looked at him. He looked like his blue-green eyes were off at a distant, “Poseidon. He said it was some unforgivable mistake. And then he gave me a pat on the head and sent me off like the good child.”

“Percy-”

“For most of my life, he ignored me, and I could accept that he was protecting me from monsters. But then he claimed me once it was clear he and Zeus were going to go to war over that stupid bolt. I was just a tool for him. And when I got the bolt back, he told me how sorry he was I was born. Then he sent me away. I nearly died for their petty feud and I knew exactly why our lives were so short. So when Luke offered an opportunity to bring them down, I took it.”

“I made my choice and I’ll live with the consequences. But Annabeth, it is not your fault that I left, and you shouldn’t have to burden yourself with trying to save me.”

She looked at him almost pleadingly, but looked behind him.

“Percy”

He turned and saw the island of the Cyclops on the horizon.

-

After anchoring the ship, Percy and Annabeth explored the island. The Golden Fleece was currently guarded by big man-eating sheep, so for the moment, they couldn’t risk retrieving it yet. They discovered Clarisse has survived her ship’s destruction, was captured by the Cyclops, Polyphemus, and she revealed Grover as a satyr in the process. Polyphemus trapped his prisoners in a cave, blocked by a huge boulder, which Percy and Annabeth could not budge. They realized they needed to trick the Cyclops, if they were going to free their friend, and Clarisse.

Following Annabeth’s plan, Percy was able to hide beneath a sheep while the near-blind Cyclops herded it into the cave. Annabeth used the trick from Odysseus, calling herself Nobody as she challenged him while invisible and she drew him out of the cave, with him forgetting to reseal the entrance.

Percy let go of the sheep and explored the cave, traveling through the maze-like cavern. He finally found Grover trying to free Clarisse with a pair of safety scissors. Grover looked up and saw his old friends.

“Perrrrrcy,” he cried out, tears in his eyes “You came!”

“Of course I did, buddy. No way I’d leave you at the mercy of that thing.”

“Prissy?” Clarisse shouted in confusion, which was replaced by rage, “You no good traitor! When I get out of here, I’m so taking you down!”

“Good to see you again, Clarisse. Need any help, or would you like to wait for your husband-to-be?”

“Jackson!” she responded in fury.

Percy uncapped Riptide and approached Clarisse, “Right now, I’m here to help Grover. You, I’m on the fence about. So here’s the deal: I free you, you don’t try to run me through until after we off the island and back home. Got it?”

Clarisse growls and grudgingly nodded. With a swing, he freed Clarisse from her bonds. She shook off the ropes and tried to disregard Percy as she grabbed her spear. Before Percy could guide them out, he heard a loud explosion and a scream of fear from Annabeth.

The three saw Annabeth with a bad cut on her head, looking dazed as she was being held upside down by Polyphemus. The Cyclops was cheering having finally catching Nobody.

“I’ll deal with him,” Percy said, preparing his sword, but he was grabbed by Grover.

“Percy, you can’t. He’ll kill you.”

“You need us,” Clarisse stated.

Percy looked at them unsure. But realizing his chances, he agreed to their help.

All three attacked him, as he dropped Annabeth, head first, on the ground, knocking her out. Grover grabbed Annabeth and made an escape, as Percy and Clarisse continued their attack, until they too fled the cave, across the rope bridge. Grover tried to cut the rope to the bridge, and as Percy and Clarisse jumped to the end of it, Percy slashed the other support rope, but unfortunately Polyphemus had already crossed it.

The Cyclops laughed maliciously, as he was praising his victory. Percy saw as the monster swiped away Grover and Clarisse. He looked at Annabeth, looking almost broken, remembering that terrifying scream when she was caught. And he saw Grover and Clarisse, a little worse for wear, struggling to get up. Percy’s anger towards the creature grew as he gripped his sword tighter. He got up and charged at his foe.

Surprisingly, he was able to strike heavy blows at Polyphemus, until the creature toppled over. Percy tried to get onto the Cyclops head, but Polyphemus was able to throw him off, and Percy fell onto his back. Polyphemus began to rise, and Percy started to feel the fatigue kicking in, knowing he couldn’t throw in the same strength a second time at such a beast. He looked up at Polyphemus, but before the Cyclops could gain footing, a basketball-size rock flew from an unknown direction, into Polyphemus mouth and the giant Cyclops began hacking and coughing. Seeing the opportunity, Percy got up again and using the last of his strength, jumped onto Polyphemus face and embedded Riptide into his eye, and the giant Cyclops roared before dissolving into a massive pile of golden dust, flying away into the wind. Percy heard a shout and looked to his unexpected ally: the much smaller and nicer Cyclops.

“Tyson?” Percy shouted in confusion as he saw Tyson standing in the middle of a bunch of meat-eating sheep. They did not seem to think of Tyson as a threat, probably because he was also a Cyclops.

“Hi, brother,” Tyson answered, waving to Percy. Percy had no idea what to say as he stared, stunned at his Cyclops sibling. But he then remembered Annabeth and her injury. Percy ran to look at Annabeth and saw she was hurt worse than he thought, as her head was bleeding. He had an idea.

“Tyson, Annabeth, she’s hurt really bad and needs that Fleece,” Percy yelled.

“Which one?” Tyson asked, looking at the various sheep.

“The gold one. Hanging on the tree.”

Tyson walked up and grabbed the Fleece and threw it to Percy. Percy finally had the Fleece in his hands. Percy turned to Annabeth and saw Grover looking worryingly at him, while Clarisse seemed ready to jump him at any moment, spear in hand. Percy ignored them and placed the Fleece onto Annabeth. Almost immediately, she woke up, and saw her friends around her.

Worried for her injuries, Percy asked her to hold onto the Fleece until she felt all better. He also was able to ask Tyson to lead the sheep away, so they could run for the boat. As they got close to the sea, he looked back and kept watch for Tyson. After thinking Tyson had died and discovering that he was his adopted brother, Percy was not going to leave him behind. While Polyphemus certainly did not inspire any sympathy for Cyclops, Tyson saved Annabeth and had just saved them again. He owed him, big time. He finally saw Tyson running back, with the sheep at his heel. Percy figured the sheep must have realized Tyson had no food. Percy waited until Tyson was close to the shore and summoned water from the sea to push the sheep back inland.

“Go, I’ll be right behind you,” Percy said. Tyson jumped into the water and Percy backed up until he could dive into the sea. He moved the current, pushing him and Tyson onto The Melicertes, and they climbed up with Annabeth, still wrapped in the Fleece, as well as Grove, and Clarisse waiting for them. Percy turned on the motor and drove it away from the cursed island.

-

Percy turned off the engine and directed the current to guide them back to the Clashing Rocks. For the sake of peace on the ship, everyone agreed that the Fleece would remain on Annabeth until they made land outside the Sea of Monsters.

As Percy went to watch the horizon, he saw Tyson, looking down at the water, at the amazing sea creatures. Tyson looked at Percy, and smiled as Percy leaned forward on the side, next to Tyson.

“Annabeth told me about you. She said you helped a lot since I left. I just want to say thank you,” Percy said.

“Annabeth misses you. She has the same look Mom has when she talks about you.”

“Right,” he said, “How did you meet my-um-our mom?”

“I was lonely and I prayed and prayed to Dad. He lead me to her. She gave me treats every day for free outside her store and asked if I’d like to stay with her for a few days. Dad told her he didn’t want either of us to be lonely anymore and she became Mom. She even got me school so I could make friends, but no one was nice to me until Annabeth.”

Percy thought about how Poseidon drove Tyson to Sally. He didn’t know what to think: If it was some elaborate plan in convincing Percy to come back, or if he really did care for her and Tyson. He then broached the question he dreaded, “How is Mom?”

“She is very happy. She gives great hugs when I get home from school and makes the best cookies. But she is also sad. She misses you.”

“I miss her too,” Percy said, solemnly, “Tyson, can you tell her I still love her and that I will make everything better?”

“You are not coming with us?”

“Well, um, it’s hard for me to explain. I’m not ready yet-”

“Percy!” someone shouted. Relieved, Percy went to find Grover, looking at a huge wall of rock with a single passage for their vessel.

Everyone saw the Clashing Rocks coming up on the horizon.

“Alright, Prissy,” Clarisse order, “Get us out of here.”

“Gonna be tricky. I got through because a bird flew through it and I timed it. And it almost blew out my engines.”

“Percy, we don’t have time to wait,” Annabeth said, “Thalia could die any day now. We need to risk it.”

He knew she was right. They were low on supplies and it could take days before he could get expect anything. He knew the extra weight might be an issue, but he needed to risk it. They got as close as they could to the exit, with no indication of disturbance.

“Everyone, hang onto something.”

As everyone got ready, he turned on the motor and moved even closer, as he prepped the currents. He counted to three out loud to everyone and on three, The Melicertes sped through the water as fast as a motor boat. They moved between the cliffs, as giant boulders began to fall from the sky above them. They were nearly in the clear as the motor began to burn. Percy kept pushing the boat and they barely made it out with huge gashes ripping through the paint around the vessel.

“Alright, we should be near Miami now,” he said as he drove the ship. He could smell the engine now burning and figured it be better if he guided the ship until shore was in sight before trying the motor again.

Percy saw the docks and began to guide the boat, until he felt an impact on his skull and everything went dark.

-

Percy woke up, finding himself lying on a soft couch. As his senses returned, he felt he saw he was under fluorescent lights and he pushed himself up, seeing familiar furniture and wall paper.

“It’s about time you woke up,” Percy turned to see Luke, standing against the wall, arms folded.

“How long was I out,” Percy asked, sitting up.

“A good hour or so when we found you. You were lying on the dock and we got you back here. Care to tell me what happened?” Luke said.

“Well, I’m guessing someone must have knocked me out,” Percy said sarcastically, rubbing the wound on the back of his head. He didn’t know which one of the three travel companions hit him, though he had a good idea which one to blame.

“The Fleece?” Luke asked.

“I guess it’s heading to Camp Half-Blood now.” Percy stated.

Luke pushed himself away from the wall and looked down as he rubbed the bridge of his nose, “This is not good Percy. Kronos will not be pleased.”

“Sorry,” Percy sincerely said to Luke. He knew that both of them would not be getting a good night’s sleep for a while with the Titan tormenting their dreams for their failures. “But maybe it’s for the best. We are gathering followers, so maybe Kronos doesn’t need to reform.”

“Percy,” Luke said in a dark tone, like a warning, “I’m going to assume you are trying to be positive, and not thinking of defying the King of Titans.”

Percy closed his lips tightly.

“With the Fleece at Camp Half-Blood now, things might get more complicated with the prophecy. You need to be very careful what you say and do,” Luke cautioned him.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll tell you later, after you’ve settled in. But I will say that Kronos still plans on reforming. The Fleece would make things easy and convenient for all of us. But there are other ways, and I hope Plan B works. I do not look forward to Plan C.”

“I don’t…” Percy began and sat down, feeling light headed.

Luke came up and handed him some ambrosia, “Here, eat up. We have a lot to discuss when you’re ready.”

Percy took some of the delicious food as Luke left. After a few minutes, Percy stated feeling much better and he left the cabin. He moved along the ship, where he was greeted by some demigods, who he trained, and was introduced to a few new recruits as well. He finally reached the deck and looked at the vast ocean. He closed his eyes, feeling the breeze and the spray of the sea. He sensed where he was on the planet and he turned to see on the port side of the ship the beautiful structure.

The Golden Gate Bridge.

A/N: I try to be as loyal to the character personalities as I can be, even with the change in circumstances. I hope you enjoyed the fic. Hopefully I’ll post more in the future.