#when I said that I was thinking stricter meant Wake and Leaves don’t count

[fierykitten2]

For the sake of this post, I’m gonna count Wake and Leaves as Mythical, making Zeraora my third-favourite Mythical (I tend to count it as my favourite just because Wake and Leaves aren’t officially Mythical. Well, they’re counted under “special Pokémon” in HOME and given that the rest of their trios (who have the same base stat totals as them) aren’t, I think HOME probably meant they count under the Mythical category for being event-exclusive rather than counting under the Special Legendary category for being super strong Legendaries) because apparently calling Wake and Leaves my top two favourite Pokémon wasn’t good enough. Anyway, official sources kinda suggest that my favourite Mythical Iron Leaves is probably at odds in some way with both my second-favourite Mythical Walking Wake (the two of them being the only featured Pokémon in the Paradox Clash tins plus the Temporal Forces release trailer featuring the two of them walking up to each other and starting a fight) and my third-favourite Mythical Zeraora (out of a pair of an Electric-type cat and a Grass/Psychic-type deer related to one of the Swords of Justice, one of them is basically the Swords of Justice but humanoid and not-Fighting (there are a few other differences. I was gonna list another and then realised I’d already implied which that was by listing their animal inspirations) and the other one uses Electric Terrain to gain a boost to its highest stat (usually physical Attack) on top of boosting its signature move. Take a wild guess which is which)

[bubble-tea-bunny]

in the wind

[mako x reader]

author’s note: i would like to thank fallin’ flower by svt for giving me inspo. this is totally different from the idea i had originally but i like this cuz it’s seasonally appropriate. just gonna tuck the other idea away for now and probably write it for bolin cuz it fits him more hehehe

word count: 5,068

Your side of the bed is empty when Mako wakes up this morning, but that comes as no surprise. Occasionally you’re up and out of the apartment before sunrise, the slightly sloppy arrangement of the blanket’s edge stuffed beneath your pillow lone evidence of having been there at all. Mako makes the bed properly now that he’s standing, and the finishing touch is the fluffy bunny toy he nearly steps on by accident. You must’ve knocked it off the bed and not noticed. With a small smile he picks it up and sets it between the pillows. He’d won that for you at the fair last year, the only prize he’d managed to get, and he’d complained with a huff about how the games are rigged and that’s why he was performing poorly but you just laughed and assured him you were perfectly happy with your bunny.

While he isn’t surprised to find you gone by the time he’s awake, especially because it’s been happening consistently all this week, what does surprise him is the harsh breeze that nips at his skin once he’s outside. He can’t help the scrunching of his nose and he considers turning around to grab his scarf, but decides against it. He had plans to show up to the department a little earlier today to catch up on paperwork. It would be fine. He’d be inside most of the day anyway.

Or, well, he expected to be. But he ends up being wrong. As luck would have it, Chief Beifong has him on the beat since the officer who would typically be patrolling the area is out sick. So he’s outside again, a sorry amount of progress made on the stack of folders on his desk, trying to fight back sniffles and hoping his nose isn’t as red as he thinks it is. A mother walks by with her son around whose neck she pulls a scarf, wrapped tight and tucked into place, a motion complimented by a light admonition to keep it on and not tug it off again, lest he get sick. And mostly to herself, as she straightens up, she speculates lowly where this sudden turn in the weather has come from. But Mako hears and lets out a light sigh, breath materializing in front of him, and wonders the same.

One consolation of being forced to deal with the brunt of the weather is that Mako’s patrol takes him through the park. Fewer people came here once summer began turning to fall, the cooler air less conducive to outdoor actives like picnics or simply laying out in the grass to enjoy the sun. Today the park is even emptier than usual with the chill in the air, and the icy gusts sweep through the trees which rustle loudly and let go of their leaves, too weak to hold on.

The grass is losing color and the leaves which have fallen are brown and crunch beneath his boots. What leaves are left on the trees are brilliant hues of red and yellow, the truest sign that autumn has arrived in Republic City. Though some may not favor the cooler weather, no one can deny the beauty of a shifting season. Mako certainly won’t try to, and besides, he can hardly feel the severity of the wind anymore, after being outside for some time. Or maybe his face is just numb now.

His patrol is quiet and uneventful, another day passing peacefully. The sun is disappearing behind the horizon, orange light almost blinding as it reflects off the windows of the skyscrapers. Chief Beifong passes by Mako’s desk on her way out and he pauses in his efforts to sort through the new files plopped down on his desk while he was away to listen as she informs him that the officer on sick leave should be back tomorrow. He nods. All right. Thanks, Chief.

She leaves with a curt nod and a sly aside that it’s a good thing too, because if Mako had to be out there again, his nose might fall off. Mako covers his nose with his hand, cheeks heating up. So it did turn red!

It’s dark by the time he’s packed up and left the department. He knows it isn’t late, but the shorter days make it feel that way, and serve to make him feel tired more quickly. However, his destination right now isn’t the apartment. Instead, halfway along the route there, he makes a turn down a different street, continuing until a familiar building comes into view.

Two women come out through the front doors and upon seeing him, smile and wave amicably. One of them says you’re inside, where you always are, and Mako grins back and says thank you. Sure enough, light is peaking through the crack beneath the third door on the left, and he turns the knob and pulls back, opening it and slipping through into the room.

You’re all alone in the dance room, and he knows you see him because of the mirrors covering three of the walls, from the ground up to the ceiling. But you never break your stride, humming to yourself and moving in time with the beat you have set. He stays close to the door, leaning against it in silence and watching you with adoration flittering in his eyes that he doesn’t try to hide.

He knew you were a dancer before the two of you even talked for the first time. He’s nothing if not observant, something of a necessity give his job, and he could easily pick up on the way you held yourself, a sense of ease and litheness to your person he doesn’t often see. His urge to confirm whether his guess is correct is what leads to that first conversation, and your smile when you tell him he’s right is so beautiful and he is transfixed.

Perhaps this aura you exude is practiced for the stage, but Mako is inclined to reason that it’s natural. And he is serving witness to evidence of such, as you dance your way through your routine before finally, you lower yourself gracefully to the floor, right in the center, and he can’t say for sure if it was intentional, the last pose of your dance, or if your muscles are no longer able to support you after practicing for as long as you have. Your nimble descent is punctuated with silence, your chest heaving in deep but controlled breaths and this scene is begging for a spotlight. You aren’t made for the stage; the stage is made for you.

When you meet his gaze through the mirror, he claps, and through your exhaustion you muster a shy smile. You’ve performed before many people but still feel flustered around him, and if he’s being honest, he’s flattered. He’d said as much to you in the past, fond of teasing and fonder still of the blush dusting your cheeks at having heard that.

You’re slow to stand which gives away that you are indeed sore, but you don’t complain about it. You never do. With an inquiry as to how his day has been, you put on your thick coat, ideal for fending off the cold, and scoop up your bag.

He waves a hand. Oh, you know. Same old, same old. And it’s true. It’s been quiet lately and while he certainly wouldn’t mind some exciting stakeouts or chases, he appreciates these quiet days as well. The point is that there’s not much worth talking about and he’d much rather hear about your day instead.

Same old, same old. You say his words back to him playfully and he chuckles, grasping your hand in his. Just practice, practice, and more practice. The company you’re with had decided to hold the upcoming performance outdoors in the park, rather than in the theater they typically were in. It was a chance to take advantage of the weather—it wasn’t so hot as to leave the dancers uncomfortable and weary, and the vibrant colors were a backdrop that could hardly be beat. A performance outside also meant a bigger audience, due to accessibility. Anyone would be welcome to stop and watch for however long they wished.

This performance is also why you leave the apartment during the early hours of morning. While you maintain a disciplined routine even when there are no performances to be preparing for, you’re even stricter with yourself when there are, since you need to ensure everything is perfect. Every small tilt of the head, every angle of an outstretched arm, every expression on your face. You’re the first one in the building and the last one out of it more often than not. He admires your work ethic.

The two of you walk outside and momentarily you let go of his hand to lock the doors. Once you’ve done that, you turn around and catch him sniffling and rubbing at his nose. You frown slightly.

“You forgot to bring a scarf.” It’s not a question.

Mako glances at you and scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah, but it’s fine. Really.”

You’re not satisfied with that, but lucky for him, you come prepared. He holds his hand out for you to take but blinks in confusion when you proceed to ignore it and instead rifle through your bag. With a little noise of victory, you pull out your scarf: white, fluffy, and very warm.

Mako smiles, already feeling warmer from your thoughtfulness, but before he can take the scarf, you loop it around his neck for him. He crouches a little to make this easier, since you’re considerably shorter than he is, and you giggle as he does. His smile widens, and after you’re done, he stands straight and takes hold of your hand again. He brings it up to his mouth to lay a gentle kiss on the back of it.

“Thank you.”

You hum in a tone that means Of course. On the short trip home, Mako realizes there is something from his day he would like to share.

“I was out on patrol today and passed through the park,” he explains. “The trees were beautiful. I wished you’d been there to enjoy it with me.”

Your eyes sparkle with affection. “I wish I could’ve been there too. We’ll have to go when we find the time.”

When we find the time being the key phrase. You and Mako are busy with your separate obligations, and often don’t get to spend time together until the very end of the day. Mako meeting you at your dance company’s building and going home with you isn’t a common occurrence, only possible if he leaves work on time. And if he does, you usually tell him not to wait up for you and you’ll just see him when you get back to the apartment. At best, you have a couple of hours with each other, mostly spent in silence due to how tired you both are. But you make do with that. It’s better than nothing.

However, Mako doesn’t feel totally content with it. In fact, he feels rather guilty most days because his work prevents him from making it to your performances. You’ve never made known any disappointment or anger and take care to remind him that it’s okay, you aren’t bothered, but he knows deep down you’d like him to be there and your heart is just too kind to be upfront. It makes his own clench painfully with that growing guilt.

And so, upon the announcement of your company’s plan for the performance in the park, he promised you he would go. If it didn’t line up with his schedule, he would ask Chief Beifong to make changes to the shifts that would allow him to go and make up for it another day. You’d lit up when he told you this, and though you don’t explicitly say so, his promise motivates you to work even harder.

Mako sees it at the end of each day, whether when he meets you at the company building or when he sees you at home: late nights spent practicing, a sweat-laden brow, sore muscles, and a tired smile you gather the energy to grace him with whenever he turns your way and asks  if there’s anything he can do to help you feel more comfortable. He’ll be sitting on the couch and wordlessly open his arms, already knowing what your answer would be, and you plop down next to him and cuddle close, body relaxing with a deep breath. Faintly you admit to him that he makes you feel like you could dance forever.

Me? he questions, partly just to tease and partly from curiosity. He wanted to know more about what you meant by that.

You hum, lowly and fatigued, and he thinks that’s all you’ll share in the ways of a response, and he wouldn’t mind because you need to rest, but after a few seconds you continue. Remember when you teased me about being flustered when I dance in front of you? It’s because I want to do my best to impress you. You’d dance forever if he asked.

When you admit this, he only hugs you tighter and kisses your head and thinks that you don’t have to do anything other than be who you are in order to impress him. He’d love you all the same.

Seeing your hard work behind the scenes only makes him more excited to see the finished product. He hasn’t seen the entire routine, not that you would let him. You stress to him that you want it to be a surprise. It’s simple for him to respect your wish and he waits patiently as the days pass, another X marked on the calendar. In a way, the long shifts at the department are a positive if only because time seems to move quicker while he’s there, so preoccupied with work as he is.

The current month is gone in the blink of an eye. Gingerly you take the calendar from where it hangs on the wall to flip to the next page and Mako sees it, near the top: a big circle, the words “the big day” scribbled inside, in capital letters and paired with three exclamation points.

If it were even possible, he sees even less of you in the final two weeks before the performance. Not only are you working on your own routine, you’d agreed to assist some of the other senior members of the company in reviewing choreography with the less experienced dancers. Originally it hadn’t been one of your obligations, but when the need for extra help arose, you were happy to volunteer. This certainly does nothing to aid your lack of sleep or weary body, but you somehow have the strength to endure it all, looking none the worse for wear and donning a big grin as you explain to Mako what task you’ve taken up.

Of course, the way you plop down into bed each night and fall asleep immediately gives it away, but Mako promises not to tell anyone.

On the day of the show—or, according to the calendar, THE BIG DAY!!!—he wonders as he gets ready for work if you’ll be able to find extra time to review your dance. You’d remarked last night that you hoped you’d be able to, but your new priority had been to help the other dancers run through their choreographies until they—and, well, you too to some extent, given the years of experience you have on them and the trained eye you’ve developed—feel satisfied.

But then you resolved that if you don’t get the chance, it’s okay, and maybe you’re saying it more to yourself than to Mako but he still made sure to remind you not to run yourself ragged. He knows you better than most and knows that you’d try to squeeze in even just a few minutes of last-minute practice if you saw a small opening in your schedule. The intense motivation is inspiring, truly, but it would be a shame if you were to crash on the day your work was to come to fruition.

Once he finishes his stern yet gentle reminder, he looks over at you, and while you nod, showing that you’ve listened and understood, he can detect your excitement for the next day flittering beneath the surface, coursing through your veins so forcefully he suspects you’re one second away from jumping around the room, like a wind-up toy. The corner of his lips lifts in an amused smile and he reaches to take your hand in his.

“Okay?” he asks.

And you know him better than most and know what he’s doing in this moment, softly taking hold of you and pulling you back down to the ground before you float too far away in your own flurried thoughts. The eagerness within you calms down, now a consistent and manageable simmer instead of the original intense exhilaration threatening to burst forth, settled by his touch.

You smile. “Okay.”

When the hour strikes to signify that Mako’s shift is over, he’s quick to clean up his desk and gather his belongings. Chief Beifong is still in her office, the door open, and he pokes his head through quickly to bid her goodbye but doesn’t linger to hear any response. But she doesn’t say anything anyway. She’s aware of what today is.

He doesn’t have time to return to the apartment to change, meaning he’ll have to remain in his uniform, but he doesn’t mind. What he does have adequate time for is a quick stop by the flower shop, and he gets to the park with several minutes to spare.

All the seats that have been put out are filled, but he’s fine with standing. He takes up his place towards the back, and observes the scene, the culmination of your company’s diligence and determination. There’s a stage with a staircase on either side, and the breeze rustles the trees which serve as the backdrop. While there are light rigs set up for when it got darker, for now they’re unnecessary, as the sunlight is soft from the arrival of golden hour.  

The audio technicians are making final adjustments and Mako can see the first group of dancers waiting off to one side of the stage. He scans the rest of the area for you, expecting to find you among the others who are going up later, but he doesn’t spot you anywhere.

Worry festers in the pit of his stomach as he looks around the rest of the crowd, for perhaps you’ve found someone you know and have taken a few minutes to sit down and talk. His effort to find you is unsuccessful, and he’s hardly listening as the introduction to the show is made, a heartfelt thanks for being here and hopes that everyone enjoy what the dancers have worked so hard on. It’s when he hears the rustle of paper that he realizes he’s been squeezing the bouquet stems.

He stares down at his hand, has to manually instruct himself to stop clenching his fist, and one by one his fingers loosen, the wrapping paper crinkling, and he knows this is just to distract himself. The first group of dancers have taken their place on stage and now await the music. Where were you?

“We’re here!”

Mako hears your voice just before the song starts, and he turns to see you jogging lightly, one of the other dancers close behind you. Your steps are careful due to the costume you wear, and you hold some of the extra fabric in one hand to prevent it from blowing in the wind. You both slow to a stop before Xiaohui, your boss and creator of the dance company you’re with, and Mako can’t hear what it is you’re all discussing. But he just cares that you’re here, and as the last of his worry fades, he turns his attention to the stage.

You’d been standing close to Xiaohui to talk to her, but now that your conversation is over, you back up a few steps to a more reasonable distance and your movements in Mako’s peripherals prompt him to look back over at you. You’re not standing very far from him but don’t notice him, which he doesn’t mind. He’s content to watch you, in this short stretch of time before it’s your turn, and if you’re nervous, you do a good job at hiding it.

You start to check over your costume, smoothing out wrinkles you have may created from holding it bunched up while you ran. Then you touch your hair, wanting to be sure it hasn’t loosened from the elegant style you have it in. The other girl you’d arrived with (her name escapes Mako at the moment) sees what you’re doing and leans in to reassure you that you look perfect.

Well, at least, that’s what Mako assumes she says. Because you do look perfect, even in your relaxed state, not having yet taken up the air of the professional performer, that charm and fluidity with the practiced facial expressions to match, enough to mesmerize and captivate. For all your natural poise, when you’re off the stage, you’re goofy and playful and if one didn’t know better, they would hardly believe it was still you when you are on it.

It’s a talent not many have, and even if Mako is aware of your two sides, he’s not prepared when the moment comes, and you ascend the few steps up to the stage alone.

In the seconds of silence before the music plays, your eyes flicker over the audience, and he figures you might be trying to look for him, but you don’t keep at it for long before you look down again, and though he’s too far to see the details of your face, he knows you’re getting into the proper headspace. The melody begins to float from the speakers, and from the very first beat you’re moving, the sound seeming to carry you from one side to the other.

Your gaze is softer than the light from the setting sun and it steals Mako’s breath away. He’d never get used to it, to your presence on stage, lost in the music and the flow of your movements, a smoothness like water heading downstream. You make it all look so effortless, appearing lighter than air and he half expects you to be swept up by the breeze, just like the autumn leaves which surround you. You gain strength from the earth beneath your feet with every step, twist, and turn, and there’s a fire raging inside you which crashes against the walls of your heart, a stunning passion made evident with each agile gesture and dreamy sigh. You’re not a bender but you control the elements better than most.

The dress you wear reaches the floor and flutters freely in the wind now that it’s not being held down, and you appear to glide. And maybe the rest of the audience is thinking what Mako is thinking, that there’s no human on the stage, but something else, a creature from bedtime stories and whose home is the world one sees when glancing into the reflection of a lake on a still day. You’ve emerged from the most ideal parts of the soul, form and breath given to the good deep down in everyone.

Mako’s grip on the bouquet had been slack, his nerves having dissipated after seeing you come running earlier, but it tightens again though not from worry. It mirrors the tightening in the pit of his chest the longer he watches you and he really meant what he'd said before, that you don't have to do anything other than be yourself to impress him. The dance could be the exact same, the one difference being that someone else is up there on that stage, moving to this song in front of these trees and among the falling leaves, but it would never encompass the power you give it. The love he feels for you is profound and the art you live to share with the world only magnifies the reasons why.

As the music slows and fades to a close, and you lower yourself delicately to the ground, a fallen leaf in your own right, he sighs out a breath of admiration, mind hazy like he’s just woken up. You stand up as applause erupts and this time you spot him, your eyes meeting, and despite the space between you filled with an audience as captivated by you as he had been, it feels like you’re the only two people here.

You were scheduled towards the end of the show, so there isn’t long left before closing remarks are made, one more expression of gratitude shared, and then the crowd starts to disperse into a night that’s still young. You’re not able to meet Mako right away, doing what you can to help clean up and put away chairs, and he waits patiently to the side as you do. From where he stands, he can see Xiaohui approach you. Again, he can’t hear the conversation, but he has a suspicion of what it’s about when she motions for you to leave the chair you were about to pick up and points over your shoulder, in his direction.

You follow her finger, and upon spotting him, smile widely. He lifts a hand to give a short wave, and then you turn around, likely asking if Xiaohui is really fine with you leaving now, and she nods. So you begin to say your goodbyes to the other dancers, keeping it brief. And then you’re walking towards him, and he smiles as he presents the bouquet to you. The wrapping paper around the stems is crinkled from his hold but the stems themselves are fine and that's what matters.

“Thank you,” you say as you take the flowers, mindful of the fragile petals. Your voice is quiet, denoting your tiredness, and you’re no longer able to hide it, not that you want to. With the end of the big show, the climax after months of hard work, you can let the walls drop and entertain the idea of sleeping for a full night for once (and maybe a full day too).

“You were amazing.” The compliment’s lackluster and Mako’s not much of a poet but he hopes you understand the depth of his affection, able to be found by peeking between the lines at words not spoken.

A couple of seconds of silence pass as you stare up at him, your eyelashes kissing your cheeks with every blink (up close he can see the glitter dusted across them and across the bridge of your nose, and they glimmer under the light of the lamppost). Finally, when you smile, he knows you’ve understood, and you’re doing it again, what you do whenever he sees you dance: you blush and avert your eyes bashfully, shrinking beneath his fond gaze.

Mako chuckles warmly. While he would like to tease you because he enjoys seeing you get shy, his desire for food outweighs this and he’s sure you’re hungry too, so he takes your free hand in his to lead you out of the park.

“Where would you like eat?” he inquires. “My treat.”

Apparently you’ve been craving ramen, so he brings you to a nice ramen shop Bolin had mentioned stumbling upon randomly one day. It’s calm inside, the patrons talking in hushed voices. A few sit at the bar, drinks in hand and joking around with the chef. The two of you request a table so the host guides you past them, to a booth by the window. After you’ve looked over the menu and given your orders, Mako asks about what happened before the show.

It takes you a moment to figure out what he’s talking about, but once you do, you let out a small Oh! and you begin to explain. The other dancer you’d been with, Meilin, had a tear in her dress she didn’t notice until Xiaohui had pointed it out during rehearsal. You offered to help her patch it, but that involved a trip to a sewing store, still in your costumes, and that cut down on the time you actually had to do the stitching. Thankfully it had worked out just fine.

“Now I’m [Name] the dancer and, apparently, resident seamstress,” you state with a laugh.

Mako laughs too, and then as he settles down, remarks, “That was nice of you to do.”

You shrug like it’s no big deal and maybe to you it isn’t. Maybe there really is nothing for you to note in the way your love stretches and grows to reach anyone who needs it because for you, it’s just another day, and he feels so lucky to rest beneath the shade of something so magnificent.  

Bolin was right: the ramen here is good. Neither of you talks for a while after the waiter brings the food, your appetites whetted from the aromas wafting from the bowls. As Mako eats, he finds his attention drifting to the sight past the windows, to the trees across the street lit by the tall street lamps. Soon, upon the arrival of winter, those trees would be bare. But for now the wind is blowing, and there are still leaves left to float to the ground. His heart feels like one of them, those falling leaves, and he can only hope its gentle descent is to someplace warmer.

He’s distracted, and the lack of clanking silverware from his side of the table prompts you to glance at him, Your head tilts curiously. You okay? you ask quietly. This successfully pulls him from his thoughts, and he turns to you. The light hanging above the table reflects off the glitter sitting pretty on your cheeks and his heart isn’t falling, it already has fallen, right into your welcoming embrace, a perfect shelter from the autumn chill.

The blank look previously on his face is replaced by a smile. Yeah, I’m okay. And how could he not be when he’s with you?

[gamerwoo]

[Tales from the Pack] Wonwoo: Protector (Part Three)

Characters: Wonwoo x female reader

Genre/warnings: werewolf au, fantasy, fluff, a lil crack in the beginning??

Word count: 2,169

Summary: If there’s one thing Wonwoo hates, it’s feeling helpless; like there’s nothing he can do to stop somebody he loves from getting hurts. It’s happened to him once before, and he swears it’ll never happen again. Especially not after he meets you.

Tag list: @choiminjae0325​​ @heolykpop​​ @fullsun-donghyuck​​ @yoonbabe-d​​​ @exuwu​​ @lets-get-1t​​​ @sooooofrench​​​ @vintageot5​​ @sehunnies-hunnie96​ @luvhannie​ @childfmoonn​ @wobwobkpop​ @henloimawierdobye​ (if you wanna be added please send an ask or a dm!!)

Unable to tag: @uglyratlmao

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Your first night together wasn’t as awkward as you thought it was going to be. Wonwoo didn’t try anything with you, but he did sleep in your bed which was actually really comforting. Not to mention Wonwoo was particularly warm, and actually pretty cuddly for someone who looked so cold on the outside.

You were groggy when you woke up – you were still half asleep – but you quickly rolled over and tried to fall back to sleep. However, you felt strong arms slip around your waist, pulling you to a very warm body.

“You’re moving too much,” Wonwoo’s voice was somehow even deeper from sleep, and it made your heart flutter.

“I hardly moved, I just wanted to roll over,” you mumbled, a lazy smile forming on your face. “Why are you awake?”

“I could ask the same thing,” his voice was just a gravely purr in your ear, his arms tightening around you before he pressed a kiss behind your ear. “Can we just stay here all day?”

“If that’s what you want to do.”

“That’s what I want to do for the rest of my existence.”

“Then let’s.”

He hummed happily in response, burying his face in your back, “You’re so--” 

Wonwoo was cut off by a loud knock on your door that had your mate immediately springing up with a growl in his throat as he bared his fangs at any oncoming danger.

“Wonwoo, it’s okay,” you told him sleepily as you managed to climb out of bed, “it’s probably one of the neighbors.”

Looking out the window, you could see the sun had just risen, so you didn’t really know why any of your neighbors would be banging this loudly on your door at this hour. However, if it kept your mate at bay, you would carry on with whatever your mind made up.

“Wait,” his hand grabbed your wrist just as you reached the middle of the hallway, “I recognize that smell… Seungcheol…?”

You nodded, “Ah, they’re probably here to check on you.”

“This early?” he asked as he reached for your hand and kept his body closely behind yours. “What if something bad happened to Danbi?”

“You know they would never let anything bad happen to your sister, Wonwoo,” you reassured him before you opened the door.

You saw a very apologetic Seungcheol, accompanied by Minghao, waiting at your door. The alpha gave a small wave as he said, “Good morning, _____. Can we uh...come in?”

“What’re you doing here?” Wonwoo asked, although there was slight annoyance laced in with the worry in his voice.

You sighed, already having an idea what this was about. This wasn’t the first time Seungcheol had come banging on your door for this reason, and you had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last.

“Is it about Jooyeon?” you guessed.

Minghao nodded, “Sorry...”

“I thought she was done sleepwalking?” you asked as you gestured for the wolves to come in and try to track Seungcheol’s mate down.

“She does it off and on,” the younger wolf shrugged like it was no big deal. “She actually did it quite a bit when Danbi and Mingyu had run off.”

“It’s been a while since she was here, though,” Seungcheol chuckled, not seeming too worried since he knew she was in here, and it wasn’t the first time she ended up at your house. You still remembered the first time like it was yesterday.

“And do you still think this is...Jia’s doing?” you wondered as you followed Seungcheol into the kitchen.

“We’re still unsure,” he said as he walked toward your sink.

He crouched down and opened one of the cupboard doors. Sure enough, Jooyeon was curled up in the cramped space under the sink, somehow in a deep sleep. Her short black hair was in her face, her eyes fluttering as she dreamed. Seungcheol’s mate was skinny, but she wasn’t necessarily short. She was probably a few inches taller than Jihoon, so her limbs in that cupboard probably wasn’t easy or comfortable.

Seungcheol wasn’t sure if he should try to get her out of the cupboard before or after waking her up, but decided just waking her up might be more helpful. He didn’t want to just tug her out, and he figured maybe she could maneuver her limbs on her own to get out.

Jooyeon’s brown eyes squinted open like the room was somehow too bright. She slowly woke up, taking in her surroundings before she realized her awkward position. She let out a wide yawn that turned into a groan.

“Again?” she grumbled.

“Again,” you chuckled.

“Sorry, _____,” she sighed as she tried to move one leg to get it out of the cupboard. However, that proved to be difficult. “How did I even get in here?!”

“Do you want help?” Minghao offered with a soft laugh.

As the two visitors tried to help the third out of the cupboard, you nudged your mate, “You didn’t even hear Jooyeon break in last night? What kind of werewolf are you?”

Wonwoo pouted, “I didn’t sense danger, okay? I’m not bad at being a werewolf!”

“You should invest in a new guard dog,” Jooyeon laughed before she was pulled out of the cupboard and landed sprawled out on the floor, looking up at your mate’s pout with amusement. “What, it was a joke? Damn, Woo, you’ve gone soft in a day. What did she do to you?”

-

Since you were already awake, you decided to go on with your day once Minghao and Seungcheol had retrieved Jooyeon from your house. You started making breakfast and fed you and your mate before doing the dishes -- which Wonwoo wordlessly began assisting with without you even asking him to. Then you decided to start working on a few orders you had to get done while Wonwoo watched you.

The room in which you made the potions was small and had wall to wall shelves of various ingredients you may need. From things as odd as siren scales and dragon tears, to things as simple as flowers that grew nearby -- well, they were simple for you to get since you had a companionship with the fairies that grew them -- lined the walls of the room. The only parts of the walls that weren’t covered were the parts with windows, but there was only a single window that nobody could see in from the outside. Other than that, there were just candles around the room for light, a handful of large, old books for reference, a few different mortars, and the decently-sized cauldron that definitely sold the idea you were a witch.

While you stood at the black pot to do your work, Wonwoo stood off to the side to observe. He wanted to watch much closer, but he didn’t want to be too in the way. Honestly, even if he were in the way, you probably wouldn’t mind. He said he had some experience with similar things to what you did, so maybe he would be of some assistance if you needed it.

“_____?” Wonwoo spoke up, his voice soft.

You hummed in reply, glancing up from the book you were reading from.

“Have you ever been to The Capitol?” he wondered.

You weren’t sure why he was asking so suddenly, but you explained, “I went only a few times with Beom. Her sister lived and worked there, and we would go to visit and get items from her. After she passed away, we stopped going because there was no need.”

“I’ve heard it’s...stricter there.”

You knew what he was referring to. Werewolves were feared and seen as awful monsters. Stories were told to children about werewolves who would sneak into town and eat bad kids at night to make them behave, or that the wolves wandered the woods at night to make their kids come in for their curfews. There were some people who still didn’t believe in werewolves since there hadn’t been any sightings in a lot of towns in the region for a while. However, there were a lot of people who knew.

The royal family who ruled over your region was very aware that werewolves existed, and they enforced the capture and execution of any werewolves, as well as anybody associated with them. That meant Wonwoo would die if he got caught, you would, Jooyeon and Danbi would -- if Beom were alive, she absolutely would, too. It was a law that had been enforced for generations on generations.

“It was like this even before I was born,” Beom had told you when you asked as a child. “I hope it’ll change one day. Not all werewolves are bad, like my boys. They’re wonderful and they don’t deserve to have to hide away and leave home, do they?”

“No!” you exclaimed, because you loved the pack very, very much.

And while you still felt that way, you’d never risk advocating for them. It was safer to just hide and be happy than try anything.

“There are more hunters there, yes,” you nodded, recalling the different clans of werewolf hunters you had seen. “They don’t do much, though. No werewolves dare to try to live near The Capitol. Why are you wondering, dear?”

Wonwoo smiled faintly at the pet name, letting out a soft sigh, “No reason. I was thinking about the last time I went to the market with Danbi, and there were people talking about when the king and queen will step down.”

“Are they supposed to soon?”

Wonwoo shrugged, “They were saying it’s about time they did. Apparently their daughter is being stubborn about suitors and they refuse to let her rule without a husband.”

“Poor girl...” you sighed, staring into the potion you’d made. “I can’t imagine being forced to marry a stranger because my parents wanted it.”

Wonwoo was quiet for a moment, and you weren’t sure if he had just dropped the conversation or if he was thinking. But you had work to do, so you carried on with adding in more ingredients. Despite the wide variety of things you owned, since you weren’t a real witch, you couldn’t make magic potions. You could make normal potions that anybody willing to learn could concoct, like one to relieve pain, one to sleep, etcetera. You couldn’t make anybody turn into a cat or suddenly start flying, though you wished you could.

“_____, can I ask you something that maybe could be sensitive?” Wonwoo spoke up again cautiously.

You put down the jar you had in your hand and turned to give your mate your full attention, “Sure...”

“What...happened to your parents?” he wondered quietly. “Nobody ever told us.”

It wasn’t really a story that made you sad, mostly because you didn’t know the reasoning behind it. You were also too young to remember anything from that night, and nobody really brought it up or told you about it. Beom only did when you were old enough to understand and remember that she’d told you, and that was it.

“I was left outside her house one night,” you recalled her telling you. “She said she was asleep when it happened, but the forest did everything to try to wake her up and go to the door. She said the sprites told her I was out there for an hour before she finally got to the door. There wasn’t a note with me or anything -- just me wrapped in a blanket and put in a basket.”

“What if an animal got to you?” Wonwoo asked.

You shrugged with a small smile, “Nothing in this forest would let that happen. Everything associated with Beom is safe, and because I was intentionally left for her, they already considered me hers.

“I never knew what she said to the pack when they found out I was around. None of them said anything about it, either. She did tell me that some of them tried to see if they could find the scent of whoever did it and follow it back, but it was like nobody was ever around.

“She thinks my parents knew about her and wanted her to be the one to care for me. Why, she doesn’t know. Most people in town saw her as the crazy old lady, but there were few people who saw through to who she really was. She doesn’t know who it could’ve been.”

“Do you ever wonder who your parents are?” 

You hesitated before finally saying, “Yes and no. I don’t think about it often, but sometimes... Ah, it doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t want anybody else caring for me other than Beom, anyway. She always said it was fate that I were to end up in her care.”

“And you don’t question fate,” Wonwoo nodded with a smile, looking at you like you put all the stars in the sky.

You could feel blush creeping onto your cheeks as you repeated, “You don’t question fate.”

[regrettablewritings]

Can I ask for some DOMESTIC headcanons with Jaskier, please?

Ask and you shall receive~

If they get married, who proposes?: Jaskier never really saw himself as the type to settle down, having spent plenty of his life living freely and unbound to any woman (or man). He was perfectly content with the idea of roaming the land for the rest of his days: Loving, laying, and leaving as warranted, and with as many lovers as he could bear. Until he realized that he wasn’t content with that. And he would never be content with that kind of lifestyle — or at all, really — if it didn’t include you in it in come way. Preferably as his and his alone. Though the bard would be tempted to ask for your hand in some extravagant and showy way, reality ensues in several different ways: For one, the two of you are often traveling. This makes the act of doing anything showy a bit difficult, never mind a proposal. For another, the most showy places where he could possibly cause a big splash tend to be banquets he gets invited to as entertainment. Specifically, banquets in celebration of some higher-ranking nobility, usually their engagements or birth announcements of some kind. Needless to say, very taboo to suddenly take the attention off them. And thirdly, as much as he wants the whole continent to learn of his love for you, Jaskier knows you’d hate that sort of thing. He may be a peacock, demanding attention, but you’re not: You like to keep things simple and flowing naturally. It’s easy for many to forget it, but Jaskier isn’t as selfish or oblivious to the needs of others as he tends to come off as. He would never dream of doing anything that might humiliate you regardless of it having anything to do with whether or not you wanted to marry him. It isn’t the majestic or lavish proposal he would’ve ever wanted to give anyone, much less you, but he makes do with the opportunity he’s offered: In a field in the countryside, his legs and feet aching after walking for hours, with the closest witnesses being a giddy child trying to keep her silence at a distance, and her only somewhat amused paternal figure who’s mostly just surprised you even said yes.

What’s the wedding like? Who attends?: In spite of his noble lineage, the guest list for a notoriously horny viscount-turned-bard is rather small, with an equally minor affair. There is no grand cathedral or high quality fabrics or even a feast worthy of the nobility. And as disappointed as he is that he cannot provide you a lavish affair as you so deserve, he is at least able to find relief that there is at least still a you. What there is is a small, quaint little chapel, the dress you already had with the additional accessory of a flower crown Ciri made you, and a guest list that initially was only meant to include Geralt but at some point also included Yennefer, much to Jaskier’s absolute dread. As stated before, there isn’t a feast, and Jaskier could think of a far better post-wedding meal than whatever fare even the nicest pub in town would provide. A tiny part of him regrets the actions that caused him to leave his title behind because it’s robbed you of experiencing the fineries he knows you are owed. But then again, if he hadn’t become a bard, then he wouldn’t have met you. And if he hadn’t met you, he wouldn’t be here, sitting in a loud, messy tavern, with you holding his hand beside him as you sheepishly giggle at the barmaid dispense upon you “her wisdom” from years of marriage. It’s not ideal, in the most superficial or materialistic sense, no. But in the end, he’s satisfied: There couldn’t be a more memorable way for the two of you to start your lives together, not even if he were still a high-standing viscount.

How many kids do they have, if any? What are they like?: I can’t see Jaskier being especially eager to have children. Though, given his track record, he probably already has a few kids scurrying around. It’s unlikely that the overeager lover would have remembered to utilize whatever counted as a contraceptive for the period, though, so there are still chances you’ll wind up pregnant. In which case, you have a boy: Charming and artful like his father, but grounded enough like you to not get his head caught in the clouds enough to fall off a cliff. Aside from his good looks and cheery disposition, his skills in music and field studies make him a golden child in the eyes of many, causing Geralt and Yennefer to wonder how anyone so smart and likable could possibly be of Jaskier’s blood.

Do they have any pets?: Jaskier doesn’t really care to have a pet but if you ask or even bring home a smallish pet or two like a cat or a lap dog, he won’t be against it.

Who’s the stricter parent?: You are, to the shock of absolutely nobody. Though, you wouldn’t call it being strict: You prefer to call it “setting boundaries to assure your kid survives into adulthood”, which Jaskier finds pretty rich considering the two of you spent a good few years boundless as, well, technical vagabonds. He’s more the sort to encourage your child’s indulgences and also more likely to get the both of them into some minor form of trouble. Or, at the very least, sneak him sweets before dinner or bedtime.

Who kills the bugs in the house?: It starts off with you: In spite of all that time living on the road and occasionally spending the night at less than favorable or sanitary inns, Jaskier never became accustomed to the presence of insects. “Besides,” he tries to reason, “you were always the one penning things about bugs.” “Yes,” you agreed. “Drawing. That’s not the same!” And if the fool had even read your field guides more thoroughly, he might’ve noticed that the amount of bugs you took note of paled in comparison to your notes on birds and even fantastical creatures. Mainly because you despised looking at and being near bugs. They frightened you! His guess is maybe you would try to capture them and release them outdoors -- but that’s only true to a point. You can do that with a lady bug, certainly. Maybe even, on occasion, a cricket. But once the bug hits a certain size and can fly? The household is filled with the sounds of you two screaming and yelling at one another, with Jaskier being about as helpful as a twig for a paddle. Sure, he talks a big game about being there for “morale support”. But the reality is that he’s hiding behind a wall that happens to be behind your quivering form as you attempt to approach the nightmare insect that had crawled into your home. In the end, sad as it is to say, the one who kills the bugs is actually Geralt whenever he happens to be in the area. Because as dominant in the relationship as you are, it’s still a relationship with Jaskier: That means that not only are you only dominant by so much, but also that Geralt is the one wearing the trousers in a relationship he’s not even involved in.

How do they celebrate holidays?: It doesn’t matter if the home you’ve settled down in is as large as an estate fit for a viscount, or as small as a little cottage by the seaside: Jaskier will try to make your home a central partying point for local events and holidays. He’ll spare no expense trying to piece together a grand meal (or at least the materials that might make one) or finding whatever materials may be necessary for a god’s feast day. But what he mostly looks forward to is the performing: No matter what the holiday or feast day is in celebration of, Jaskier will find a way to wedge a song or two in. And no matter how awful the lyrics may actually be, all attendees will listen to it if they want to keep eating.

Who’s more likely to convince the other to come back to sleep in the morning?: Jaskier. The man loves the feeling of you and always has a hand on you during the day. This doesn’t change just because he’s asleep: No matter what position the two of you fall asleep in, you will inevitably wake up with him cuddled up next to you, arms wrapped about you as though you were anchoring him to this world. You’re not exactly an early riser yourself, but when you do finally give in and recognize you need to get up at some point, your poor husband whines and you can feel his hold on you tighten. Not nearly enough to hurt, of course, but enough for you to recognize that he really and truly doesn’t want you to go. And you can try and argue that he can get up now all you want, it’s not going to change the fact that you yourself are quite warm in this position . . . Or that the way he stares at you with those blue puppy eyes is unfortunately quite endearing . . . . . . Ah, Hell. What’s a few more minutes? You can practically feel him smirking as you climb back into bed and resume your cuddling position. Normally you’d be annoyed by this brand of satisfaction, given that Jaskier can be a bit of a brat. But when it comes to moments like this, you don’t mind too terribly. It’s technically a win-win situation anyway.

Who’s the better cook?: You are. Given his previous life as a viscount, Jaskier has experience with finer qualities of food -- well, eating it, that is. He never had to actually learn how to prep food or fend for himself until he took to the road as a bard. And it’s arguable if he ever even properly learned to even after the fact. For the most part, he’d gotten by on the kindness of strangers, or by whatever he could scrounge up at whatever pub he managed to step a foot in. Or at the household of whoever’s mother he managed to bed. You, on the other hand, have more experience learning to cook for yourself, even if it’s by using the bare minimum. But settling down in an actual brick-and-mortar home means better chances of acquiring spices and seasonings! Really, though, Jaskier just loves that it was made with love. Because that’s the best ingredient of them all!

Thank you for your patience!

[randomactuallywrites-57]

Five Times Mikleo Looks at the Stars, and One Time There’s a Better Sight to See

Title: Five Times Mikleo Looks at the Stars, and One Time There’s a Better Sight to See Author: randomwriter57 Rating: G Word Count: 5,487 Event + Prompt: @sormikweek day six - Lastonbell: Promises/Acceptance Summary:  Later, once Sorey goes to bed and Mikleo has a moment alone, he looks up at the stars and makes a promise. Notes: Warning: spoilers for the end of the game! A while ago, I decided to write a 5+1 fic (because they're super fun) for Sorey and Mikleo, and I felt like it kind of fits today's prompt, so I hope you all enjoy this!

Also on: AO3

1.

Mikleo and Sorey have a free life, living in Elysia. Though they know nothing of the way human children are raised, it is obvious that their guardians take a lot more liberties in their upbringing. Perhaps it’s because there is no one particular parental figure - only a guide in Gramps, and though he is stricter than the others, he still lets them get away with more things than he should.

Because of this - and possibly because Sorey is the only one who needs sleep in Elysia - neither he nor Mikleo have a set bedtime. That isn’t to say they don’t sleep early regardless; both Mikleo and Sorey prefer the peach sunrise after a full night of rest. However, there is one memorable time when they stay out later than usual.

It’s late, the sun already falling into its golden hour, Midas’ touch spreading across the horizon. After a day filled with ruin exploration, they find themselves on the edge of the cliffs, overlooking the clouds covering the land below. It is a beautiful sight, one they often take for granted but most humans would love to see. Its natural perfection is unrivalled - though that is to be expected, considering the influence of Gramps’ blessed domain.

Sorey is the one who suggests it. Kicking his feet out, grinning, eyes glinting with adventure.

“Let’s watch the stars!” he says.

They’re sure to be scolded on their return. Gramps will give them the thundering of a lifetime. Sure, they’re safe from hellions here, but that doesn’t mean a wild animal couldn’t suddenly turn on them out of fear. Besides, Mikleo wouldn’t put it past Sorey to lose his footing in the dark at the edge of the cliff.

(Not that Mikleo wouldn’t be there to catch him if that did happen.)

Despite his better judgement, Mikleo agrees.

Compared to the sunrise, the sunset feels like closure. Its honey-gold smile burns like a tear in the atmosphere, slowly being consumed by night-blue as the sun falls out of sight. Then, gradually, pinpricks of light appear in the blue, the first barely visible.

“Look, it’s the first star!” Sorey shakes his shoulder and points at it, as though Mikleo hasn’t already found it. “Remember what that book said about wishing on the first star?!”

“If you waste time like this, you’ll miss your chance to wish on it,” Mikleo points out.

With a gasp, Sorey turns back to the sky, screwing his eyes shut and holding his hands to his chest in prayer. Mikleo does the same, careful not to waste his own chance. When he next opens his eyes, the sky has burst open above him, millions of stars coming into view each moment, swirling in galaxies and patterns he has only seen in books. He nudges Sorey, unwilling to take his eyes from the sight.

“Woah,” Sorey breathes.

Truly, it is breathtaking. Finally Mikleo understands why the novels he has read make such an effort to describe every detail of a sunset, every jolt of light in the sky, though none have come close to representing this sight in perfect detail yet.

Perhaps one day, Mikleo thinks, he will see a star-filled sky and know exactly how to put it into words.

2.

The night before Alisha leaves Elysia, Mikleo meets with Gramps. Somehow, this night feels more sombre, as though a short-term visitor’s departure is likely to change how things usually are in Elysia.

Together, he and Gramps sit on the steps at the back of his house. Above them, the sky is almost black, and yet the stars continue to shine through.

“I expected this day to arrive,” Gramps says through a puff of smoke from his pipe. “For it to be so soon, however, I did not expect.”

“Are you sure it will happen?” Mikleo already knows the answer, but part of him wants to believe it isn’t true. Part of him yearns for the safety of their village, a continued life of peace, unchanging, secure. But he also knows that such a thing will never happen.

“It is as certain as Sorey is human.” Frowning, Gramps does not take his eyes off the sky. “The day Sorey would meet another human was always destined to be the day things changed for him.”

“So he’s definitely leaving, then.”

Silence falls as they both keep their eyes to the sky. The stars above them do not flicker, strong in their resolve.

Mikleo wishes his own resolve was so constantly strong. Sure, he is resolved to go with Sorey when he leaves. He knows where his path lies, and it has always been the same - at Sorey’s side. But that does not mean he doesn’t have apprehensions, doesn’t realise how dangerous this journey will be for both of them. Physical injuries are the least of their problems - Sorey has broken bones too many times to count during his childhood.

No, if they fall, it will be malevolence which drags them down screaming.

But neither of them will break. Sorey is stronger than that, and Mikleo will not let himself break so easily either. If he is to be Sorey’s companion, he has no choice but to be the best companion he can possibly be.

To him, that is as certain as the stars in the sky.

He will do this. For Sorey’s dream, and for his own.

“You are wise,” Gramps tells him. “I know you will not do anything overly reckless.”

Mikleo thinks about cracking a joke - even if Mikleo is wise, he might not be able to stop Sorey from making abrupt decisions - but he holds it in. “I will watch over him. You have my word.”

He will be a star to Sorey, watching over him in his journeys, providing something constant for him to ground himself with when his mind carries him too far away. And he knows Sorey will be just as important to him.

“I have no doubts.” Gramps turns to face him, smiling behind his bushy eyebrows. He ruffles Mikleo’s hair, just like when he was younger, then stands. Without another word, he retreats into his house, leaving Mikleo alone with the stars.

Tomorrow, their lives will change completely. Mikleo can only hope that these stars continue to watch over them, and lead them back if they go astray.

3.

Tonight, the stars are obscured.

Ever since their arrival to the world below, the stars have grown dimmer, even as they purify the malevolence blocking them from sight. Most nights, they’re still there, though. There might only be a few compared to the millions visible from Elysia, but they still linger above them, a steadfast companion.

Not tonight, though.

Mikleo supposes it’s fitting, in a sense. The stars are not the only things invisible to those who expect them to be there, after all.

With his back to a tree, he gazes into the navy sky through the leaves above. Though he keeps his gaze steady, sometimes his eyes flicker to the two humans lying by the river, to his two companion seraphim sitting a ways off. Usually, the three of them would dwell inside their vessel, but given the circumstances, it just doesn’t feel right. Besides, though he won’t admit it, Mikleo wants to keep an eye on Sorey. There’s no telling what he’ll get himself into without the three of them there to reason with him.

He supposes this is just another reason why Sorey needs humans with him. All his life, Mikleo has been naive enough to think his presence would be enough for Sorey, even if he ended up in the world of humans. Now he realises that, until he is strong enough to face strong malevolent domains face-to-face without losing his resonance, he needs a human at his side.

Mikleo’s heart still wrenches when he remembers the way Sorey yelled his name, voice breaking as hellions approached, looking around for someone who was right beside him but who he couldn’t see. No matter how much Mikleo called Sorey’s name in return, tried to get his attention, to see him properly, he could do nothing. His stomach had dropped when Sorey and the assassin girl fell, but the wind seraph dwelling inside her was able to save them, thankfully.

(If only he hadn’t secluded himself into his vessel straight after, perhaps they could have had a word with him.)

Will Sorey be able to see him when he awakens? Mikleo doesn’t want to think about the worst case scenario. He doesn’t know if he could bear it.

His eyes find a single pinprick star in the sky, struggling against the fog and smog of malevolence casting its comrades from view. Is that star meant to represent Sorey, alone along those who cannot be seen, yet still remaining strong? Or is that just Mikleo’s logic twisting things again?

Symbols have always felt meaningful to him, though, and some naive part of him wants to believe that this is a sign, telling him to stay strong, to keep his resolve no matter what happens. Even if he is a star hidden behind darkness, he must strive to shine through, and to support his friends as they do the same. He will only burn out otherwise.

A few feet away, Sorey shifts. Mikleo’s eyes switch to him, and he braces himself to move if he needs to - what if Sorey is hurt? Even if his resonance is still missing, Mikleo will carry him to safety if he must. But he only turns a little, still unconscious, with no sign of waking.

That’s okay, though. Mikleo knows now. He needs to stay strong, as steadfast as the night sky above.

How else will he support Sorey?

4.

On their final night together, Sorey is the one who points out the stars. By now, Mikleo has grown accustomed to seeing them overhead as his human companions sleep, providing a guide should they need to move under the cover of darkness. Tonight, however, they are not a guide but a symbol, giving them the strength to push forward to their final battle.

“I forget who said it,” Sorey says, eyes glimmering as they take in the sight. “That there are as many emotions as there are stars in the sky.”

Mikleo follows his gaze, and finds he can’t help but agree. Not only for him, but for everyone in their group - nay, everyone in the world - millions of emotions must be swirling around right now. There is no way to visualise that, normally, but putting stars in their place helps.

“A metaphor for how each emotion sparkles in its own way, huh? Must’ve been a romantic who came up with that one.” No wonder Sorey agrees with it, thinks Mikleo silently.

(Then again, this whole time he has been using the stars for strength. Perhaps he’s being a tad hypocritical.)

A few moments pass of silence, the pair appreciating the sight above them without the need for words. When Sorey speaks, Mikleo knows it won’t just be empty words. Somehow it never is, with him.

“I learnt something from this journey,” he says. “Some stars you can’t see. And because you can’t see them, you think they’re not shining. But they are.”

“It turned out that there were a lot of stars we couldn’t see from our home in Elysia,” Mikleo says, thinking of nights spent yearning for the skies of their childhood, swirling galaxies of light. Now, though, he has an appreciation for the stars of the lower world. They persevere, no matter the odds.

Sorey turns to lean on the railing, their shoulders brushing comfortably as he does. “Once people notice the stars, they start to understand just how brilliantly they shine.” As though restless, he turns once again, this time to face Mikleo. “Just like how Alisha finally got a sense of what seraphim were truly like the first time she heard your voices.”

“That was a trip. You should’ve seen your face.”

Their conversation takes a brief intermission for a tickle fight, before they turn back to the railing, laughing softly.

“I was really excited back then,” says Sorey once the laughter fades. “It gave me hope that one day other humans might be able to talk to the seraphim.”

Perhaps his tone of voice should tip Mikleo off, but he loses himself of the comfort of the conversation, momentarily forgetting the situation lying ahead. He begins to mention how Sorey used to cut off his senses, before it suddenly clicks - what this discussion is really about.

The stars bear witness to Sorey’s confession of his plan to become Maotelus’ vessel, surrendering himself to sleep, possibly for centuries, in order to cleanse the world. And Mikleo knew it was coming, deep down. There was no way he and Sorey could possibly be at each other’s sides forever.

He only hoped they would have more time before they parted.

Later, once Sorey goes to bed and Mikleo has a moment alone, he looks up at the stars and makes a promise. So long as the stars burn above him, constant and persevering, he will live and carry on his and Sorey’s shared dream. Until Sorey awakens, he will not allow himself to fall. After all, they have a dream to fulfil.

5.

Sorey’s light is bright, but Mikleo is not deterred. He has been here enough times to be used to it, by now. Somehow, it does not block out the stars, despite its own superior brightness. They continue to shine alongside it, alongside him, persevering as always.

For the past few centuries, Mikleo has been alone, for the most part.

It’s of his own volition. After Rose retired from her Shepherd duties, their group of seraphim split apart relatively quickly. Zaveid’s job was finished - he no longer had a need to kill hellions. Edna too no longer needed to protect people from her brother, though as far as Mikleo knows, she still drops by there often to pay her respects. Lailah continued to travel with Rose’s successor, continuing her duty as the Prime Lord until another Prime Lord took over.

As for Mikleo, he already had a path in mind. When Sorey first went to sleep, this wasn’t the case. In truth, he’d been a little lost, knowing he wanted to continue their dream but unsure as to where to start. Through his journey with Rose, however, he figured out his path.

Now, he is the travelling adventurer he and Sorey always wanted to be. With only the stars and a map as his guide, he has explored almost every ruin on the Glenwood continent. (He’s been holding off on the other continents, but it’s been five hundred years, now, so if Sorey doesn’t hurry up, Mikleo will just have to visit them again with him, once he’s already discovered all their secrets.)

(Not that that would make it any less fun, of course.)

He tries to travel light, but along the road, his burden seems to become heavier over time. At first, it was only him, his maps, and the Celestial Record (which he didn’t touch - couldn’t touch - for the first few months after Sorey’s departure). Now, he is accompanied by the two books penned by his own hand, and his vessel - a feather he keeps tied around his waist.

(When she first saw his vessel, Lailah had been surprised, but she only gave him a small, knowing smile. Mikleo would complain, but he can’t deny the familiarity of having a feather nearby, even if it’s on the wrong person.)

Naturally, there have been tough times - times where he’s broken down, lacked his usual resolve, felt like it would never work, like Sorey would never return. By now, though, he knows where to look for support. First, within himself, and at the stars above, unwavering and true after all this time. If he still needs strength, at least one of his friends is usually a short distance away.

(The one person he never goes to at times like these is Sorey. He wouldn’t be able to face his light, knowing that he himself was giving in. But he always makes time to visit Sorey afterwards, to let him know he’s doing alright, that he hasn’t given up just yet.

Because he won’t give up. That was his promise - to continue holding his and Sorey’s dream, until Sorey could return to share it with him.)

He stands, smiling at the unwavering light which Sorey produces.

“I’m going to go. Catch up with me soon, okay?”

The light does not respond, and nor do the stars. They are silent companions, but Mikleo does not mind. Their presence is enough for him.

Mikleo raises his arm towards Sorey, hand clasped in a fist. In his mind, he sees Sorey do the same, bumping their wrists like they always used to do. Like they will do, when Sorey wakes up. A moment later, he lowers it and turns away, renewed with energy.

+1.

The ruins are vast and hum with life. Each crevice holds a secret yet undiscovered, a story of a past long gone. His surroundings change from red to blue in a matter of floors as the materials used to create these ruins change alongside their original purpose. Most would not expect such majesty to be hidden under what seemed on the outside to be an innocent set of stone stairs, wrapped with ivy.

Mikleo knows better. That’s to be expected, though, considering the many years he has spent researching ruins such as these. This one, however, is certainly in another league. He already has theories running through his mind, dates and eras and purposes all scrambled together, waiting to be sorted and debated. Mentally, he blesses his memory for being so strong. After all, he can’t let himself forget this information before he has a chance to discuss it.

(He tries not to think about the feeling of being watched. It’s not unlikely that there are other creatures in these ruins, though he doubts they are seraphim or humans.)

Soon he finds himself in the depths of the ruins. A skylight creates a circle of white in the midst of the blue reflected from the pools. Combined with the crystals around the room, it makes the hall feel almost holy. Perhaps this place was meant to be a shrine to a powerful seraph?

He reaches a plinth in the middle of the room - possibly a monolith dedicated to a seraph. It’s mostly plain, made up of three slabs of simply-decorated stone. The most interesting feature is a blue gemstone in the centre of the middle slab. The insignia it is centred inside is most likely important, but he cannot draw his eyes away from the gem, doesn’t think twice as he reaches out to touch it.

(Doesn’t hear the footsteps.)

(But he hears the click of an ancient mechanism, the crumbling of rock.)

Before he can step back, the rock beneath him crumbles. He only has the chance to feel a little annoyed at himself for not noticing the trap before he plunges down.

(Feels something grab his wrist.)

He stops.

Nothing beneath him. But above, yes. An entire ruin and a stretching sky filled with stars, and a person, a hand holding his wrist like a lifeline, somehow familiar even through layers of fabric. It becomes even more familiar as he dares look up at it, sees the feathers, the insignia, the glove he knows like the back of his hand, as though he’s the one who has worn it all this time.

At this point, he doesn’t need to look any further up to know who it is, but he does, because he won’t let himself have a doubt.

Shrouded in light is a head of hair he hasn’t seen in far too long, a shadowed face which still manages to produce light of its own, shining down from above.

Sorey.

A smile stretches across his lips, and he reaches up to grasp his hand.

[ladylynse]

So, more of that Danny Phantom fic focused on Danny and Mr. Lancer. This is the part that provides context and sets everything up, so it starts a little slower.

The Trouble with Ghosts: Lancer hadn’t realized how closely young Mr. Fenton’s school troubles–and the secrets he surely wasn’t telling his parents–were tied to ghosts until after that encounter with Phantom. 

<  Part I  >   

Earlier that day....

1. Describe the relationship between Boo Radley and Jem, Dill, and Scout. How is this relationship beneficial to each of the characters? 2. Relate the trial scene and its outcome to that of one of the underlying themes of the novel which we discussed in class. Use examples. 3. What literary device was used at the beginning of the novel? In your opinion, was its use effective? Why or why not? Danny groaned. He finally got to an opinion question and he still couldn’t answer it. Well, not really well. He’d read the first chapter, yes. He’d read the last chapter. He’d read the synopsis on the back of the book. That was about it. He’d gotten the impression that the book wasn’t actually about killing mockingbirds, but usually he had marginally better luck than this. True, Sam and Tucker had given him the abbreviated version right before class, but he couldn’t remember what they’d said now. If only he’d realized that the test was today….

Suffice to say that the time he’d had once he’d remembered—two hours—wasn’t enough time to read a novel. Not for him, anyway, and not when he was supposed to be paying attention in his other classes.

He should have known. Sam and Tucker had reminded him. He’d just forgotten. Somewhere between scrawling something down for the stupid essay Lancer had had due today, too, and writing a hasty lab report for biology, and fighting off all the ghosts, well, it had slipped his mind. He’d thought he’d had a day’s grace.

Apparently not.

Danny’s eyes slipped down to the last question.

10. Discuss the role of family and contrast today’s ideology with the one described in the novel. Support your answer using examples from the Finch family. Don’t forget to include Aunt Alexandra.

Why couldn’t Lancer’s tests be multiple choice or true or false or something? Even if just a portion of it was, it would be better than straight short answer. He’d at least have a hope of passing then.

Danny sighed. He started writing down something, figuring Mr. Lancer might, if he was feeling generous, give him credit for being creative. And he was being creative. He took what he knew, which was very little, and invented everything else, hoping his guesses were somewhat plausible within the context of the story. There were two obvious opinion questions, which he milked for all they were worth, and then he spent the rest of his time trying to jot something down elsewhere.

Not to mention trying to remember what Tucker had said about Boo Radley, and Sam about Mrs. Dubose, and what the two had been trying to tell him about the symbolism of the book’s title, which was the fifth question.

Five minutes before the end of class, Danny’s ghost sense went off. He was pretty certain he’d just failed another English test, but he stuck his hand in the air anyway.

“Yes, Mr. Fenton?” Mr. Lancer asked, sounding resigned.

“Can I go to the bathroom?”

Mr. Lancer sighed. “Class will be over shortly, Mr. Fenton. I would advise you use what little time you have left to finish your exam.”

“Please?” Danny asked. “I’m done, and I really, really have to go.” Not true, but better to hear the snickers from his classmates than to let the ghost, whoever it was, destroy more than it undoubtedly already had.

“Very well, but I want to speak to you when you come back.”

Crud. Mr. Lancer had probably seen his half-finished essay. Danny had noticed him marking them while they were writing their test. “Yes, sir,” he said, grabbing his backpack and dropping his test on Mr. Lancer’s desk before running out of the room.

A quick transformation in the boys’ washroom later, and Danny Phantom phased through the roof of the school to confront the latest ghost threat.

The Box Ghost.

Danny groaned. He could’ve finished his test. Not that it would’ve helped much, but still. “Did you have to come now?” he complained.

“Beware!” the Box Ghost cried. “I—”

“I don’t care,” Danny interrupted, his hands flaming green as he blasted the Box Ghost a few times. “I’m busy.”

The Box Ghost kept ranting, of course, but Danny had the advantage. The Box Ghost had probably been heading for one of the supply rooms in the school again, looking for more boxes, but he’d cut him off at the pass. He stopped shooting ectoblasts long enough to unscrew the cap on the Fenton Thermos—thankfully Jazz and Sam and Tuck kept reminding him to keep one in his backpack—and turn its beam on the Box Ghost, who hadn’t managed to fly very far away. With the Box Ghost trapped, Danny turned intangible and slipped down into the school again. The entire encounter hadn’t lasted five minutes.

Lancer was right. He could’ve waited until the end of class. But he hadn’t had any guarantee that it wasn’t someone more destructive. Technus had tried taking over all the computers in the school last week, for instance. If Danny had ignored his ghost sense that time, the school wouldn’t have any computers left.

They also wouldn’t necessarily need to replace one of the walls of the computer lab, but some things were unavoidable.

The lunch bell rang. Sam and Tucker would be waiting for him by his locker, but he had to meet with Mr. Lancer. If he was lucky, it wouldn’t last very long. If he wasn’t, Dash would find him on his way there or back and shove him into his locker in anticipation of failing the test they’d just written.

Danny lost no time changing back to his human form and heading back to Lancer’s classroom. The teacher was still there, at his desk, frowning down at a pile of papers. He looked up at Danny’s hesitant knock on the door.

“Ah, Mr. Fenton,” Lancer said. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”

“Sorry, sir,” Danny mumbled. “I just, um, wasn’t feeling the best.”

Lancer gave him a look that told Danny he didn’t believe a word. “Close the door, Mr. Fenton, and sit down. It’s time we had a talk.”

Oh, great. He was probably going to phone home this time. Danny should have known that having Jazz forge his parents’ signatures would only get him so far. “Is it about the test?” Danny asked hesitantly. “Or the essay?”

“That’s not all it’s about,” Lancer replied. “Your grades have not improved over the last eight months, Mr. Fenton. Longer, even. They haven’t improved since that sharp decline they took, and you’re giving me no reason to expect them to improve.”

Danny stared at the desk and said nothing.

“Would you care to explain yourself?”

No. But Danny still didn’t say anything.

“Flowers for Algernon, Danny! I’m trying to help you. At least look at me.”

Danny looked up, partially because he couldn’t stare at the desk forever but mostly because he was surprised that Lancer had called him ‘Danny’. He did it on occasion, of course, usually when he was trying to wake him up, but it wasn’t the norm by any stretch of the imagination. Maybe Lancer was trying to be less formal, to make him more comfortable. Still, Danny didn’t say anything. He had a horrible feeling that if he did, the situation would just go from bad to worse. Mr. Lancer might just let him go if he saw he wasn’t getting any response.

“Is it trouble at home?”

“No,” Danny said immediately, but he instantly regretted it when he saw the look of triumph in Mr. Lancer’s eye. He’d probably known that answer already and had just been hoping to provoke a reaction from Danny.

Unfortunately for him, it had worked.

“School, then? Perhaps in the form of Mr. Baxter?”

Danny’s eyes widened, just slightly. He’d thought Lancer had ignored that because Dash was the star quarterback. Of course, Danny could count the number of times Dash had gotten punished for his bullying on one hand, but still. The fact that Lancer acknowledged it instead of explaining it away had to be an improvement of some sort.

As Danny remembered the question, though, he shook his head again. “No, Mr. Lancer. It’s fine. I’m fine. Nothing’s wrong.”

“Mr. Fenton, you may not be as bright as your sister, but you are cleverer than you give yourself credit for.”

Ouch. Was that supposed to cheer him up? But then again, Jazz was the smartest kid in school, as far as he knew. That was probably all Lancer had meant. Though he had, Danny noticed, gone back to being formal. Maybe he figured sounding stricter would be more likely to get him an answer?

“I’m trying my best, sir,” Danny said.

Lancer shook his head. “You aren’t,” he countered. “If you put a little more effort into your studies, I’m sure you could ace every test.” He paused. “Or very nearly, at least.”

Danny swallowed, knowing Mr. Lancer was thinking of the 19th century poetry test he’d had him rewrite one time. He had done pretty well after Lancer had forced him to study. The teacher had even given up his time to help him. But while he’d been doing that, he’d left Sam and Tucker to deal with Technus by themselves, and they nearly hadn’t managed it. He didn’t want to shirk his ghost hunting responsibilities and leave it to Sam and Tuck when he was probably one of the main reasons the ghosts came through into the Real World in the first place.

“What I would like to know, Mr. Fenton, is why you don’t care enough about your schoolwork to put more effort into it.”

“It’s not that I don’t care. I’m just…busy,” Danny mumbled, looking down at the desk again.

“I’m sure you are,” Lancer said dryly. “Hanging with your fellow dudes, as I’m sure you would put it. I am a teacher, Danny, and contrary to popular belief, I’m not completely oblivious to the lives of my students. You’re involved in something, and I think you may be in over your head.”

Danny winced. “What gave you that idea?”

Mr. Lancer raised his eyebrows. “Besides your grades? You’re in detention nearly every day of the week. You come to class late, leave early, or skip it altogether, and I am certainly not the only teacher in this school to doubt your feeble excuses. Not to mention,” he added, “I find it rather unpleasant to mark papers which have been drooled upon.”

Danny cringed. “Sorry,” he murmured. Usually Sam and Tucker woke him up before it got to that point, though. Thankfully. Falling asleep in class was bad enough, but drooling was just embarrassing.

“I want to help you, Danny,” Lancer said, “but you need to give me the chance, and you need to trust me. Keeping you after school to watch you do your homework isn’t going to solve the problem. We both know how well that’s been working so far.”

Mr. Lancer was looking at him expectantly. Danny sighed. “I’m fine, Mr. Lancer. Really.”

Mr. Lancer looked disappointed. “Very well, Mr. Fenton. I’ll see you after school today.”

“What? Why?”

“Because your essay leaves something to be desired,” Lancer said. “A few supporting paragraphs and a conclusion, to be exact.”

“It had a conclusion,” Danny muttered.

“One incomplete sentence does not a conclusion make,” Lancer returned lightly. “I’ll see you later, Mr. Fenton. You may go.”

Danny groaned but didn’t protest. This was going to be a long day.

Over the course of his teaching career, Mr. Lancer had run into very few cases where he had been unable to get to the root of the problem of a student’s troubles. However, Danny’s situation was particularly vexing. He had long ago ruled out troubles at home. Though Mr. and Mrs. Fenton were undoubtedly eccentric, they were well-meaning and wanted the best for their children. Besides, he taught Jasmine Fenton as well, and she had shown no signs of distress as Danny had, and he had no doubt that she would alert someone if anything troublesome for Danny did arise at the Fenton household.

He’d become aware of Dash’s bullying of Danny—and a number of other children—but hadn’t found the right way to stop it without unintentionally causing Danny and the others to become targets off the school grounds. But he wasn’t certain that the bullying Danny endured was the cause of his troubles. It wasn’t something he could rule out easily, of course. Danny showed no physical signs of harm, and he remained in a tight friendship with Tucker Foley and Sam Manson, so his emotional state could not be in dire straits, even if it was affected.

It didn’t fit with drugs or drink or gang relations or anything else of that sort. It didn’t fit with any situation he could think of, to be perfectly honest. Danny didn’t even have the attitude of a slacker, not really. He usually made an effort to be moderately attentive when he was in class, if only for a portion of it.

Well, excepting the times he fell asleep, which were unfortunately more common than Lancer would have liked. He didn’t approve of the blank, bleary-eyed stare the boy adopted, either, when he was struggling to just barely keep his eyes open.

But what would prompt that? What was keeping him up at night?

Lancer frowned. He knew Mr. Fenton was a fan of video games, but he doubted his addiction had gone quite that far. Danny seemed to have a good sense of responsibility.

He just chose to ignore that when it came to his schoolwork, offering no good excuses for doing so.

Perhaps it was a family issue after all, but one of rebellion. He hadn’t thought Maddie and Jack were particularly strict, but perhaps they had expectations that Danny didn’t want to live up to, expectations on which Jazz had thrived. Yet that still didn’t quite ring true. Miss Manson, after all, was clearly a teenager in rebellion against her parents, but she was still a bright student. He rather doubted she would encourage Danny to make a statement by ignoring his schoolwork, even if she didn’t discourage it. If it weren’t for Mr. Foley and Miss Manson, Mr. Lancer rather doubted that Danny would even be passing all the classes he was.

As far as he could tell, Danny was still trying in school. But for all of his good intentions, he did not put nearly the amount of effort into his studies that he should. That, of course, simply begged the question of what he truly was up to, and Mr. Lancer found that he’d reasoned himself back to square one, and he was none the wiser for it.

Lancer checked his watch and frowned. Danny should have been here ten minutes ago, but there was still no sign of him. Another twenty minutes passed, and Mr Lancer put his pen down with a sigh. Mr. Fenton usually wasn’t one to skip his detentions, and when he did come in late, it was generally only by a few minutes.

He’d hoped to have a longer talk with Danny before phoning his parents, but clearly that wasn’t going to be happening. He pulled out his cell phone and started to input the number he wished he’d never had to memorize: 555-122— The outside wall of the room exploded inwards.

Mr. Lancer wasn’t entirely sure whether he’d dropped his cell phone or whether it had been knocked out of his hand by the force of the implosion, but he knew he wasn’t holding it anymore. He was just thankful he’d been sitting down. And that he’d been behind his desk, which was mercifully at the front of the room and consequently had—mostly—escaped the line of fire.

Lancer dragged his eyes away from the gaping hole in the wall when he heard a faint groan. It didn’t take him long to make out the familiar outline of Danny Phantom in the rubble. It did surprise him, though. In any of the ghost fights he’d witnessed, Phantom didn’t let something like being thrown through a wall stop him.

It was comforting that no ghost had followed Phantom into the school, but the fact that Phantom hadn’t moved certainly wasn’t.

When most of the dust had settled, Lancer carefully got to his feet. For all that he lived in Amity Park, he didn’t know much about ghosts. As a general rule, he didn’t trust them, and he was more terrified of them than he perhaps ought to be. But Phantom was the sole exception to that rule. Lancer couldn’t, necessarily, verbalize all the reasons for that, but despite a few unsavoury actions in Phantom’s past, the ghost seemed trustworthy.

“Phantom?” Lancer called softly as he approached. If ghosts could look ill, he certainly did. His usually-bright glow was dimmed to the point of being nonexistent, and he looked ashen. Or perhaps that was an effect of the dust. With the poor light in the room, even accounting for the sunlight streaming through the hole in the wall, it was hard to tell.

“Phantom?” Lancer called again, crouching down to get a better look at the ghost. There was still no response. Now that he was closer, however, he could see why. Sticky green ectoplasm had matted hair on one side of Phantom’s head. Add that to a rather large gash on his side and a few smaller ones that were likely due to the crash, and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to realize that Phantom had been knocked out.

What Lancer found surprising was that this could even happen. He’d always figured that the ghosts that were clearly ghosts of the deceased would lose their form if they lost consciousness. He wasn’t so sure about the other types of ghosts, the ones that seemed more like masses of ectoplasm bound together by some unknown force or the sort that may have once been human but had been dead so long that they’d lost any semblance of humanity they must once have had.

He knew that ectoplasm was the equivalent of a ghost’s blood, that the fluid ectoplasm within their forms had slightly different properties than the solid ectoplasm that made up their exterior. Like the rest of the teachers at Casper High, he’d attended lectures hosted by Jack and Maddie Fenton. But even thinking about the glowing substance as blood made him realize just how much Phantom had lost, and it was still oozing out now.

The Fentons’ Ghost Information Sessions hadn’t included anything about healing ghosts or even basic anatomy. That hadn’t been deemed relevant. So while he knew a few basics in terms of hunting them with the Fentons’ weapons and all about a ghost’s devious nature and the many ways it might try to trick you, he wasn’t sure how to help the young ghost who lay before him now.

“Perhaps I should just treat him like I would a human,” Lancer murmured, looking the ghost over again with a more critical eye. He’d need to apply pressure to that side wound, no doubt, and deal with his head wound. He didn’t appear to have broken any bones—did ghosts have bones to break?—though he probably would have more than a few nasty bruises.

It wasn’t far to the nurse’s office and, therefore, access to all the medical supplies he could want. As the vice principal, he had a key to every room in the school, so accessing it would be no problem. And, if he was lucky, he could get there before anyone noticed what he was up to. He was rather surprised that the crash hadn’t attracted any attention yet, but he wasn’t going to question his luck. He knew things could be much worse, after all. If Miss Sanchez’s group, the Phantom Phan Club, had been meeting today…. Well, he wouldn’t have had any peace. Certainly Phantom wouldn’t have, and now was when he needed it most.

Carefully, Lancer picked him up. The ghost was surprisingly solid. Though lighter than a human his size would have been, Phantom had more mass than Lancer had imagined a ghost would. And he wasn’t as cold, either, as ghost tales from beyond Amity Park had led Lancer to believe. It was certainly nothing like handling ice.

After a moment, Phantom’s eyes flickered open. They were duller than normal, the electric green blaze that normally lit them conspicuously absent. “Mr. Lancer?” he whispered.

Lancer was surprised that Phantom knew his name, but he supposed that the ghost did show up around the school regularly to fight off other ghosts. “Yes,” he said gently. “Try not to move too much, Mr. Phantom. You’ve lost a lot of ectoplasm. I’m taking you to the nurse’s office.”

Phantom’s eyes widened, the spark behind them flaring back to life. He shook his head. “No, I’ll be fine,” he said, sounding much more awake now. “That won’t be necessary, uh, citizen….”

Lancer raised his eyebrows but did not stop his steady pace until he reached the nurse’s office. He already had his key out, so it was simple to get into the room and leave Phantom on the bed. The ghost immediately scrambled to his feet and winced. “I wouldn’t advise leaving quite yet, Phantom,” Lancer said softly. “You’re injured. And you don’t need to worry. I’m not going to turn you over to the Fentons.”

Phantom sighed and sat back down. He acted more energetic than he was, Lancer noted. He was clutching his side, for one, and his movements were careful and precise. He could undoubtedly feel every one of those scrapes. He examined the wound in his side, which was still leaking ectoplasm, and then looked back at Lancer. “Can you pass the gauze?”

“You’ve done this before,” Mr. Lancer surmised, not sure why he was surprised.

“I’ve gotten injured before,” Phantom said dully. “I might heal faster than a human, but this cut’s deep.”

“Where do you get your supplies?” Lancer asked.

Phantom shrugged but took the offered gauze and bandages, setting them down beside him. “Crud,” he muttered, poking at the wound. “I should probably strip down to do this. It’ll last longer.” And, to Lancer’s surprise, he reached up and undid a near-invisible zipper that ran up the front of his suit. He carefully eased out his right arm, hissing a bit as he jarred his side.

Mr. Lancer just stared. The ghost boy began treating his wound, cleaning it off a bit before bandaging it up as well as a professional. But even more surprising than the boy’s skill was how…human he looked. Admittedly, Lancer never, on principle, stayed close to ghosts, but Phantom had always appeared less threatening than other ghosts, more, well, human, and now…. Lancer hadn’t been expecting a haze rather than a defined shape beneath the boy’s suit, per se, but he hadn’t expected it to be so…normal.

Perhaps it was the continued lack of the ghost’s bright glow. If he ignored the unnaturally white hair or eerily bright green eyes, well, Phantom wasn’t much different from the students he taught. A bit too pale, and much too comfortable with battles and injuries, but nevertheless a witty, determined young man who stood up for what he believed in and strived to help others. An admirable soul.

Phantom zipped the front of his suit back up and cocked an eyebrow at Lancer. “What?”

It had to be impolite to ask a ghost how he had died or how long he had been dead, so Lancer stilled his tongue, though he couldn’t help but wonder, especially since he suspected that might be the reason Phantom was much more tolerable than the other ghosts that frequented Amity Park. “Do you remember what happened?” he asked instead.

Phantom stared at him, surprised. Then he shrugged again. “Yeah. The Red Huntress. It wasn’t her initially—she came after me, not the other way around—but by the time I had Skulker trapped, she’d found me. She had to show me some of her new weapons.” He rubbed one arm. “She had a few I wasn’t expecting.” Before Lancer could think to ask how Phantom would be expecting any of them, the ghost added, “I was trying to lose her. I didn’t mean to bring the fight to the school. I mean, it worked, since I don’t think she likes coming into the school like that, but….” He trailed off. “Sorry about the wall. The damage probably wouldn’t have been so bad if she hadn’t managed to hit me.”

“Do you know what she hit you with?” Lancer asked carefully.

“Something that packed a punch,” Phantom replied. “Beyond that, no.” He hopped off the bed. “Thanks,” he said. “For, you know, not turning me in or anything. But I’ve got to go.”

“Phantom, you don’t look well,” Lancer cautioned.

“I’m fine,” Phantom said, but the response sounded automatic to Lancer’s ears. And as chipper and cocky as Phantom was acting, Lancer had been teaching kids for enough years to be able to read between the lines. Even if Phantom wasn’t admitting it, wasn’t acting like it, he couldn’t keep the pain he was feeling off his face, and he’d as good as admitted to worrying about the cut on his side.

Lancer gently pushed him back onto the bed. “No,” he said. “Your head wound is still bleeding.” Not to mention his side. Even in the time they’d been talking, Lancer could see through the tear in Phantom’s suit that the gauze he’d taped over the wound was already turning green.

“Huh?” Phantom blinked and reached up. He winced as he touched a tender spot and sucked in a breath when he saw the ectoplasm on his glove. “Oh,” was all he said.

“Can you even see straight?” Lancer asked doubtfully.

“I’ve had worse,” Phantom said, though he sounded a lot more uncertain than he had a moment ago.

“Who helps you, Phantom?” Lancer asked quietly. “You can’t be doing this on your own.”

Phantom mumbled something incoherent and shrugged one shoulder; he was still being careful enough not to move the other more than necessary.

Lancer raised his eyebrows. “I was supposed to meet with a student today, but he decided not to show up. As such, I’ve time enough to look after you, and we’ll spare the friends you must have the trouble of patching you up.” When Phantom didn’t protest, Lancer began to carefully clean the wound on his head. The ghost flinched a few times but otherwise held still.

After a few minutes, Phantom said, “I thought you were scared of ghosts.”

Lancer chuckled. “Terrified, I assure you.”

“Then why help me?”

“Because you need it,” Lancer said, “whether you admit to that or not. And because you, Mr. Phantom, seem to do more than your fair share when it comes to protecting this town, despite your dubious nature.”

“Oh. Um, thanks, I guess.”

Lancer, having finished bandaging Phantom up, looked him over once more. “You still don’t quite look yourself,” he said.

“What do you mean?” The words came out in a rush and sounded, to Lancer’s ears, slightly panicked.

Lancer frowned. “You normally seem…brighter,” he finally said.

Phantom immediately held a hand in front of his face, studying it. Then, slowly, deliberately, he pressed down onto the bed. After another few seconds, he said, “Oh, crud.”

“Would you care to elaborate?”

Phantom bit his lip, then admitted, “I can’t, um, use my powers. Well, I can’t go invisible or intangible or fly, and that’s the basic stuff, so I’m assuming that if I can’t do that, I can’t do anything else, either.” He sighed. “Serves me right for getting hit, I guess.” He held up his hand again, stared at it, and shook his head. At Lancer’s curious look, he explained, “I can’t build up an ectoblast, either.”

“There’s something that can render a ghost harmless?”

“There’s apparently something that can render me harmless,” Phantom muttered. “That’s also probably why I’m still bleeding. I’m not healing. Crud. This is not my day.” He took a deep breath, seemed to make a decision, and jumped back off the bed. He wavered for a second, though whether he was unsteady on his feet because he was dizzy or simply unaccustomed to being a slave to gravity, Lancer couldn’t say. “Thanks for all the help, Mr. Lancer, but I’ve got to go.”

“You can’t,” Lancer protested, catching his arm. “With the Fentons and the Red Huntress on patrol, you’d be a sitting duck in the condition you’re in.”

“I don’t have a choice,” Phantom said, slipping out of Lancer’s grip. “I’ll figure this out somehow. Thanks.” This time, he was out the door before Lancer could stop him.

Next

[courtneymayhem]

Found this gem from my trip

March 30, 2017 I am definitely still on CT time even though I only took a short nap when I got here yesterday and went to bed at a decent hour after walking around for 4 hours. I slept until 2 o'clock London time, which is 10am at home. I randomly woke up at 3:30 am and didn't fall asleep until 6am. That's when I sort of decided to skip my Stonehenge day trip. Part of it was avoidance behavior bc I didn't want to interact with my roommates and part of it was discomfort with the idea of navigating so far away from the city. As much as I wanted to see it, I don't really regret sleeping in (a faux pas of traveling). I obviously needed the sleep and I had more time to explore London, which is the reason I am here at all. March 31, 2017 I wanted to walk to Westminster alley and go to the free war museum on the way, but ended up strolling through a beautiful park and ended up walking an hour in the opposite direction through a residential community. I stand by my previous assessment. Observing the locals is by far more stimulating than the tourist spots. Pretty much everyone I met was nice. One gentleman passed by me twice and asked if I lived in the area bc he thought he recognized me. I said no but that we had just walked past each other prior and he smiled and told me to have a nice walk. Wandered around until I wound up in Westminster anyway and only came across two rude Brits. A couple of women who acknowledged my request for directions and proceeded to ignore me. I've seemed to have developed a sense of direction though and didn't need them. The architecture is UNREAL. Dad would love it. My parents are saviors and added the international unlimited plan to my line. It's a little pricey, but essential. I didn't realize how vital my iPhone would be. Citymapper is an absolute lifesaver. And I know my mom tracks my on Find my Friends. My original plan was to buy a local SIM card, as advised by many travel blogs and my cellphone service provider, but it was such a rip off. I misheard the salesman and thought I was getting 1GB of data but it was only 50mb. I used that in one day! And after that I kept getting texts saying the price per additional MB was increasing. Total. B.S. never use Vodafone. April 1, 2017 I continue to wake up at weird hours but am definitely getting better. Had to get up at 830 today to be ready for check out at 10. Hopefully that will put me on a good sleep schedule. And I definitely dehydrated the first two days. I need to be better about filling my water bottles. And eating. I have been in London for...24 hours now, and I have eaten a 6" meatball sub from subway and a chewy granola bar. Half of it was being tired and not hungry and the other part was idk. Currently trying to charge up all my devices. Tourist mistake #1: the outlets here have on/off switches. I have been waiting for my devices to charge for an hour. Never turned on the switch 🙄 glad I have the time to wait. I am going to hop on the bus and check out Buckingham palace before I head to the airport. I have almost all of the money I put in my Oyster card left still bc I have walked everywhere thus far so I want to use it. And I get a little more exploring with limited time. I am only three days into my trip and I already feel like I have learned a lot. Traveling alone is...quiet and a little daunting at times. I have moments of insecurity about my ability to navigate transportation and flights and reservations and money. But it's not as hard as it seems. And I know that I will achieve a new level of confidence by the end of this adventure. I am beginning to realize that this is exactly what I am meant to do at this point in my life. I am where I am supposed to be. *Also April 1, 2017 Jk this day is a wash. Lol. Being my last day in London, I set out to find fish and chips. I have been looking for it since I arrived bc my mom insists that it will change my life, but the tantalizing noms have eluded me. I literally starved myself bc I knew that as soon as I ate something, I would come across it in my travels. FISH AND CHIPS WAS THE ONLY GOAL OF THE DAY! Instead of walking aimlessly, I decided to ride a double decker, an experience in itself. The combination of starvation and motion sickness did me dirty and I puked all over myself and the bus. Luckily my stomach was so empty it was mostly just bile. Obviously I got off the bus. I had to half strip in the street bc the puke got into my camisole and I was in a residential neighborhood with no public restrooms. But I had my whole pack with me so I cleaned myself up pretty well considering. Even that couldn't detour me from my mission to find the fish and chips though and I marched onward. Unfortunately I marched straight into a ghetto ass neighborhood. I didn't feel unsafe per se, but I was definitely on guard. Still, I could find no fish and chips and I worried about my blood sugar so I ate my second subway sub in London. My adventure did bring me to meet a very pleasant gentleman who sat at the table with me. We never even exchanged names, but we talked about the political climate of the world, Brexit and Trump mostly. And when it was clear to him that I was quite lost, he walked me to the train station and directed me to the best route to arrive at Gatwick airport. I had to abandon my fruitless search for fish and chips, but figured it best to cut my losses. I am not even going to bother explaining in detail how I ride the same train up and down the line looking for the airport. It was across the way from a ginormous green field with horses, so of course I was distracted. I got there eventually, and had some pleasant small talk with two beautiful women in the way. Hannah and... I forgot. Hannah reminded me of Caitlin so I remember her. The day continued to suck once I got to the airport. Gatwick has the WORST schematics of any airtime have ever seen. It was hell trying to find the check in counter. Normally I avoid checking in person, and I almost never check luggage, by printing my boarding pass at home, but the airline is Spanish and I couldn't figure out how, even if I did have a printer. Then security tells me I have too many liquids bc they have stricter policies than the US. So I went back to the check in counter. Waited in line. Checked the bag. Had to bring it to the oversized bag place bc it was a backback and might get stuck in the conveyor belt. And all three oversized bag counters had no idea which airline they represented. So that was annoying. AFTER ALL THAT I made it thru security and chilled in the terminal, which looked like a fucking mall and was totally ridiculous, bc the airline wouldn't post the gate for my flight until 30 minutes prior to boarding. Smooth sailing from there tho. Flight was fine. Got my bag and a taxi bc it was too late to try and figure out the transportation. My hostel was...a bit of a startle. I was spoiled in London. At night the location appeared sketchy, and the doorman was...eh. Not rude, but not a ray of sunshine. The key to my door has a certain knack to it that I couldn't really figure out until the next day and the rooms were TINY. Bathrooms weren't a sesspool, nor would I walk barefoot...or touch anything more than necessary. I got a kick out of the shower though. Two tiny little stalls with a curtain for a floor with at least 20 rooms and four people to a room. Fuck modestly tho. A shower is a shower. April 2, 2017 Funny how one day can shake your confidence. I had a sort of crappy day traveling from London to Barcelona yesterday and woke up disheartened today. Didn't really even muster up the enthusiasm to explore until the afternoon. April 3, 2017 Guess I didn't feel like writing yesterday. Glad I got out and about to shake off my funk. Barcelona really is gorgeous!! More beautiful than London by far. I could live very happily here. I only wish Spanish people were friendlier. I smile at people and they give me dirty looks. And the men are pigs. More so than usual. People complain about the prices but I think it's all very reasonable. I bought some fresh fruit, a soda, and a giant bottle of water for 3.4 E and now I'm sitting at a cute little umbrella having the most delicious chicken risotto ever for like ... 13 bucks. Why isn't American food this good?! Even made with frozen veggies, this dish is great. Served under a cabana on a gorgeous strip lined with palm trees. I wasn't particularly hungry but I want to see the nightlife. And show my French roommates that I'm not a shut in. They leave stupid early in the morning and come back crazy late. They probably think I never leave. I obviously do but it's amazing how time slows down when you're exploring. Sometimes it feels like I've been walking around all day but it's only 4 hours. I havent broken my habit of sleeping on. I felt guilty for a while, but I've realized that this is my journey and I can do what I want. I'm not a museum or church touring type. I honestly just enjoy absorbing the atmosphere and casually finding the sights on my own terms. I don't feel rushed and I don't feel like I'm missing out bc so much can be done in a short time. Plus Barcelona never sleeps so I can stay up and out as late as I want. The restaurants don't even close until midnight. The clubs don't even START until 2-3am. Too late for my taste. Thankfully I'm not really a clubber. I haven't even had anything to drink since I left home. It's not in the budget. Speaking of budget, I think I'm doing pretty darn well. All things included I have spent 350 (rounded up about 30 just in case) in 6 days including the first day, which was mostly spent in JFK or in the air. But money was spent so it counts! Well. I have eaten a real meal. Maybe not a traditional Spanish one. Idk. I never know what to order. But I'm going back to my room I think. Tomorrow I should go to the beach. It's literally right down the street. This location really is perfect. April 4, 2017 It wasn't a beach. It was port vell. Which I am only slightly disappointed about. I had no intention of laying on the beach or swimming, but Barcelona has reignited my creativity. I would have love to photograph a beautiful beach. I might attempt to climb montjuic, if I can figure out how to get there. I have heard that it's a brutal climb. Ive also heard the panoramic view is worth the effort. Currently I am sitting on a bench under a balm tree with my back to the ocean eating an orange I bought yesterday. I forgot how much I love the smell of the ocean. So many people are walking by all these beautiful things without really noticing. We take so much for granted in this world. How unappreciative we are to have become desensitized to it all. This is why I wanted to go on this trip. The sights and attractions are great, but it is so rare to find a quiet sense of wonder like I have on a bench at a busy intersection. I crave reaffirmation that life is more than ordinary if I am brave enough to seek out the extraordinary. I want this inner peace to grow strong like a nurtured muscle and always carry it with me. Between the change of diet and exercise, this trip will jump start my journey to a healthier body. And this journal will jump start a a life long journey to a healthier soul. On a lighter subject, my roommates were not French. They were from Belarus and spoke Russian. How I mixed that up I have no idea. They were such a cute couple: Iliad and ??? Literally. They were both hot AF. Their dream is to bike across the US from Atlantic to Pacific. But they left this morning and two new guys checked in. One of them is staying at the hostel bc he just got divorced and was running around to job interviews. Idk anything about the other. He ran away pretty quick. Doubt I'll really get to talk to either bc I'm leaving very late tonight. Sort of dreading the task of finding my way back to the airport. I have spent three days in Barcelona without needing transportation and I would hate to have to purchase a pass now. My moment of introspection is fading. Time to wander some more and continue my quest for inner tranquility. At least I know my way around now without a GPS. I discovered a whole new section of las ramblas! It's all twisty narrow side streets and boutiques. For the first time time flew by. I was in my zone photographing the streets. I love the mix of nature, modern, and traditional. This is probably the main tourist area and I only just discovered it. Lol. It doesn't matter bc nothing caught my eye. Although I did really love this one art gallery I found on a particularly quiet street. It only features local artists and the displays were beautiful! If I had the money and room to show them off I would buy one. I did get a business card however. I also think I made tourist mistake #3. The hostel cleaned out my bunk. I think I was supposed to check out this morning. But whatever. I'm already being charged I'm sure so I might as well stay until tonight. (False: hostel is super chill and let me keep my locker in my room until I'm ready to leave.) I'll chill out at the airport until my flight in the morning. So ready for Paris!! This trip is turning out to be pretty incredible. My favorite spot in Barcelona is a tucked away courtyard garden behind the public library. It smells like jasmine and you can't hear the city. I can tell it is a local hiding spot bc old men come to play life sized chess and students sit on the stone perimeter to do homework. Tourists pass through, but it's too perfect to breeze by IMO. Meandering slowly around the city today has easily been the best of my three days here, each better than the last. Idt it's possible to run out of things to see. Not even tourist areas, but just wandering through the maze of adorable side streets and shops. Every turn is basically a new street but it's impossible to get lost. Technically I didn't "accomplish" anything today, but I think I connected to the city more. Posing in front of monuments does nothing for me. This is where it's at. On the other hand, I'm ready to move on. Barcelona is amazing, but there are many more amazing places to see. Leading up to my departure from the states, everyone kept asking me why I would ever want to travel alone. YOURE A SOLO WOMAN! They would try and reason. Not only does that line of thinking disgust and infuriate me, but I also pity these people. Only someone who has completely shed the comfort of the familiar will understand the freedom that comes with embracing the bumpy road. I've always been laid back, but even I have had to roll with a few punches. Anything can happen: good or bad. It doesn't matter though because it hasn't happened yet. It's awe inspiring to know that I did this. I made this happen. I worked for it, planned it, and I'm doing it. I wish everyone could feel how I feel. It's a subtle, sustaining satisfaction but better than brief bursts of ecstasy. A last minute perusal of las ramblas found a nice Spanish restaurant. It looked authentic like online. Tiny portions of excellent food. Sort of pricey. I got the calamari tapa and 7 rings of fried squid cost 6.5 euros. In all fairness though, it was cut thicker than we do in the US and only lightly battered. It was very good with lemon and I am totally satisfied bc I have eaten close to nothing in a week, with that one exception. I also hailed my first cab! I think I looked like a natural 😉 but I also get the impression that the taxi I took LEAVING the airport when I got here ripped me off. Shouldn't cost 25% more to leave the airport than to get there. Lesson learned. Let's call it travel mistake #4 On to travel mistakes 5 & 6: i messed up the days for my hostel and had to check out (they would have let me stay, but I kinda just wanted to get going) and I got to the airport at 11PM for a 7AM flight. I intended to just nap in the terminal but the airport is taking a siesta. For real. There's no one here. I guess they don't have nighttime flights?!? Whatever. I have my kindle charged and aderall if I need to stay awake. April 5, 2017 Happiness is fleeting so what's the point. Minor existential meltdown in the airport at three AM. Can't decide if any of this is worth it. Enjoying all these beautiful places only really feels good in the present. Bliss becomes depression the moment the wonder of it all wears off and then I'm off to another city. I can't seem to stay present. But I keep trying to recapture happiness. As if happiness really existed. Even strangers ask me why I am so sad. I brush it off like I am tired. In truth I'm just tired of being sad. Omfg. Literally two seconds later and the most perfect song comes on "I hope you dance". Thanks universe. I needed this 😘 b/t the very uplifting songs that keep popping up and a review of the pictures I've taken so far, I think I've figured out why I love photography, amateur it may be. My photos are MINE. I took them bc I saw something inspiring and they always bring that feeling back. It doesn't matter if no one else "gets" them bc they're for me. I think the concept I struggle with is that there are no answers. I like answers. I like knowing how and why things are the way they are. But there is no reason. There is no god or higher power. Happiness is a snapshot. It only takes a second, but you hold onto it to get you through all the bullshit. Eventually your life is a collage of snapshots. And I think that's pretty cool bc they're the only things that matter in the end. So take your happiness while you can and self-sooth when you can't. Am I distancing myself? Omg sleep deprivation fucks me up. That was some heavy shit out of no where. Doesn't matter cause I'm in PARIS BABY!! Literally too tired to muster up an ounce of enthusiasm. I barely remember how I got here from the airport. I have an hour and a half to check in and then I'm sleeping. I can explore Paris at night. God DAYUM. French cops walk around with big guns. Why are all the foreign cops so hot... Went for a late night walk. Grody. Paris is dirty and the men are gross. Crêpe was good. Kinda scary at night. April 6, 2017 Paris has been a disappointment. Totally overrated. I'm glad I can say that I've been here and I have selfies with the Arch de Triumphe and the Effiel tower, but that's it. I didn't connect at all. There was no authenticity imo. I walked around for a good 6 hours and it didn't really impress me in the least. I was more impressed with the most amazing orange I have ever eaten. Literally orgasmic. And i ate a whole baguette. I never knew that bread could taste EVEN BETTER. Both of which I bought from a tiny market a few doors down from my hostel. Even so far removed from the city center, this area is my favorite. It's dirtier than the tourist spots but has more character. I have been propositioned by two men in my 1 + 1/2 days here. Like, really. One rando stopped me on the street and I have no idea what he was talking about. The other was a street artist I bought a couple doodles from. He was talking about how French men are different from American men bc the French make love with their tongue....and then he asked what his chances were. I said none. I was gay and that I was leaving now. I do really love this hostel tho. Might be my favorite. I showered and got pretty to socialize at the downstairs bar but ended up sitting on the canal balcony reading... April 7, 2017 Bit of an annoying mix up with my bus this morning but it worked out. I mean, then we sat in traffic forever and the driver stopped for a break but I'm in no hurry. Lol. Met a nice girl named Catherine. Hung out for the rest of the day. Spent fucking forever walking up and down these hilly streets looking for my hostel in bumfuck nowhere. Found it but decided to just stay closer to town. But god is Brussels beautiful. And the food is so good! April 8, 2017 Total in love with Belgium. 🇧🇪 the modern parts don't overwhelm the historical parts and everything is delicious. I walked around quite a bit with Caroline yesterday and got the lay of the land so today I only needed to retrace our steps to get back to all the fun stuff, plus a few new landmarks I didn't see before. I also spent some time checking out the shops. Thankfully they weren't as artificial as Barcelona or high end as Paris. I even found a cute little chocolate shop. I wish I could have bought the fresh candies in the display case, but they'd never survive until I get home so I bought several large bars for mom, dad, Jim, and Jill. And an extra. Maybe for me. Maybe for Karen or Kat. Idk yet. I should also get Kristina and kai something. She really is such a good person and she has had a hard life. Idk if she even realizes that tho bc it's all she's known. I don't know many people who could survive her life and still be so kind and... spiritual. She has a lot of faith in the universe. So rare nowadays and I love it, if for no other reason than to reflect on my life of relative comfort. And she would be so happy with anything. She just wants that damn penpal tho. I'll do that and pick up a little something. I think that's pretty much the extent of my friends list... lmao I really love this bar I found. Ita called Gecko and it's one of the only places not choked to death by tourists. I've been nursing a 50cl beer for almost two hours and continuing a book I started reading in the park across from the Grand Palace. The music is banging. Totally in my element. A little buzzed with great tunes and a beautiful city around me. This trip is amazing. Although I wasn't going to bc I'm not a waffle person, I do think I will try one before I go. I think I'll regret it if I don't. I didn't eat the waffle. So I went to Amsterdam on an empty tummy full of beer. Arrived late. April 9, 2017 Met two American girls at the hostel breakfast, Rachel and cassie. They are studying abroad in Italy. I might have talked Rachel into being Kristina's pen pal. They were pretty nice. Also ran into my roommate, Stacy, outside the hostel and walked around with her for a while. No where in particular. Just around the park and down some streets. Walked around and just enjoyed the city. The canals are beautiful! I could stroll around all day. I basically did! I walked ~15 miles today, although I did take a much needed, space cookie-induced rest midday. I went back out later to see the red light district at night. Dutch Fuckboy. Enough said. April 10, 2017 I'm ready for a chill day. Woke up tired from being out late with the Fuckboy and wasn't really motivated to explore Amsterdam anymore. I can't believe I only spent one day there and can feel so at home so quickly. Plus, it was really cold and looked like rain coming in so I decided to make the hour + journey to the bus station early. Glad I did bc I made a new friend. The girl sitting next to me in Starbucks was crying quietly so I started talking to her about schools in holland vs the US and whatever else came to mind. It worked. She stopped crying and we chatted for over an hour. Then she told me that she broke up with her boyfriend yesterday and we talked about that. She sincerely appreciated the conversation I think and I feel like I helped someone today. We are FB friends now and I told her that she can always vent to me. I hope she takes me up on my offer. She is a nice person and I know she will do well for herself. Lmao July 26, 2017 Guess I never finished narrating my European saga. Probably bc I went to Berlin next and had too much fun and made too many friends to talk about exsistentialism and philosophy and shit. Regardless, some retrospective musings: Hope I never forget Berlin. I'll definitely go back. Next time I will completely bypass Western Europe and just do the eastern half. Start in Berlin, Prague, Budapest, Slovenia, Croatia, etc. And travel SLOWER. Needed more than 4-5 days for Berlin BY FAR. Could do 10 in Berlin and 7 in Prague probs. Although, I still do want to hit up Ireland and Scotland. Maybe do those two with Iceland as a separate trip. Next year I'm thinking Brazil (already learning Portuguese). And Southeast Asia is on the list for sure. Plus a few smaller, domestic trips for long weekends: Niagra falls, the Caribbean, camping, etc. I definitely require a lot of travel to stay happy and to deal with this bullshit world we live in. I do kind of wish I had someone with the travel bug like me. And that can afford to go/save to go. I definitely battled with the difference between being alone vs being lonely. It was better when I started socializing. Idky i didn't in the beginning. I will see the world one part at a time or until mankind has destroyed everything.