#why do you insist so heavily that people who have done wrong should face severe punishment and only then can they ''redeem'' themselves

[nyazai-osameow]

i wish people werent so ~Christian~ about morals and punishment and wrongdoing and redemption and forgiveness and--

[cinnamonest]

Yandere Profile - Link (Legend of Zelda)

ABSOLUTELY YES. MY BOY. LOVE OF MY LIFE.

As some of you may know, today is the release date of Skyward Sword HD for Switch!! So I decided to release this one now in honor of that :3

NOTES:

I went towards the idea of a Princess!reader because that just opens the gate for sooooo much potential. I'm leaning heavily towards the ZeLink interactions in BoTW and Skyward Sword just because those games have the most interaction between the two.

Also! This is great bc it gives me the opportunity to explore an idea I've actually had a long time! I've always thought about how many opportunities there have been across the games for Link and Zelda to be kinda like "haha well seeya later" and just... bolt, run away from everything, abandon their roles and responsibilities and all that. Like, if OoT kid Link got her before Ganon did and ran, if SS Link just decided to get her on the bird and bolt before everything went down, if botw Link was just like haha what if we ran away from everything together... jk... unless...?

And final note, Link is a great pick for the very traditional yandere -- sweet and : ) but can snap into darker personas. I really liked writing this bc I tend to have more self centered yans and less of the "worships the ground you walk on" type of yans like I think Link would be, so it's a nice change.

As usual now the nsfw section is divided by a ---- line.

TWs: fem reader, heavily implied Zelda!reader, stalking, murder, very brief mentions of gore/dismemberment of rivals, manipulation, very brief suicide mention, themes of reincarnation (I’ve been told this can be triggering to some people so just in case)

TWs (nsfw section): noncon, somnophilia

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

Severity Scale

Intelligence/Perceptiveness: 4 Brutality: 8.5 Physical capability: 8 Mental/emotional instability: 7 Restrictiveness: 6 Sexual sadism: 5 Stubbornness: 8

What are they generally like? Lucid, aware? Obsessive? How do they behave?

The primary trait of Link that any darling -- any person, really -- would notice is that he is, well, quiet. He has always been a man of few words, and really, he often doesn't know exactly what to say. On his own, at a first glance, he really does seem like a gentle, humble spirit, someone who blends into the background pretty well, who isn't particularly prideful or reckless or aggressive.

Which is why, to be honest, he might sort of evade the gaze of most people -- he doesn't stand out. You remember him as the boy that smiled at you now and then, it's a soft, gentle sort of smile, one that you feel conveys nothing but the utmost innocence and contentment with the world. You know he's pretty good at fighting, but doesn't get into fights needlessly, he's accomplished and respected, but has never been the guy everyone is talking about -- he's in the background, against the wall. Never speaking, always looking out, sometimes at the sky, sometimes carefully watching people. Sometimes you see him, gaze blank and tranquil, and wonder what he's thinking about. Whether he's the village boy in the time of Twilight, the trained and honored warrior that slept for many years, the boy that came down from the sky -- you can't help but feel at ease around him, safe, you can't help but find him endearing and pleasant.

Yet, you always seem to notice him. Other people... forget he exists, sometimes, he's so quiet. You never do, for whatever reason.

When he needs to get something across, he prefers to express himself through actions, not words. If you lived in Skyloft, or Ordon village, you might find problems mysteriously solved, work suddenly done that you don't remember doing. That fencepost outside your home that broke has been replaced overnight. A village child went missing and he comes back a few hours later with them in tow. Always humble, never demanding or expecting thanks, he tells you in his quiet voice that he's happy to help you.

And should you ever ask him for anything, he'll drop whatever he's doing to help. Anything for you, he says with a smile, which makes you feel a bit guilty when, honestly, you're not even sure you're remembering his name right.

And yet, sometimes, you feel so at ease around him it seems unnatural. He seems so easy to trust. You feel like you've known him forever. And sometimes you feel... for just a split second, less at ease. You find yourself randomly stiffening at his calm, sweet voice. You find yourself looking around when you're alone, as if you feel someone is there, and for some reason, his face flashes through your mind. Sometimes when he looks at you, you feel sort of cold. It's almost like invoking a memory you don't have, like some kind of learned instinct you can't recall a reason for. But those moments are fleeting, they come and go before you can even process them, replaced by warmth and comfort.

If you do spend time with him, if you find yourself gazing out your window when he's training, the next thing you notice besides him being quiet and sweet is that he's strong. It's almost ironic, how all the other knights or village boys are so aggressive and rowdy all the time, many of them taller or bulkier, and yet, none of them could ever dream of defeating Link. Not one can match his agility, speed, prowess. Such a pleasant, calm person, with so much skill, strength, and power, but that power is so rarely seen exerted. People marvel at his talent, they say it's as if he has the experience of lifetimes and lifetimes of battle in his blood.

And it's why you feel at ease when he's assigned the task of guarding you. His capabilities are unmatched, and yet you'd never fear any harm to you from him. Both of those traits put together make him the best candidate to protect you.

Of course, you do find yourself doing most of the talking. Sometimes you find yourself rambling to fill the silence, and you fear you're annoying him, but when you stop he raises an eyebrow and asks why you got so quiet. Did he do something wrong? He seems to worry about that a lot -- has he done something bad? Has he made you upset? Are you mad? At first you think he's worried about his position security, but after a while you realize he genuinely worries about it.

And when you do continue your ramblings, you're surprised to find he remembers your words -- every little thing you say. Things you don't even remember telling him. He asks you about that relative you mentioned one time, his eyes light up and he walks a bit to the side because look, it's your favorite flower over there, he'll get it for you. It's impressive, really, how he manages to remember such things. He must take his job very seriously.

He does enjoy giving you such things -- he loves giving you gifts. It's usually things he finds, wholesome little things -- makes a crown out of the flowers you like so much, finds something interesting here or there, while he was off-duty he saw something in the markets he thought you'd like and got it for you. You almost feel guilty, it's so constant that he's giving you things.

Sometimes you ask him about himself, you realize he knows so much about you and you so little about him. He blushes, he rubs the back of his head, he insists there's nothing interesting about him, he wouldn't waste your time like that. It takes time to get him out of his shell, but eventually, he tells you this or that, little stories from his life.

Sometimes you take long walks, you like to get out of the stuffy walls and have fun outside, he accompanies you across Hyrule. Sometimes it feels familiar, you pass places you've never been that give you a feeling of nostalgia, deja vu, a sense that you've been here before.

He’s protectiveness incarnated. Insanely so. He can spring to his feet at a moment's notice and deals with anything that comes for you before they can even get close.

It makes you feel safe, but there's something else there. It's a ferocity that is so contrasting to his normal self, different even from the times you've seen him fight as he trains. It's a glint in the eyes, an aggression in his expression, that almost makes him seem like a different person. And it lingers for a moment, once the creature is dead and his sword hand falls to his side, he turns and glances at you to his side, a hand raised to wipe the blood off his face, and for that lingering second, it's still there, his blank expression and wide eyes -- a ferocity so intense it starts to look like bloodlust, chaos, destruction. And then, it's as if you imagined it. Smiling and telling you it's gone now, you're ok. You're glad he's so truly devoted.

In fact, he's so dedicated to his job that he starts... doing it... outside of his job hours...? Well, today he was given the day off, and you were told to stay inside because you didn't have to go out. He comes knocking on your door, says not to be startled if you hear someone outside your door move or shift or anything, but he just wanted to let you know in case. He'll be right here. Keeping watch. So don't worry. You're safe.

And likewise, he was supposed to have a day off when you were supposed to enter the town. You were assigned two other guards to watch you, since it's a special trip, so you're surprised to find just Link waiting for you. He took care of it, he says, he didn't feel right leaving your safety up to someone else, he doesn't trust them. So they agreed to let him take over for today.

All of this said, he doesn't have to grow alongside you, he doesn't have to be the childhood friend, the knight who guards you. He doesn't even have to have met you. Fate works in odd ways like that. There's a sort of inexplicable instant attachment he takes to you, almost as though it's some kind of destined, divinely inspired sort of thing. He would describe it as saying you feel familiar to him.

He's also, notably, prone to a more traditional trope of what you might call humility whiplash. For the most part, he's got that overly humble, worshipping, "I don't deserve to even stand in your presence" sort of mentality. However, although it's rare and requires a lot of wearing down his mental state, if pushed far enough, he can have brief moments where he snaps into more or less the complete opposite -- entitlement, arrogance, aggression, getting mad at you for the behavior he'd normally take with a smile on his face. Thankfully, unlike some yanderes that have a whole snapping episode towards their darling, his are very very brief, usually only a matter of seconds or a single snarled sentence before he snaps back to normal, wide-eyed and apologetic and telling you I don't know what came over me. It’s... a little frightening to say the least, but you blow it off, tell yourself that hey, everyone has moments like that... Right?

How likely are they to kidnap their darling? How quickly will they do so?

For the most part, he doesn't need it, he can pretty easily cling to your side well enough to be assured of your safety, and he manages to scare off the undesirables not with a glare, but a smile that's just a little too sweet and far too persistent -- it unnerves people. You hear a lot of people say that something about that guy rubs me the wrong way. Or that he gives me goosebumps for some reason. Even the people he scares away themselves can't pinpoint exactly what it is, all they know is that, despite being reputed as kind and quiet (and maybe a little dense), somehow a lot of people agree that something about him puts people at unease, and that's all he needs. Because they stay away from him, and if he’s by your side all the time, that means they stay away from you too. Why keep you trapped when you can just be isolated?

An aware Link is a a unique scenario. One scenario that's rather... interesting to imagine is a Link that defies fate itself, a Link that decides to be selfish in one of those rare snapping moments of his. Perhaps he makes a decision when everything starts going down, when the chaos is beginning, or perhaps he has somehow managed to gain knowledge of the bigger picture at work, the reality of the nature of your existence and his.

Perhaps he begins to think it's unfair. To suffer again and again. To prove himself again and again, and not always even to reap any benefits, to work so hard and yet still -- still -- you slip out of his grasp. He longs for a life with no tribulations, no struggle, no fights to be fought. He begins to feel like it's what he wants the most. He begins to feel like maybe it's what he deserves. So many lifetimes of struggles, if the higher powers won't give him a reward, he'll take it himself.

And perhaps, for all their higher power, not even the great goddesses themselves would have ever predicted it -- humans are ultimately creatures of will. To defy fate and to run away from destiny -- it wouldn't be the first time a human has tried such a thing. Sure, Hyrule may be destroyed. The people may all die. There may be nothing left. But you know what? He's stopped caring. If you're alive and he's alive, tucked away in your little corner of the world where you've found respite, well, that's all he needs. Even if you're on the run from forces that would want to find you, even if the threat of the final third of the triforce owner looms over your head. He'll ignore it, he'll look away.

You'll live a quiet little life together, a happy life without suffering, without quests and enemies, without strife, without worry. That's what he tells you when he steals you away, lifts you out of your bed one night. Says to be quiet, there's danger outside your door, he's rescuing you. You have no reason to not believe him. He waits until things go down, a castle under siege, but rather than taking you to where you're supposed to go, he climbs onto the horse and starts... riding away. It gets further and further into the distance, and you might ask why, what's going on? You have a job to do, he has a battle to be fought. But he says you're going far, far away, someplace you'll be safe.

But what about the divine beasts, the seals, the Twilight, whatever threat runs in this world in this time, what about the threat of Ganon, you ask? He says it doesn't matter anymore. You were doomed to fail, he thinks, it's either stay here and die, or run away. All that matters is you. And he'd like you to feel the same way for him. You will with enough time, don't worry.

He just wants this happy, quiet life with you that he’s been denied time and time again. It’s all he wants. If fate won’t give it to him, he’ll make it happen himself, and carve out the life he is determined to have, defying even the will of higher power.

How difficult is it to escape from them? How do they keep you restrained? How do they deal with attempted escape? 

He gets it. Really, he does. "Stop following me!" You yell. Well, he understands why you might feel that way, but this is kinda his job. He thinks you're naive. Not that he would ever, ever have a thought that you're imperfect, of course! It's because you're so perfect and pure that you're... less aware of the dangers all around.

He'll let you think you're free, perhaps. He's more than capable of being quiet, quiet is kind of his thing. Watching you from a short distance is easy. Of course, his horse might make a noise, he can't really help that, or he might misstep on a branch or something. And then you turn around and get all mad again. Now you're even more angry. Well, he can also tell your guardians/father, who will encourage you to accept it. You can't help but feel a little bad -- he's just doing his job.

Now, our aware, runaway Link, well, does he really need to keep you restrained? What would you go back to? Certain death, a land destroyed? Sometimes you mention home, and he's quick to remind you that home doesn't exist anymore. His home is where you are. Can't you feel the same way? You found peace here in this little place -- a village far far away. Travelers, you call yourselves. What's the point in going elsewhere? How would you ever survive without him? He's not very good at being subtle or skillful about the psychological manipulation, it's obvious he's trying to scare you into not leaving, but... it still works, because really, he has a point.

He doesn't want to have to use physical restraint, in any case. And for the most part, it's not needed, because one important aspect of your relation is that his job kinda revolves around you (in some incarnations), or, perhaps you live in the same little village, but either way the thing is that his presence does the job well enough -- he's always there, perhaps more so than almost any other yandere. Even when you think you've managed to get away from him for a moment, somehow his face pops up out of nowhere. How he manages to pull it off is a mystery, you swear he manages to find you so well and predict your movements it's inhuman.

But if you really, really pose a problem, a smarter and sneakier darling that somehow manages to keep slipping out of his grasp and running off (you never get away for more than about 20 minutes or so, but nonetheless), you keep trying to run off when he's sleeping (he wakes up in approximately 25 seconds if your presence is absent from the bed, but that's still enough time to run out the front door), every time he turns his head (which isn't often) you're trying to disappear... well, in that case, he can reach a point of deciding more straightforward measures are necessary. He hates to do it, really, at least when he's not yet at a snapping point. But it's for your own good. And he says so, quite apologetically.

But it's not so bad, it's not like you're being chained to a wall or anything. For one, he got leather ties so you'd be more comfortable, but more importantly, as your guardian, he figured the best thing for you to be tied to would be... himself. Think of it like friendship bracelets! It's just... got a 5-foot chain connecting them. This way you can't sneak off at night, and you won't get too far when he's distracted. It's a safety measure.

How easy are they to trick, deceive, or manipulate?

He's a learner. At first, it's easy. Honestly, he is a rather naive, gullible boy, sometimes he reminds you of a happy dog with his bright eyes. He likes to believe the best of people, give them the benefit of the doubt in all circumstances, and that goes double for you, who he believes can do no wrong.

And even when you do lie to him, it's still not wrong. You didn't do anything bad. Clearly there has simply been a misunderstanding, and you thought you had to lie. Or perhaps you simply forgot a detail or were confusing something with something else. It wasn't malicious on your end, he knows that.

He's actually significantly smarter than he lets on in practical knowledge, though. Those dungeon puzzles pay off, you know? He's got pattern recognition down. So over time he learns how to distinguish when you're lying to him or attempting to deceive him, and sees through it increasingly well.

And yet, he doesn't really... get mad over it, most of the time. Again, he's just capable of deluding himself into believing there's a reason. He believes so strongly in your goodness that he finds a way to interpret everything you do as out of benevolence. So you snuck out the window and didn't tell him you were going for a walk because you just wanted to get away from his suffocating presence for once? You were just thinking of him. You didn't want to burden him and wanted to give him a break. Well, that's thoughtful, but don't worry, he doesn't need a break. He thinks it's precious you're so considerate of him though!

You don't tell him you were talking to that person, and you lie and say no when he asks, because you don't want him to worry, and because you underestimate how dangerous others can be. He's told you a million times and you don't listen, but that's ok, it's because you're just so pure you see the best in everyone. Everything you do is good.

Because he perceives your lies, he will still work against and around it. He won't confront you on your lies, he'll just make sure to deal with the situation -- you lied about sneaking out, well, he'll just keep watch and be ready to meet you outside next time. You lied about talking to a person, well, he'll just have to make sure they stay away from you instead.

If you're trying to trick him, he just plays along until necessary. Smiles and nods. He gets the suspicion you're planning a break-out when he told you he was leaving to go get something from town... rather than saying so, he just decides, you know what? Why don't you come with him? Oh, you're feeling sick, you tell him it's ok, go without you? Well, he can't leave you alone then! Because you're clearly not and just trying to get him to leave... or, as he says, he can't just leave you alone. He'll go another day.

He's fairly manipulable when it comes to praise and affection. You can easily Pavlov him into certain behaviors or patterns with just the slightest words of praise and affection. He's not a very outwardly expressive person, tends to stay quiet, but you can tell how he feels inside when you give the slightest praise, a hug, a kiss on the cheek -- you can see that soft hint of a smile and tell that inside, he's basically melting, even if it's not obvious to most people. And, much like the lying, he’s honestly often aware of it, but he just can’t help it.

How lenient are they? What privileges can you have, and what will you be denied?

He tries to get you the things that he feels will make you happy. Your happiness is incredibly important to him, and he usually thinks about how any action he plans to take might affect you, spends a lot of time debating choices of things to do or say and try to determine how each one will affect you and choose accordingly.

As such, he goes out of his way to support the things you want to do. Have a hobby? He'll find the best materials available. Want a book or a food? He'll obtain it through some means. Even if procuring it involves a side-quest-y set of mundane tasks or scouring the world for 70 of this and 50 of that to exchange it for the item from an obscure specialist, it's all worth it.

The only thing he just doesn't give up on is the constant vigilance and insistence on being by your side more or less every waking second. And every sleeping second. And just every single moment you're alive. It's for your safety.

This is actually one of the things he can get a little nasty about when it comes to how he deals with it, because he quickly has the bright idea that if you don't get it, he'll make you understand. Of course, he can't actually risk you getting hurt, so he stages it. Allows you to sneak off, or at least think you have, and walk right into the path of those monsters he lured, or the people he hired to intimidate you. Of course, it's only natural that he shows up at the last possible second, right on time to save you. You should expect that, after all, it's his responsibility to protect you, of course fate works out perfectly like this. See, he was right, it's so dangerous, and without him you'd be dead. Hopefully you grasp that now.

What kind of rules do they have? What kind of punishment would they use?

His is mostly related to vigilance. Where are you? Who have you been talking to? Who was that person you were talking with just now? What did they say? He's not nosy. He just cares about you. It’s in the job description. You ought to understand just how much certain bad people would love to find you and hurt you. That's why he has to know.

This isn't our modern world, so there's no phones or tracking devices to speak of, just himself, which, well, might as well be a tracking device since he never seems to have difficulty finding you. Sometimes you're not sure how he does it.

He tells you that you don't have to be with him 24/7, but you will be, even if you don't realize it. He's aware enough to know that you'll feel suffocated and get mad if you're aware of his presence all the time, so he gives you your "alone" time, aka, the "follow her quietly from a 20+ foot distance" time. It all feels the same to you. Well, sometimes you feel eyes on you, but you shake the feeling off as paranoia.

So it's not so much that he sets rules and reacts when they're broken, but rather, he works his way around anything you might do so well that he doesn't need you to follow his rules, or really, you take them more as suggestions. But honestly, that's kind of worse. It's enough to drive a darling to the brink of a mental breakdown very quickly. With Link you will inevitably become paranoid, nervous, you feel like you're going insane because he manages to pop up everywhere, he always knows what you did when you did it and you have no idea how it is even conceivably possible for him to know some of the things that he knows. He confronts you very plainly and quietly, often sweetly, asking why you did this or that or telling you it's ok, you don't have to hide anything, surely there’s a good reason, and if not, he forgives you anyway. In a way, it's worse than an angry confrontation. You begin to feel like he's omnipresent, like he can read your mind, and it truly takes a mental toll and affect you worse than any normal yandere's concept of punishment.

This ultimately works out well in his favor. The more you just do what he wants, the less it feels like a violation or intrusion that he knows these things, since he was there with you, it makes sense, and you continuously get bent to his will.

How do they deal with rivals, or perceived rivals? Will they get rid of them? Will they kill them themselves, or find another way?

Ah, and thus we get to that brutality rating.

It would be unthinkable to think that any sort of scum would even dare. Even he isn't worthy of being with you, and someone else thinks they could be? So, he more or less views "rivals" as an offense. When they're threats, well, he's allowed to deal with them. When they're not, well... he has a wonderful reputation. If he says he overheard that person planning usurpation or assassination, that they realized he was listening in and wildly attacked him, everyone will believe him. Even if the death seems a little... non-immediate. And uh... frankly... overkill. How exactly... did those limbs get perfectly severed during equally armed combat? And was it... really necessary... to kinda spill entrails all over like that? He'll apologize, of course, he was just so outraged by the thought of someone hurting you or your family, you know? You notice his eye twitches a bit as he says it.

He has a lot of... bottled up frustrations, which we'll touch on in the nsfw section as well, but it tends to manifest in those two ways: sex and violence. Rather than exerting stress and anger and frustration as it comes, he lets it fester. He tries to maintain being the noble, humble, self-sacrificing person he feels he should be. That is... difficult to do for a long time. People expect a lot from him, even in timelines where he's not necessarily realized as the hero quite yet, he usually has a lot of responsibilities. But then you tack on the whole hero thing? The weight of the world is sometimes, quite literally, on his shoulders. Do you have any idea the kind of stress that comes with that knowledge? It's not pleasant. And it quickly bottles up, a very very fragile bottle set to eventually shatter in a matter of time.

On a longer sort of quest, he just kinda... leaves a trail of destruction in his wake. Enemies don't actually just poof out of existence the way they do on-screen, you know. Anyone coming across an area he's just been through is met with literal piles upon piles of corpses, sometimes monsters, but sometimes people. He takes a very scorched earth sort of policy when it comes to dealing with things.

He's able to easily get close to people, with that sweet face and puppy eyes and lithe body, people don't really feel on guard around him nor intimidated. That makes it significantly easier to infiltrate enemy hideouts, earn favors, and work his way in to be able to commit mass murder more easily. Granted, no one thinks too much of it because they *are* truly enemies, after all, they *did* need to be taken out and well, if the rulers can choose to either send a group of ten soldiers or just one guy and get the job done equally well either way, they'll go with the latter option. No one thinks anything of it, except the occasional person who laughs and says something to the effect of remind me to never get on your bad side, haha! He gives that sheepish, sweet little smile, and jokingly tells them that yeah, better not.

How easy is it to make them mad? What does their anger look like?

For you, nearly impossible. For others, at a hair trigger.

For the most part, he conceals anger well until, as aforementioned, it bottles up and bursts. The truth is he gets irritated virtually all the time by other people. People who talk to you. Look at you. Smile at you. He’s actually rather easily annoyed even when you’re not involved, but again, he’s good at hiding it until it builds.

His rage has a commonality with his calm -- it's quiet. At least, at first. When it's directed at others, his eyes narrow. It's the telltale sign that someone has ignited his rage. It burns on the inside, it starts off as a spark that builds and builds and grows larger and larger until it's a blazing fire that consumes everything in his path. It's a loss of composure, a rare moment of complete loss of self-control. From his own perspective, it feels like he's not in control of his own body, it's all a blur happening in front of him and when it's over he's looking down at his own hands, unable to process his own actions, sometimes unable to remember them.

But it's violent, merciless, unforgiving. It does not yield to begging, it does not leave anything alive unless forced to. You remember the first time you realized how unnatural it was, how shocked you were at how he did something that certainly went against the code he was sworn to follow, the very first time you felt truly afraid of Link. It was a walk in town -- someone called out to you, spitting obscenities about you and your family, your lineage, threw something at you -- he caught it in his hand and crushed it, and quickly, without a word, advanced on the offender. And, to make a long story short, you had to prevent him from beating a man to death in public in broad daylight. He was forgiven by his superiors, but even they seemed shocked. You had to pull him off, and when he jerked his head around to look at whatever was stopping him -- before his face softened as he recognized your own face -- the split second you saw the burn of hatred and fury in eyes that were normally so soft and loving, was nothing short of unsettling, you still recall the chill that ran down your spine.

And honestly? It's terrifying. And the first time, it's shocking. Sure, you knew he could fight. You've seen him fight off monsters, bokoblins and lizalfos and the like. But something is different about seeing the blood of a human being run down his sword, dripping onto the ground, to see the bodies and the blank, numb gaze on his features he always has after it's over. The absolute lack of hesitancy he has to run human enemies through before they even have a chance to explain themselves, how unbothered he seems by the carnage left in his wake. The way he turns back to you, drenched in red and smiles, tells you it's ok, you're safe now. There's no need to look so scared.

And it changes how you view him, in the long run. Less of a guardian angel, more of a guardian dog, one that defends your name when you never asked him to. Pleads to tell him not to fall on deaf ears -- you just don't understand why it has to be this way, he says, you can't comprehend the threat they posed. From the sweet boy that leaves you flowers and repairs and instead leaves a wave of destruction in his path you would not have thought possible.

Directed towards you, though, it's entirely different. He tries his best to have patience with you, no matter what. He smiles, he tries to make excuses as to why you'd say this or do that, why you'd feel a certain way, and he's rather good at deluding himself to give you the benefit of the doubt.

But when it reaches an end, when he can no longer lie to himself, when you push it to a point that you truly make him mad, it's more of a snap. The times he'll lay hands on you in a truly violent way are rare, and as aforementioned, very brief. It's usually not so much of actually a blow, so much as a grab. He just can't get what he's trying to tell you through your thick head, so he stresses it, trying to make you understand as he grabs you by the upper arms, shaking you with each word, and he only stops when he sees the pain and fear in your eyes, drawing his hands back at lightning speed. He saves you from some danger very narrowly, one of the few times he lost track of you for a moment and had to frantically search before coming across you being attacked. What would I have done if something happened to you? Don't you understand that? He's so lost in the relief it takes him a moment to feel you beating on his arms in the embrace, choking and wheezing that you can't breathe, that his grip is so tight it feels like he'll snap you in half. He draws back again, and he apologizes, but it will certainly happen more than once.

So they see you as above them, beneath them, or equal to them?

Above. Like, so, so, so far above. He feels like he doesn't even deserve to look at you. Of course, neither does anyone else, so he's just, you know, stepping up to bear the burden of wrongdoing to keep people even worse than him away from you.

So it's less that you're just above him so much as you're above everyone. He's actually, perhaps surprisingly, a little bit of a pessimist about the world. The world is full of so many terrible people and so many horrible things happen that he's borne witness to. It's a "world cold and hard, (y/n) soft and warm" sort of thing. You're the one good thing, the thing that makes him happy, the ultimate source of comfort he has, and he has to prevent you from being defiled by the evil of the world, keep you innocent and sweet (even if he's just deluding himself to think you are those things in the first place).

This ties into, again, how he interprets every action you take as good and benevolent -- he has the "you can do no wrong" mentality. Even very blatantly malicious things, he'll interpret in a way that makes you somehow still come out a perfect, innocent angel. If you do harm to others, well, they simply deserved it. You did something technically wrong, but you knew no better, or you were desperate. You can't be held responsible for any of it. And if you're mean to him, well, he probably did something to make you upset.

How determined are they for you to love them? How hard will they try to make it happen? Or are they content just having you?

Sort of a duality. Yes, he's very persistent. He thinks about it all the time. Every time you yell and try to run and hurl nasty insults at him, it hurts far more than you realize. He doesn't let it show on his face or in his voice, but it really does, and it gets to him sometimes. He's hyper observant of every little thing you do, your body language, your tone, the way you look at him, and the slightest of differences can change his mood internally, although it tends to look the same outwardly.

He makes little mental notes of it -- today she didn't flinch when I touched her shoulder. Today she didn't frown when she saw me coming. Little things like that will make his entire day. Likewise, the inverse kills him inside. He aims to make every day one of the former days, where the littlest signs of acceptance or even kindness and affection give him a sort of high that makes him feel like he's floating.

He tries his best to do things that he thinks will, well, earn love. Every opportunity to do something for you, he takes it. Everything he sees he'd think you'd like, he buys (or steals, or... loots from a dead body) for you. On and on that idea goes. And although he doesn't say too much, when he does speak to you, he usually has something nice to say. He views it in a formulaic way -- ironically, think about it like those collectibles in overworlds. You get enough of this or that thing, and once you have enough, you can go talk to this or that person and donate them all and get a reward, right? He's accustomed to viewing things that way. Love should be the same way. If he just completes enough tasks and gathers enough items, eventually he'll unlock your love.

That being said, even if it doesn't happen, much to your despair, he just... doesn't. Give. Up. He doesn't quit. No matter how many times you tell him, it doesn't make a difference. You can tell him you'll never love him, and it's like it goes in one ear and out the other. He keeps trying. And he never, ever, ever stops trying. What did you expect? The boy's been fighting the same enemy over and over across lifetimes, needless to say his spirit has build up some persistence.

Bonus: Is there anything that makes them unique, in comparison to other yanderes?

Bonus: Zelda/Triforce of Wisdom Darling

And don't worry. If it all goes wrong, when he fails, those divergences in time where the hero is vanquished and evil wins out -- it's not the end. Somehow, that's the feeling he gets, holding your little lifeless body up, running hands across your cold skin. Somehow, he feels oddly calm. Like it hurts, but it's ok. Like he'll see you again. Maybe not soon, but one day. This time didn't work out. But the next one will.

And that's the feeling you'll always have. Every time you meet him and you feel like you've met before, the lingering memories when you wake from your dreams -- flying through skies and sailing on oceans, a child, an adult, a boy you've never met, or one you've known all your life, but it's always the same face, the same voice, the one right beside you in the waking world. You sometimes wonder if he has the same feelings, the same dreams, the same sense of something greater than yourselves at work, the sense of being just smaller pieces in a much bigger picture.

The sense of permanency, that each other is all there will ever be -- regardless of how it makes you feel, regardless of how that scares you, sometimes you feel like you can never be free. Sometimes, when you think of running away, those dark moments when you think of even escaping from life itself, it feels futile. It's as if you know it would never hold him away forever. As if death is insignificant. Perhaps in this lifetime, you'll become aware of why that is, or perhaps not.

With other obsessive lovers, just the idea of til death do us part is a terrifying thought. But, for Link, not even death can keep him away from you. Your suffering is already determined by the will of higher power, for the sake of a greater good. 

In truth, it’s the goddesses who made him this way intentionally -- it’s designed to ensure your safety, even at the cost of your suffering. Again, for a greater good. Sure, you may live one lifetime to the next desperately locked in the same cycle in which your freedom and will is stripped from you, but in the end, it serves a purpose. 

Nor will he change -- perhaps this one this time is a bit more spirited, more calm, more pessimistic, more optimistic... but in the end, at their core, they're the same soul, with the same will deep, deep down. The same drive to find you and protect you. The same love for you, an all-consuming love that destroys everything in its path to you and leaves ruin in its wake.

And if fate should one day keep you apart, should things change, for whatever reason, it’s unable to change him. There's another force even more powerful than fate determined to keep you together. The only thing more unavoidable, inevitable, and unescapable than fate, is Link himself.

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

General perverseness: how sexual of a person are they? What’s their drive like? How touchy do they get? Do they have any reservations about sexuality?

In moments of passion, he changes a bit, unlike other more submissive yans who stay consistent in their reverence and desire to please.

You see, after a while, being as lenient and tolerant and flexible and completely devoted as he is... constantly self-sacrificing in so many ways, to you, to Hyrule, to the world... some frustrations build up. It's a big, big bottle of emotion, all tucked away and festering, getting greater and greater and eventually it has to explode somehow.

His reservations and inhibitions fall away. Perhaps a darker, more selfish side comes out. Perhaps that's why he's so rough. He knows he'll regret it later, the bruises from how hard he grips, the marks from the bites, but the hormones and the heat takes over. He'll feel bad for defiling you. He'll apologize. And he'll do it again. And again. And again.

But once the resolve crumbles, it topples. That is, he can't partially maintain it -- if it's partially gone, it falls apart completely. He lets go, so to speak. And when he lets go, you find that underneath that carefully constructed resolve and willpower that holds him back, he can be a very, very rough and possessive lover. In his normal state, he wouldn't dare think of you as a possession, or as something he's even worthy of. He would like so, so much to think that, to feel like he's allowed to -- but he doesn't. He chastises himself for even having such a desire. But in those moments, when his resolve is gone and his brain isn't thinking quite too clearly, he might even have to audacity to say "mine." Even if it's not true, not now, maybe it will be. He would like that so much. His and his alone.

And in a moment of clarity, he might even throw away the inhibition on purpose. The more selfish side, the same Link that drags you away from your destiny -- he's already forsaken his responsibilities, hasn't he? Why care anymore about the structures that no longer exist, your status and his, if there's no kingdom left? He likes that it happened, even. This way, this time, you can throw off those titles, those roles. Without your status, your title, there's nothing stopping him from making you his. And you will be his, and nothing more. It's all you need to be. So he doesn't have to care anymore about any of that, he doesn't have to stop himself from going wild. Biting into every little spare patch of skin, covering your body with marks that make him feel comforted to see.

As far as drive it's a bit of a two-sided duality. Outwardly he's not a very sexual person at all, blushes and stutters and averts his gaze at the slightest mention of suggestive topics, tries his best to be Respectful(tm) by always looking away when you're in a compromising position, or your skirt flies up, etc etc. Given how constant his vigilance is, he has a tendency to accidentally walk in on your changing or bathing, except unlike with many yanderes, it's genuinely an accident. Not that the image doesn't stick in his mind, nor does he wish he hadn't gotten to see, but he does feel guilty, and it was genuinely unintentional. He kinda freezes up, so it takes a moment for him to actually snap out of it and run out.

That being said, he quickly develops something of a masturbation addiction when he's younger, it starts as more of a stress reliever than anything, He's so sweet and always feels bad about talking about his problems and feelings, so that and, well, violence are the only ways he can get it out. Thus he learns to channel stress and nerves into sexuality, and once he has a real living body and not just his hand, that dependency on cumming to relieve it doesn't change.

How forceful are they? Do they care about your willingness?

Particularly so, yes, cares quite a bit. And it takes a while for him to feel comfortable. Even consensually, the first few times he touches you for several months, he's got trembling hands and stays quieter than ever, constantly freezes up every time you move or make a noise because he thinks he's done something wrong. He has to be coaxed into feeling more comfortable before he gets used to it, but he will build confidence over time.

As addressed before, though, if he's pushed and pushed and pushed long enough, you can get a darker side to come out. This is most likely something that would only occur post-kidnapping in a distant time, once he's far away from any possibility of consequence and destruction has set in to the world around you. He starts to get a little bitter, if you've been mean to him. It all builds up. Don't you get that he's literally saved your life? That he devoted every waking second to you? Isn't he kinda entitled to some thanks? The cycle of time never rewards him. Even the figures he helps over time rarely give him more than a verbal praise and thanks, maybe an item here or there, and then disappear. His role feels thankless. He starts to feel like he deserves something, something tangible, in return.

Surprisingly, though, he actually does not take the route of guilt-tripping or emotional manipulation or gaslighting his way into it like a lot of the sweeter yanderes when he does have that snap. His snaps/breakdowns are rather extreme in terms of how much of a polar opposite they are to his normal state, rather than just a slight bend of his normal personality. Rather than taking the route of most yanderes like himself, he just gets directly physically forceful. Still somewhat sweet, though, reminds you he loves you, he'd die for you, you're his entire world. You'd argue that doesn't really change the actions, but considering how frightening he is in that state, you're not dumb enough to vocalize that.

The guilt consumes him alive afterwards. Like, immediately afterwards. He's still panting and twitching and buried inside when it sets in. That being said, he doesn't get to stuttering and profusely apologizing, like he does over smaller offenses. It's all done and he can't take it back, so he just kinda collapses and says nothing. He's not the best with words, you know. It's an odd mixture of guilt and, honestly, a bit of satisfaction and relief. It feels like letting go of some self-imposed burden, that feeling of finally surrendering to some deep want, even if it comes with a lot of remorse, the relief of finally letting go does have a good feeling as well... and because of that, it’s another one of those barriers that, once broken, can’t be built up again.

What sort of kinks or fetishes do they have, or would they fill?

In all honesty the boy is, for the most part, a fairly gentle and vanilla lover. He doesn't really need anything special to get off -- he's easily excited and cums very very easily too. Just the prospect of getting to stick his dick in you in any capacity is enough to make him nearly burst at the thought honestly.

In general, as aforementioned, he's very very cautious and gentle to a point, but has a tendency to get actually kinda rough once he gets into it. The thing is, the roughness aspect is actually unintentional. He's one of those boys that is a little bit unaware of his own strength, doesn't process exactly how hard and fast he's going. He just gets lost in the feeling, kinda enters a dazed lusty haze where he's less aware of his actions. Doesn't realize he's literally got an iron grip pressing your head down on his dick or into the bed until you start flailing your hands because you can't breathe. Doesn't realize how hard he was gripping until he sees the bruises on your arms and hips later. That sort of deal -- poor thing is just unaware and doesn't have enough blood in his brain to think straight.

Biting

Surprisingly a really big one for him. (Remnants of a past life cycle with some lupine experiences perhaps?) In all seriousness, he could not explain exactly why if asked, it's one of those "I just like it" sort of things. It feels like yet another way to conjoin the two bodies, pulls you close. The marking aspect is also nice. Granted, he feels guilty afterwards, tries to help it heal. He has that same duality where moments ago he was this intimidating beast of a human being, rough and growly and jerking you like you were weightless, and now he's back to this bright eyed softie stuttering while he apologizes.

The guilt is mixed with a bit of enjoyment, though. It's constantly conflicting -- sure, part of him understands it's embarrassing and will help you cover up, but part of him doesn't want to, he wants people to see. Part of him looks at the marks and tells himself internally to never do that again, and part of him sees them and just wants to give you even more. It's a constant internal conflict, poor thing.

As far as a place, he likes the neck and shoulders best, simply because it's the most visible and it's the most passionate ones to create, when your bodies are tightly locked together. That being said, though, he also has a thing for biting at the insides of your thighs. It's another one of those I just like it sort of things.

Sometimes, when you're asleep, or pretending to be, you can feel him trace the bite marks with his fingers, softly running them over the circular pattern, just enough to barely ghost over your flesh.

Somnophilia

It puts him at ease. This one is particularly prevalent towards the beginning of your relationship, before you really know... how he is. He has this image of you as so pure and he couldn't bear the thought of defiling you with his horrible horrible thoughts. The guilt eats away at him for a while, but eventually he just can't hold back, but how could he ever do anything to you and risk consequence? So... the solution he comes up with is waiting until you sleep.

He tests the waters to see how heavy of a sleeper you are. Calls your name at increasing volume, lightly runs his fingers over your hair, pokes your face, whispers in your ear, runs his hands over your arms. Just to see what makes you rustle, if anything, so he knows the limits. If it turns out you're an incredibly light sleeper, well, unfortunately that means he's limited to just jerking off to your sleeping form, but that's ok. Just seeing your soft face and the cute way you breathe, the slightest way your lips open, that's enough for him.

If it turns out you're a heavier sleeper though, well, he tries to fight the temptation, but ends up going further. Slowly climbs onto your bed, careful to make the weight shift as gently as possible. Slowly pulls the covers back. Runs his hands up and down. It's a lot better when he can actually see your body as he jerks off, honestly. If he's feeling particularly risky, he might press your thighs together, feel how soft your skin is to his cock, how nice the squeezing pressure between them is.

He gets easily lost in a haze, though, so he inevitably ends up accidentally cumming on you and has to frantically find a way to lightly dab it up without waking you. He panics quite a bit, but that doesn't stop him from doing it again the very next night.

Overstimulation/Forced Orgasm

It just means he's doing a good job, really. Sure, you squeal and kick your feet back and forth and tug at his hair, but that's just because it feels good. Orgasms equate to love and feel good, right? Sure there's a little bit of pain when you go overboard, but then it just leads to feeling even better, right?

It's kind of an irrational compulsion rather than a logical goal, though. He just has an impulsive need to feel you quiver and spasm and clench, it basically gives him a chemical high hit and a wave of reassurance, makes him feel good in both the physical sense and the emotional sense. The first one sends him into this compulsive need to feel it over and over and over again, as many times as he can. It's another one of his internal conflict things -- sure, he knows it's hurting, but he just has to get one more. Just one more. But of course, every time turns into "just one more" when he's been saying that for half an hour now.

And, to be honest, it kind of gives him a pride boost to think he can make you cum against your will. How many people struggle to achieve that even when both parties are trying? It makes him feel good in an adequacy sort of way, he feels needed.

Size Kink/Distension

You know, there's a well-known thing among the male-lovers in this world when it comes to size. It's never the arrogant, loud guys, it's never the social butterflies, it's never the tall guys, it's never the beefy muscly guys. No, they're not the ones that end up somehow bestowed with absolute monster cocks. It's always the soft, lean boys who don't talk much. And they're always painfully unaware of it, too.

He's no exception. Not to the size or the complete lack of awareness. He hasn't spent a lot of time around guys his age too much, he's always been the one sent for some special task and ends up out in the wilderness by himself on journeys, or, in some lifetimes, accompanying you most of the time. He doesn't know what the average dick looks like, so he has no idea he's far above average.

This might sound like a plus, and of course in some ways it is, but also he doesn't think about the fact that the average body isn't properly equipped to handle it. You're supposed to just kinda put it in, that's how the sex works, right? Poor thing, especially if it's entirely consensual sex, he's just kinda ???? because why are you in pain? What is he doing wrong? You have to eventually explain it's literally just his body, not something he's doing.

That being said, naturally, he's a humble person, but hearing you say that does kinda... make him feel good inside. A little bit proud. He's not a person who takes a lot of pride in many things, so he likes having this one thing, and quickly notices you can visibly see it through the bulge it makes in your stomach. Especially if it's in a position where your back is pressed to his front, every little movement creates the bulge, so expect to get a lot of that.

He doesn't really bring it up much or talk about it when he's actually fucking you, it's more like, as with many things, something he's quietly aware of and silently enjoys a lot internally, even if it's not voiced.

How do they feel about pregnancy or babies? Do they want them?

Yes and no. It has to do with his overactive protection instinct. What if something happened or went wrong? He couldn't take that. He couldn't lose you.

At the same time, he likes kids, and he's very good with them, very patient. And over time, realizes that a kid would be the perfect tool of manipulation, and besides that, isn't it a beautiful thing, an ultimate manifestation of love?

So how to work around that... Ultimately, what he decides to do is have a kid... Just not by blood. There are plenty of orphans in Hyrule, wandering the streets and the wilderness, picking one up is easy. ...You wouldn't leave this poor child to suffer out there, to fend for themselves, would you? Nor would you leave him to take care of it by himself... Right?

What kind of (nsfw) punishments would they use?

Oh, it's not like he thinks of it that way. He would call it... a reminder. You put yourself in danger again? You tried to go back again? You were gone and for ten whole minutes he didn't know where you were? What could the solution to this issue be? The only thing his brain can really come up with is making sure you need him. Making sure you're content and satisfied here with him so you don't go running off.

Thus we return to the forced orgasm thing -- see, you do need him. It feels good, right? You say it hurts, and maybe it does a little, but ultimately you wouldn't be cumming if it wasn't good. No one else can ever do that. No one else knows you like this. No one else was made for you like this. You can't replace him. You need him. And he can keep going as many times as it takes until you see that, too. Even if he gets milked dry, he has a mouth and hands for a reason.

And by "until you see that," I mean until you say it. In his more... emotionally intense moments, he gets a bit insistent. He needs to hear you say it. Admit it to yourself. And to him. That you need him, that you depend on him, that you'll never leave again. And don't think your patience and tolerance can stand a chance of outlasting his -- it will keep going until you say it.

What body parts of their darling do they like the most?

He's one of those wholesome type of boys who goes with something sweet. He says maybe your hair, your face, your skin, your eyes. It's all so comforting. So familiar. Of course, not to say that he doesn't like your less wholesome mentionable parts, but he wants to be chivalric about such a question, and feels answering that way would be too disrespectful.

In his unspoken thoughts, though, he likes the hips. It's a part of you he can grab onto and hold you close with. He puts his hands there a lot and holds tight, like he feels like at any moment you could slip out of his grasp. And, I mean, it's nice to look at, can't forget that.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Laugh

Prompt: Hi!! I really love your writing and always look forward to when you update, I can’t tell if your prompts are open (please ignore this if they aren’t!) but if they are I have a prompt for your (un)wanted series; each of the fae making Virgil laugh for the first time, at first he’s insecure/scared to laugh because of experiences in the village but he slowly learns to be ok/comfortable laughing thanks to the fae; again, if your prompts aren’t open I apologize and hope you have a nice day!! - anon

so uh

hey

did you guys know that this past Friday was the one year anniversary of the first chapter of (un)wanted

'cause wow

uhhhhhh I'm not good at speeches so have fluff

Read on Ao3 (Un)Wanted Masterlist

Warnings: none!

Pairings: DLAMPR, it’s found family nonsense

Word Count:  5419

Whether or not they agree on who made Virgil laugh first is irrelevant, the point is that they’ll find something to argue about sooner or later, and when they do, Virgil’s learned enough to curl up with Oliver and just watch. Preferably from the safety of the kraken’s head, a little bit away from the shore, where he’s close enough to hear the things they say but not close enough to be in the way.

It was Oliver’s idea to do that, actually. Virgil…hasn’t been the best at learning how to deal with anger. Other people’s anger, in particular, for completely understandable reasons.

 It had been Logan who spotted it, coming over to his side when the twins were having an argument over what side of the lake they were each taking jurisdiction for that decade and Roman’s voice had risen, Remus’s voice had multiplied, and Logan had seen Virgil curl in on himself, clutching his tunic tightly around him and trying desperately to vanish into the wall.

 Once the twins realized what was happening—namely, Virgil breathing heavily in Logan’s arms as he glared at the two of them for being so oblivious—they’d stopped right away, calming down and crouching to be smaller so that Virgil could see them, see them, not their anger, and apologize. Remus had tugged Virgil into his lap as part of his apology and Roman had ruffled his hair and promised that he’d never raise his voice around him again.

 Logan had been quiet as Virgil clung to him, only later working up the courage to ask what was wrong with him.

 “Nothing is wrong with you, little one, you’re experiencing symptoms of your trauma.” A cool hand had passed over his forehead, smoothing his hair back from his face. “Your experiences with human anger have not been good, it stands to reason that you react to it.”

 “But—it’s stupid,” Virgil had spat, “I know—I should know you guys won’t—won’t—“

 “Shh, shh, hush, now…that’s it. Come back here for a moment. There you go.” Logan’s chin had come to rest on top of Virgil’s head. “Knowing something theoretically and properly internalizing it are two different processes, little one. It’s going to take time.”

 “But I’ve given it time.”

 “I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that. There’s no textbook on healing from trauma.”

 “There should be.”

 Logan had chuckled. “I don’t think even with our combined lifetimes we would be able to read it.”

 But that didn’t mean that they couldn’t start trying to help Virgil work through it. It had been the twins who started taking the bigger steps; sometimes Roman or Remus would be spending time with Virgil and the other would bustle in, muttering about something or other gone wrong. A patch of kelp that kept getting infected, a herd of deer that insisted on trampling half of the garden, something. And as they talked, the other would coax Virgil into their lap, keeping him grounded. Their voices might raise, just a little, but they were very careful not to yell and the warm weight of arms around Virgil and a head on his shoulder kept him safe.

 When someone couldn’t hold him, Oliver does. The kraken made no secret of how much he liked to hold Virgil—Remus muttered something about how he wasn’t jealous of a kraken, shut up, Roman—and had no reservations about extending an arm for Virgil to step into to wrap him up and carry him to safety. The others made sure not to yell, of course, but that meant that it manifested in other ways.

 Logan’s hands turned blue.

 Roman’s magic started to tingle from his fingers.

 Remus’s tentacles came out.

 Janus started hissing.

 Patton’s chest glowed.

 And sometimes, when he’s safely in someone else’s arms and high away on top of Oliver’s head, that was fine.

 Virgil shuffles a little, careful to keep his weight squarely on top of Oliver, not shifting too much either side. Of course, that’s easy when Oliver is really fucking huge. And the kraken burbles every now and then, shifting slowly from side to side in the water, careful not to jostle him too much. He pats the spot next to him in thanks and the water thrums with Oliver’s purr.

 Onshore, about twenty feet away, he makes eye contact with Logan. Logan rolls his eyes dramatically, the sheer exasperation on his face making Virgil snort. When he looks back, Logan’s face has softened considerably into such fondness that he can feel the tips of his ears flush.

 “I don’t know why we’re still fucking arguing about this,” Remus says, drawing their attention, “I won! I got him to laugh first! So I win!”

 “You have no proof of that,” Roman says immediately, “besides, you haven’t even told us what it is, how are we supposed to trust that?”

 “Just because we’re not all Lolo with his meticulous journals and note-taking methods doesn’t mean I’m not right, you absolute—“

 “Language!”

 “Oh, I’ll show you fucking language—“

 “How is it,” Virgil mumbles at Oliver, “that they’ve been arguing for so long and Remus hasn’t said what he thinks it is yet?”

 The kraken just shrugs. Carefully, not moving Virgil, but he does shrug.

 “Well, since you’re so adamant that you’re correct,” Janus drawls, effectively cutting off Remus and Patton’s tangent about swearing—which is something they never can quite put down—“why don’t you tell us what it is?”

 “Roro and Pat were there,” Remus huffs, putting his hands on his hips, I don’t see what there is to argue about.”

 “We were—oh goodness,” Patton sighs, “are you talking about the first time Virgil met Oliver?”

 Remus beams. “Sure am!”

 “Was that when I got absolutely covered in that voracious green slime that was determined to consume me?” Roman scoffs and wipes his sleeves at the memory of it. “Absolutely dreadful.”

 Remus throws his head back and cackles.

 “It was a wonder I was able to get clean,” Roman mutters, glaring at his brother, absolutely splitting his sides.

 “Ah,” Remus sighs after a moment, wiping his eyes, “good times, good times.”

 He points victoriously at Patton.

 “See? You were there! You remember!”

 Patton sighs. “I do…but that doesn’t count.”

 “What?” Remus whirls around and gestures at Oliver, who stick up two tentacle tips and waves. “Are you discounting this magnificent, glorious beastie from our debate?”

 “Technically that would be Oliver getting Virgil to laugh, not you.”

 “Or,” Roman says, puffing his chest out, “it would be me. Since I was the one to get so egregiously wounded—“

 “You were covered in slime,” Logan points out, “calm down.”

 “—then it was me that sparked that reaction.”

 Virgil rolls his eyes and pats Oliver’s head again. “You’re not just a beastie, you know that, right?”

 Oliver rumbles under him.

 “Okay, good.”

 “Besides, that was barely a laugh.” Patton pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “It was…okay, yes, it’s one of my favorite memories since Virgil has come to stay with us—“

 Remus turns and shoots Virgil a wink over his shoulder.

 “—but a laugh?” Patton looks at Logan. “What’s the definition of a laugh, Lo?”

 “Technically, it’s to express certain emotions, particularly mirth or delight, through a series of spontaneous and usually unarticulated sounds.” Logan crosses his arms. “Which means that as long as it wasn’t planned and it wasn’t articulated, anything counts as a laugh.”

 “Thank you!”

 “Alright, alright,” Patton huffs, “always with the technicalities.”

 “You were the one who asked me for the definition.”

 “So what do you think it is,” Janus asks, examining his gloves with feigned disinterest, “since you’re so insistent that you know the correct usage of the word ‘laugh?’”

 Virgil can see Patton’s grin from Oliver’s head.

 “Why, the bread day, of course!”

 As if on cue, several groans go up around the clearing.

 “Patton, none of us were there for that—“

 “You can’t just keep insisting on that one, it’s not like—“

 “You can stop rubbing it in, Pat—“

 “Of course, you need—“

 “It was wonderful,” Patton says, raising his voice just a little to speak over the others, “he looked so happy.”

 Virgil does actually remember that one too. And yes, okay, maybe he’s glad that he’s far away from the others so they can’t see the small smile spreading over his face at the memory. The warm kitchen, the smell of the bread, the soft warmth of Patton’s presence next to him…

 Yeah, that’s a good memory.

 Oliver thrums under him and he pats the kraken’s head absentmindedly. Patton sighs over on the shore as the others mutter amongst themselves. Then he claps his hands.

 “Well, I think that’s me winning, so—“

 “Hold on,” Logan says, holding up his hand, “as we said, you are the only one who was there. I would argue that a laugh where all of us were present is much more significant.”

 He glances up at Virgil and his gaze softens.

 “Considering the incredible amount of work that Virgil has done since arriving to stay with us, I’d say that marks…quite an achievement.”

 Of course, as soon as one of them starts to get all sappy, the rest quickly join in. Virgil is incredibly glad that he can use shifting on top of Oliver’s head to duck away from the blush he knows is spreading all over his face. Mostly so he doesn’t have to look at the fondness and pride on their faces. Partly because he knows Roman would immediately become insufferable.

 “So,” Roman says after a while, which means it’s safe to look up again, “what exactly did you have in mind?”

 Logan crosses his arms, using one hand to adjust his glasses on his face. “Do we all remember the first time Virgil began to experiment with his webs?”

 Virgil’s breath catches in his throat. Oh, he knows what Logan’s talking about.

 The seasons had been turning, fall creeping in through the tendrils of the forest. The leaves had begun to change, dislodging themselves from their branches and twisting down through the air to land in massive piles on the ground. Carpets of red, orange, purple, and brown had covered the paths they would walk, fruits growing heavy and ripe. Roman and Patton had spent hours out in the woods near the lake with him, plucking berries off the trees and eating them until their mouths and fingers were stained with the juice.

 The trees around the clearing had lost their leaves a little quicker than the others, leaving their limbs bare, the naked wood gleaming in the sun. The light had warmed the leaves during the day, leaving them dry and crunchy as they walked over them. Something Virgil hadn’t minded at all during the day—he had gotten into more than a few playful encounters with Remus, crashing through the leaves just to hear them crunch—but when night had rolled around…

 The thin limbs blowing in the breeze hadn’t been pleasant reminders that the seasons were changing. No, they were fingers tapping threateningly on the windows, or looming there to scratch him if he moved too much.

 Logan had noticed him hovering just outside the clearing the next day, softly placing a hand on his shoulder after alerting him to his presence and asking, gently, what the matter was.

 “The…the trees,” Virgil had muttered, balling his fists up in shame, “I, um…they…”

 Logan had taken one look at the way the shadows fell around the clearing and nodded firmly. “I understand, little one.”

 He’d tucked Virgil up in his arms when Virgil asked, rubbing his back gently.

 “Would you like to talk about it, or be distracted from it?”

 “Distraction, please.”

 Logan had smiled. “Have you had a chance to practice with your webs yet?”

 “No.”

 “Would you like to try now?”

 “Uh, sure. What do we do?”

 Logan had started to walk them toward the center of the clearing, explaining how spiders use their webs as a part of their consciousness.

 “Wait, they what?”

 Logan had nodded. “There is a theory of mind known as ‘extended cognition.’ It states that whilst humans—and most sentient beings—use their minds as a great deal of their processing of thought and feeling, we rely on a lot of external structures outside of our minds to help us think. Sometimes outside of our own bodies as well.”

 “Whoa…” Virgil had looked down at his hands. “What do you mean?”

 “Think of the way you organize your room.” Logan had gestured to Virgil’s door. “It’s laid out in a way that helps you think, helps you process information. It informs your decision-making sometimes, does it not?”

 At Virgil’s nod, Logan had asked softly for his hand, beginning to make small circles in the air as Virgil started to let his webs slip.

 “The same is true of a spider’s web. Picture the web as something of a hub.”

 “A hub?”

 “Yes. Do you remember talking about how spiders use their webs?”

 “Yeah, as like a sensory extension. They can feel the vibrations of different strands in order to track their food or sense what’s coming for them.”

 Logan had smiled. “Very good memory, Virgil, that’s excellent. Yes, they can tell the difference between different types of vibrations too, from different types of prey to debris to predators.”

 A small web starts to form between the gaps in Virgil’s fingers.

 “But what else they do is fascinating.” He tugs very gently on one of the strands. “The spider isn’t idle when it sits in the middle of its web. Rather, it’s constantly moving, checking each individual strand. Pulling this one a little tighter, tugging that one.”

 Virgil watches as the light gleams off of the strands. He moves his fingers a little to watch them. “What for?”

 “Pulling a strand tighter makes it more sensitive to vibrations.” He reaches up to Virgil’s head. “Like cupping your hand around your ear to hear things more clearly.”

 “Whoa, that’s cool.”

 “Mm. An external way of filtering what information the spider receives in order to better process it.”

 Virgil had looked up at Logan. Logan had smiled softly and stepped back, letting Virgil spin the web between his own hands.

 “…you think this will help me too?”

 “I think that my research has shown that taking a spider’s web away from them severely impairs their ability to function,” had come the quiet reply, “and that you haven’t had much of a chance to spin freely.”

 Virgil had looked down at his hands. The web had looked so small, too small. He had looked back up at Logan, chewing on his lip.

 “Can I…?”

 Logan had smiled and folded his hands behind his back.

 Virgil had closed his eyes and reached.

 There was something strange, he had realized, about being in your body without being in your body. Something like a wall, sometimes thick, sometimes only static, between you and whatever you sense. Hiding somewhere in a corner of your mind where you were in the world, but not really with the world. As if you were existing but just…slightly to the left.

 His body didn’t need to do anything spectacular, it just needed to exist. He was a shape. Just a shape. Nothing more, nothing less.

 And that was okay.

 Without even realizing it, his four legs had lifted him up, suspending him a few inches off the ground as his hands continued to spin. He had felt them taking the web produced and moving it from place to place, but he wasn’t thinking about it.

 He had just…done it.

 He had been the slight crack in his left finger as he wrapped his hands around and around the threads of the web.

 He had been the very tip of his upper left leg as it took the web and tossed it into place.

 He had been the last strand that decided to stick to somewhere and make that its home.

 When he had opened his eyes, an unknown amount of time later, his mouth had dropped open in awe.

 The clearing, previously empty save for the bare-limbed trees and scattered leaves, was draped and covered in spiderwebs.

 Logan, who must’ve been standing there quietly, had looked up and around him, eyes wide with wonder. He had turned slowly, spotting Roman, Remus, Patton, Janus, all staring around with wide eyes at the mass of webs that clung with gossamer elegance to the fabric of the world.

 Virgil had hung there, suspended amidst the web, spinning slowly as he felt the world breathe.

 Dusk had fallen, bathing the clearing in a soft light that reached gentle fingers out to paint thin blue shadows along the ground. The cool air had been weightless, blowing effortlessly through each strand and setting it to tingle. Everywhere a strand vibrated, a single drop of dew had formed, a single crystal in the half-dark.

 A glittering hub.

 And for the first time, Virgil had looked at something he’d made not with fear, not with anger, but with wonder.

 And he’d laughed.

 Giddy, child-like, bemused entirely by his creation and the way his body molded to the soft chimes of the web, spinning, spinning, unspun in the comfort of the mist.

 Virgil’s legs twitch behind him at the memory of the first web, and as he looks down, he realizes he’s been idly toying with a web on top of Oliver. The kraken, of course, is more than delighted to realize he’s received a present, burbling happily as Logan finishes his quiet recounting of that evening. A lull hangs over the shore for a moment before Logan adjusts his tie.

 “I believe I win.”

 “Hold on,” Roman says, “let’s not be too hasty, here.”

 “I do remember that,” Patton murmurs, glancing over at Virgil, “that web was so pretty.”

 “Pretty enough for Logan to win?”

 “Maybe not that pretty.” He sends a wink at Virgil.

 Rude.

 “Well,” Logan huffs, turning to Roman, “if you’re so certain, Roman, what on earth do you think it is?”

 Virgil can hear the fucking smirk on his face from here.

 “Have you all forgotten so quickly?” He spreads his arms. “Has the image of our sleepy little spider left your minds so soon after it happened?”

 Oh.

 Oh, no.

 Virgil knows exactly what Roman’s talking about.

 Okay, in his defense—who is he kidding, he knows damn well he set himself up for this. But it had been such a long day! He’d been working with Logan, trying to get the garden set up properly and that was hard, okay? Trying to manage the three different notebooks, the planters, the pots, the tools, it was a lot, and he still wasn’t used to using his new legs so he kept bumping into things and it was a lot. Then he had to help Patton with clearing out another section of the kitchen to make room for all the new baking pans and they were so loud and hard to manage and get the things in all the right places took so long and ugh. And then to top it all off Janus had promised to go with him on a walk and—listen, okay, the day was long.

 And Roman is really, really warm.

 He’d been walking back from the portal, drained from the effort of keeping his magic under control on the other side of the garden, panting slightly as he rounded the corner. He’d looked up just in time to see Roman shutting his red door behind him.

 “Ah,” he’d said, coming over with a smile, “there you are, little honeybee, I’ve been looking for you.”

 He’d taken one look at Virgil’s demeanor, however, and quickly softened his voice, coming a little closer, hands at the ready to ensure he was alright.

 “What’s happened, little honeybee, are you alright? Do you need anything?”

 “I’m fine, Roman, I just—oh—“

 “Shh, easy, hey, come here…” Roman had leaned Virgil gently against the side of the house. “Too much?”

 Virgil had nodded wearily. “Think I just…pushed it a little too hard today.”

 “It happens.” He’d run his hand gently through Virgil’s hair. “Magic-wise or just existence-wise?”

 “Bit of both?”

 “My poor little honeybee, you must be exhausted.” Virgil’s eyes had slipped closed for a moment as Roman had carded his hand through his hair again. “Do you want to be left alone, or can I take care of you?”

 Virgil had leaned into Roman’s touch and mumbled something. Roman had chuckled.

 “Those aren’t words, little honeybee.”

 “Mm.” Virgil had managed to crack one eye open. “C’n I come with you?”

 “Of course, Virgil, let’s get you somewhere warmer.”

 Roman had guided him carefully through the red door, sitting him down and producing cloth and bottle out of seemingly nowhere. He had shushed any protests gently, saying that it didn’t matter that Virgil hadn’t been crying, he can still let Roman clean his face off. He’d cupped Virgil’s head and asked him quietly to look at him.

 “I don’t want you to fall asleep here, little honeybee,” he’d murmured, “so try and stay awake until we can get you somewhere comfortable, alright?”

 “I’m not that tired,” he’d protested, “I’ll be fine.”

 Roman had just smiled.

 And Virgil really didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing him be so tired that he’d tried really hard to keep his eyes open. Even when Roman’s hand under his chin had been so warm, so confident in holding his head right where it needed to be. Even when the soothing repetitive motions of the cloth had coaxed his gaze not to Roman’s face but to the way the fabric moved in and out of his vision. Even when Roman had to pause and rewet the cloth and he’d let his eyes drift shut for a moment, just a moment.

 Only to realize later that Roman had stopped completely, and was watching him with a quietly smug smile.

 “Stay awake for me, little honeybee,” he’d whispered, “I’m almost done.”

 “‘M trying.”

 “I know, I know,” Roman had soothed, finishing cleaning his face, “and you’re doing a wonderful job for me.”

 Then, of course, everything had gone wrong.

 Because just that one little word of praise had been enough for the very tips of Virgil’s ears to go read, and of course, Roman had spotted it.

 “Little honeybee,” he’d murmured, tilting Virgil’s chin up just a little higher, “what’s got you so flustered?”

 “Nothing.”

 “Hmm, nothing? Are you sure? Your ears look awful red.”

 “It’s fine.”

 “Oh, I’m sure,” Roman had said lowly, still cleaning off Virgil’s face with gentle swipes of the cloth, “I’m sure it’s fine, little honeybee, I trust you completely, I’m simply worried. If I’m doing something wrong, then I’d hate for you to be uncomfortable.”

 He says, as he’d looked directly into Virgil’s eyes.

 “Why,” Virgil had whined out as Roman had chuckled, watching him cover his face, “are you so mean?”

 “Sorry, little honeybee,” Roman had murmured, not sounding very sorry at all as he leaned forward to press a kiss to Virgil’s forehead, “I couldn’t resist, you’re too cute.”

 “I am not!”

 “Oh, little honeybee—“

 “No,” Virgil had said—said, definitely, not pouted, “don’t respond to that.”

 “If you insist.” Roman had given him another moment before reminding him that he still needs to finish. “I’m really almost done, I promise. It won’t take much longer.”

 Of course, having someone hold your face when you were already flustered is not easy, and it was Roman, so…

 “What happened,” he had asked as though he didn’t know damn well what had happened, “why aren’t you so sleepy anymore, little honeybee?”

 Virgil had been quite impressed with the glare he’d managed to give Roman through the remaining blush on his cheeks. Roman had simply laughed.

 “Alright, I deserve that.” He’d stroked a thumb carefully over Virgil’s clean cheek and leaned in to kiss him lightly on the other. “You did wonderfully, little honeybee, thank you. I’m all done now.”

 Roman had turned away, putting the cloth and the bottle back into whatever aether he’d pulled them out of and offering his hand to Virgil.

 “Come on, do you want to change into something else?”

 The sleepy haze had returned by the time he’d managed to get into the softer clothes Roman had offered, all but stumbling into Roman’s arms as they retreated to the large mess of cushions and pillows. Roman had laid down first, Virgil on top of him, one hand tangled in his hair, the other scratching lightly at the center of his four legs.

 “Shh, shh,” he’d coaxed when Virgil had started to whine, “none of that now, little honeybee, just relax.”

 A soft knock on the door.

 “Yes?”

 “Roman, have you seen…” Logan had trailed off the instant he spotted them. “Ah. Nevermind.”

 “Have I seen our little spider?” Roman had lightly knuckled Virgil’s jaw. “Yes, I believe I have. Did you need something?”

 “Only to join you, if you’d allow me.” He’d glanced behind up. “Or rather, allow us.”

 Virgil hadn’t been able to fully recognize the others coming in to join them around the mass of pillows, but he had registered the soft weight of Patton asking if he could dust him off a little and the soft gurgle of Remus as he settled in above them on the wall.

 “My, my,” a voice had drawled, Virgil too tired to look over at Janus, “what a sleepy little spider.”

 “Mm.” Virgil had felt Roman’s chest warm as the hand on his back continued to scratch gently. “Precious little spider.”

 “Are you two just going to fuss at him until he falls asleep?”

 “Why shouldn’t we?”

 “Well, if you fluster him too badly he might not be able to sleep.”

 “Why, Logan, I’m hurt. Surely you know we would never.”

 Virgil still isn’t sure what it was, whether it was the drawl of Janus’s voice, Logan’s disbelieving scoff, or the very real memory of Roman enjoying driving him out of his mind a few minutes ago, but whatever it was, it bubbled up in the pit of his stomach and he started to giggle.

 The room had gone quiet, just listening to Virgil lying on Roman’s chest, absolutely stunned.

 “You’re so giggly, little spider,” Roman had teased, “so giggly, so adorable, I’ve never heard you giggle before. It’s so cute!”

 “Giggle spider, is that a thing, Logan?”

 “Well, it certainly is now.”

 Roman had rubbed his back soothingly, still teasing, trying to lull Virgil back to sleep. Janus had reached over and tucked a blanket over the two of them, leaning down to kiss Virgil’s hair and murmur something about getting it out, little spider, it would be alright.

 Virgil isn’t sure if that was the first time he’d fallen asleep with a smile on his face, but it wasn’t the last.

 “…yes, alright,” Logan concedes, “that was adorable.”

 Roman throws his hands up in triumph. “See? Everyone’s favorite is our giggle spider.”

 Yeah, Virgil’s really glad he’s not standing next to Roman right now, and that he’s far enough away that they can’t see his blush if he ducks his head. He still gets all giggly when he remembers it, no use in reminding everyone of that now.

 “Janus? Are you going to try and compete, or…” Roman strikes a dramatic pose. “Shall we commence with my victory already?”

 Janus is quiet for a minute. Then he raises his hand and lets a little bit of the golden glow of the Claim flicker up around his hand.

 “Virgil,” he says softly—oh, he’s using it so he doesn’t have to raise his voice, that’s clever— “would you come over here, please?”

 “Uh, sure.” He pats Oliver’s head and the kraken burbles, wrapping an arm tightly around Virgil’s waist to set him on the shore near Remus. Remus reaches out to steady him, make sure he’s alright. “I’m good, thanks. I’m here now.”

 “Yes, thank you, little mouse.” Janus tilts his head. “Do you have a favorite?”

 “…favorite?”

 “A time you laughed,” comes the soft voice, “do you have one? It’s alright if you don’t.”

 Virgil glances around the circle, expecting to see scoffs or playful challenges or maybe—just maybe—someone will whisper that he knows theirs is the correct choice. But he doesn’t.

 All he sees are curious expressions, even a few encouraging smiles.

 “Wait, really?”

 Janus nods. “Anything? It doesn’t have to be much.”

 Virgil thinks. Does he? He remembers meeting Oliver for the first time, remembers making bread with Patton, remembers spinning in the clearing, remembers falling asleep on Roman’s chest.

 Something else…something else…

 “I remember,” he starts nervously, “it was one of the first times I went for a walk at night by myself.”

 He looks around, maybe he wasn’t supposed to do that, but no judgment meets his gaze. He swallows.

 “It was dark outside but the moon was really bright. I could see perfectly, even with the trees, all the way to the lake.”

 He glances behind him, at Oliver, playing in the reeds.

 “Oliver was asleep. He—I think it was after you guys spent the day cleaning out the underbelly of the caverns down there, he was really tired. So the lake was, like, super flat.”

 He remembers little ripples, just the barest touch of the breeze to the surface of the water.

 “And I, um, I realized that I’d never actually seen anything be that…” He struggles for a moment for the right word. “…still before.”

 He shifts a little.

 “Everything was always moving. Even when it was quieter, the water was never completely flat. There were waves, there were—there was always something.”

 But not that night. No, that night it felt like the lake was breathing, not like the wind was blowing across it. If he sat still enough, it was almost as if he could watch it inhale and exhale, at peace in the moonlight.

 “And I…I dunno, I really liked the way the moon looked.” He looks down at his hands. “It, uh, reminded me of what the Claim looks like.”

 He’d sat there for a while, just staring at his hands, wondering how the gold of the Claim would look bathed in silvery light. He’d rubbed them together, trying to see if he could feel it, only for something else to emerge entirely.

 He hears the gasps of Roman and Patton as a purple orb begins to form in his hands.

 “I, uh…made this for the first time that night,” he murmurs, watching it spin and dance in his hands, suspended there, floating like some great bubble, “and it looked…like me.”

 He remembers staring into it and not seeing anything but energy. About looking at it the way he used to watch the moon, the stars, anything he could never understand but wanted to, so desperately.

 Only to realize that he already understood it.

 Gone were the gauntlets, gone were the strings, gone were the threats of torture and hurt and pain.

 All that was left was this.

 And feeling that relief, seeing this orb as a manifestation of the fact that it was free…

 In that release, he’d laughed.

 “It was…the first time I think I realized I was me.”

 Virgil looks up at them. The orb fades back into nothingness, leaving his hands empty. After a pause, Janus reaches forward and gently draws him in.

 “That,” he says softly, “that is my favorite.”

 “You fucking sap.”

 “He has gone soft.”

 “Oh, like you haven’t?”

 And just like that, the petty bickering is back, but filled with fondness and barely concealed amusement and it’s so perfect, it’s so right, that Virgil can’t help himself.

 Virgil can’t help it, he laughs.

General Taglist: @frxgprince @potereregina @reddstardust @gattonero17 @iamhereforthegayshit @thefingergunsgirl @awkwardandanxiousfander @creative-lampd-liberties @djpurple3 @winterswrandomness  @sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes  @iminyourfandom  @bullet-tothefeels  @full-of-roman-angst-trash  @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind @demoniccheese83  @pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious  @firefinch-ember  @fandomssaremysoul  @im-an-anxious-wreck  @crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch  @enby-ralsei  @unicornssunflowersandstuff  @wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams  @averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb  @cricketanne  @aularei @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws @cecil-but-gayer  @i-am-overly-complicated  @annytheseal  @alias290  @tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance @whyiask @crows-ace @emilythezeldafan @frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires @cyanide-violence @oonagh2 @xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx @rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734 @triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo @cerulean-watermelon @puffed-up-bees @meltheromanstan

(Un)Wanted Taglist: @deafeningdeppresedvoidthing @myrandomfandoms12 @i-love-books-and-so-do-you @homodetector @cohesiveanxiety @extrageekytrashofthething @beyondthestacks @lizzy-lineart @imknittingahat @twilight--trix @/nofurtherquestions-smirk @ray-does-stuff @lunatatic @our-bloody-mari666 @what-aboutno

If you want to be added/taken off taglist(s), let me know!

[moonawrites]

For Jily - “Please just look at me while I confess, after that you can look anywhere you like, I swear.”

Sirius Black has had enough.

Enough of James’ pining and whining and dramatic sighing. It’s embarrassing, but more than that, it’s just fucking annoying. He and everyone else in the entire school knows he’s in love with Lily. Everyone except for Lily.

Incidentally, Sirius has had enough of Lily too. Enough of her longing stares and painful, trying so hard to be nonchalant it actually hurts to witness questions. Everyone knows she’s in love with James too, except the idiot himself.

What’s worse is both of them refuse to admit it, not only to each other, but to everyone else too. So as he so often has to with friends this stupid, Sirius takes matters into his own hands.

“So you’re really not into Evans, right?” he asks James at breakfast one day.

James chokes on his coffee and coughs for a bit, eyes bugging a bit. But then, predictably, he says, “Um, yeah, no. Not at all. Why? Haven’t we been over this?”

Sirius smiles. “Oh, good. That’s what I was hoping to hear.”

James narrows his eyes. “Why?”

“Just, you know. You’re so unbearable when you have a crush.”

James does not look convinced, but Sirius decides it’s time to shift the conversation to the match coming up this weekend, and so it’s forgotten.

Until dinner. They head over to their usual spot at the end of the Gryffindor table, but Sirius jogs ahead and slips into the seat next to Lily before James has a chance. Both of them look a bit surprised, but neither comments.

“This colour looks really pretty on you, Lily,” Sirius says casually. He only notices what colour she’s wearing after he says it – a nice baby blue, so at least it isn't a blatant lie. Lily looks a bit taken aback, but she smiles at him.

“Thanks! I like it too.”

Deciding to play it up a bit, Sirius flits his fingers over the material from her shoulder to her upper arm. Then he makes a show of freezing, as if just realizing what he’s doing, and abruptly drops his hand. “It’s… yeah. It’s pretty.”

It takes a great deal of effort not to snort with laughter at the look on James’ face, like he can’t decide between looking suspicious or scandalized.

Sirius keeps it up for a good few days. He compliments Lily and finds excuses for innocent touches – imaginary lint on her sweater, hands brushing in the corridor, reaching for the same items at the table. All while James is there to see, of course. It all kind of makes him want to gag if he’s honest, but it’s a necessary evil, because he can see them starting to crack.

James becomes snappy and irritable around him, and he has no excuses when Sirius innocently asks why – after all, he hasn’t done anything wrong, has he? He even had the good grace to confirm again and again that James did not fancy Lily.

Lily becomes nervous around him and tries to avoid him, tries to laugh off his flirting when she can’t – and Sirius lays it on thick. It’s all a credit to his immense talent as an actor that she doesn’t just laugh in his face – he’d done a great job of pretending to be hurt the first time she did.

He finally gets a chance to end it all for good when he gets paired with Lily for a Potions assignment. That evening when James announces that he’s off to the library to work on his own assignments, Sirius waits twenty minutes and then he rushes down to the common room and scans the room for Lily. She’s sitting on the ground at one of the tables by the fire, books and parchments spread out in front of her.

“Hey, are you busy right now?” he asks when he walks over.

Lily jumps a bit and glances up from her books. “Um, a bit. I was just working on the Transfig assignment.”

“I thought we could head to the library to start on research for the Potions assignment,” Sirius suggests. “I’ll be busy with Quidditch this week, it would be good to get started early.”

Lily chews on her lip, looking like she wants to refuse. But in the end she just nods. Sirius surreptitiously studies the map while Lily packs up her stuff, and deduces that James is sitting at their usual table in the back right corner of the library. He makes a show of acting jittery and nervous while they walk, brushing it off with a shaky laugh when Lily asks if he’s okay.

Sirius pretends to consider which table they should sit at, before leading them to the table on the other side of the shelf from the one James is at. He knows James will be able to hear them, they’ve spent many hours eavesdropping while they studied in that spot.

Sirius scours the shelves and picks out some good books, and then he actually works with Lily for a bit – eventually they’ll have to work on the assignment for real anyways, he may as well multitask. But not long into their work, he straightens up and fixes Lily with a serious look.

“Lily, I have to tell you something.”

Lily jumps slightly and glances up at him. “Is it important? I’m in the middle of reading.”

“Yeah, it’s very important. I’ve been holding it in for a long time, and I just can’t anymore.”

On the other side of the shelf, he hears a chair scraping back. Sirius bites the inside of his cheek to stop his lips from twitching into a smile. He has to keep acting nervous.

“I... um, maybe you shouldn’t,” Lily says quietly.

“Why not? I know James used to fancy you, but he told me he doesn’t anymore. There’s nothing to worry about.”

Lily’s eyes widen just slightly, but she doesn’t look surprised that the conversation has led them here. She gives Sirius an almost pitying look, and he barely stops the eyeroll. As if.

“I really can’t hold it in anymore,” Sirius says, as if the words pain him. Lily swallows and looks away. Looks at her notes, at the shelves of books next to her, at the ground, everywhere but at him.

“Sirius, I really don’t think now’s the time. We should get back to work.”

“Do you know how hard it was keeping this from you both back when James fancied you? It was torture, Lily,” Sirius says with anguish. “And now I don’t have to anymore. I can tell you the truth.”

“Oh my God,” Lily whispers, panicked. “Please don’t, please don’t say anything.” She still won’t look at him.

“Lily, I have to do this. I have to do it for me, or I’ll go crazy,” Sirius insists. “I deserve to speak my truth. I’ve suffered in silence for long enough, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know what to do,” Lily whines, and she stares up at the ceiling. “Please kill me.”

“Please just look at me while I confess,” Sirius begs. “After that you can look anywhere you like, I swear.” She doesn’t, but Sirius soldiers on. “Lily, I’m in lo– ”

“You can’t!” Lily yells, lunging forward and slapping a hand over his mouth. A few people several tables down turn to look at them. “You can’t. I’m in love with James,” Lily admits, as if the words have been ripped from her throat, and she looks so anguished Sirius almost feels bad.

On the other side of the shelf, a very familiar voice yells “What?” and then there’s a commotion. It sounds like a chair gets knocked over and books flung off the table. James curses several times. Footsteps thunder down the aisle, and then James appears at the end of their own aisle, looking flushed and flustered. His hair is more disheveled than usual, as if he’d been tugging on it in distress.

Lily clears her throat and drops her hand, awkwardly patting Sirius’ cheek. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to smack you that hard.” And then it seems to catch up to her that James is there. James, who she has just confessed to being in love with.

Sirius sighs heavily and stands up. “Well, that was fucking miserable, but my work here is done.” He stretches and grabs his bag. “Enjoy your awkward conversation.” He pats Lily’s shoulder on his way past her, and then James’ when he reaches him.

“If you fuck this up after all my suffering, I’m going to murder you with my bare hands.”

[salmonthestoryteller]

Just Gonna Nope on Wyatt Long’s Arc in RNM S3

Alright. Well, you knew it wasn’t going to all be squeeing and plot spec from me, so…  I’m going to talk about Wyatt Long’s arc, and why I’m against it, one more time.  With tags this time since I don’t think it’s that controversial an opinion.  But still tagging for discourse just in case.  And, hopefully, I can explain what I have against this plot - especially as it is currently being written - well enough.

And where I’m going to start is with the words of our own Max Evans, “Context Matters.”

There is a reason Max begins the story of what happened to Rosa in season one not with the night she died, but the night Isobel was attacked by the Drifter.  With the murder he committed and the trauma it inflicted on the Pod Squad.  With the fact that, his belief at the time, was that his sister had an undiagnosed psychological condition that had lead to the murders. Because Isobel’s crime, even if she had committed it, was not a premeditated act as far as the evidence showed. It was something she’d done while “checked out”.  When she wasn’t truly in control of her actions.

I have posted before that I believe Noah when he says he didn’t used to be who they knew him as.  Why?  Because Noah endured 60+ years of solitary confinement and sensory deprivation.  Look those terms up if you are unfamiliar with them. Extended periods of either can have severe negative effects in much shorter time than 60 years.  So if you tell me Noah was a nice guy before he got stuck in that pod?  Yeah, that I’ll believe.

Wyatt is a far different story.

Wyatt is not someone who is simply angry, or hateful - both of which - yes - is possible for a person to become over time due to experiences.

Wyatt’s acts of violence do not occur during moments of desperation, recent trauma, or even in retaliation for another person’s attack. Wyatt took a gun, drove to the Crashdown Cafe, and carried through with shooting up the building.  Wyatt then bragged about this act afterwards.

Yes, he was encouraged and assisted in grabbing and beating up Arturo. But when those with him grew squeamish it was Wyatt who insisted on continuing. It was Wyatt who was clearly shown enjoying hurting Arturo.  And clearly had no regrets when fighting with Max in the alley afterwards.

Due to things both Jenna Cameron and Max Evans say, we can only assume Liz and Arturo were not Wyatt’s only victims:

Jenna (01x02):  I’d recognize those naked cowgirl flaps anywhere.  Wyatt Long.  Hate him. Jenna (01x02): Which Long probably knew.  He’ll spend the night in jail and his daddy will pay the fine. Max (01x11):  But you are a racist sack of stupid with years of your daddy bailing you out of violent crimes.

In the most recent episodes, Wyatt again took a gun, drove to the Crashdown Cafe, and attacked Rosa.

In short, Wyatt is someone who is capable of premeditated acts of violence against multiple victims, who finds enjoyment in hurting others, and shows no signs of regretting these actions.

The type of person a statement like that can be applied to is not “a sweet kid who turned out this way because he lost his sister.”  Wyatt would most likely have already been showing signs of this sort of behavior in his late teens if not sooner.

If they had erased all of Wyatt’s memories then we could possibly talk about nature vs. nurture and how a different set of influences might change who he turned out to be. They didn’t. They only erased ten years.  His major influence in this regard would be the family that had already been a part of his life for 17(?) years prior to the ten years missing.   The same family Forrest specifically mentioned being the black sheep of. The same family that raised Kate - who wrote racist messages on Rosa’s car.  The same family who is stated to have bailed Wyatt out of jail for violent crimes multiple times.  You can’t nature vs nurture when Wyatt’s nurture would have been the same in both instances.

Even if you are retconning Wyatt’s previous on screen behavior, the way they are writing Wyatt is still wrong.  Wyatt would still have the mind of a teenage boy not only raised by a racist family, but living heavily under their thumb still.  Even if he was attempting to “break out” of his family’s mindset, he would not be acting or responding as written.

To Kyle’s comment about his friend’s, it should have been “You mean my father’s friends.” or something similar.  Because he would still know the type of people Kyle is talking about whether he liked it or not.

And if he has the mind of his 17 year old self, do you honestly think he would have publicly gotten in the face of Jordan to get him to back down from a fight when his family is heavily connected to the man in question?

It’s too nice.  It’s too “perfect.”

And honestly, even if they’d bothered to write either of those two scenarios instead, I would still be against it.  Wasting screen time on a magical reform for Wyatt Long that could be applied to multiple other characters?  No thanks.

tl;dr:

Whether Wyatt is responsible for the crimes he committed despite not remembering them isn’t truly relevant.

The fact that Wyatt is not just capable of premeditated acts of violence but enjoying them without regret is. Ten years wouldn’t change that.

There are plenty of characters this screen time could have been given to instead of wasting it on a magical reform for a racist antagonist.

[nanaminokanojo]

Play the Game | Nanami Kento X You | Part 7/8

CHARACTERS: Nanami Kento X You (fem!reader | PLEASE READ THE NOTES BELOW*) | Gojo Satoru | Geto Suguru | Shoko Ieiri | Utahime Iori | other JJK Characters CHAPTER COUNT: 7/8 WORD COUNT: 6,400+ GENRE: romance | fluff | slight angst | smut MINORS DNI | ooc depictions | female reader with described appearance* | modern au | rich people au | aged up characters CHAPTER TRIGGER WARNING: profanity | age gap | cigarette smoking | strong/mature/suggestive language | smut (fingering, unprotected sex, slight daddy kink XD, etc.) SPOILERS: n/a STATUS: COMPLETED

collection masterlist

one - two - three - four - five - six - seven - eight

"Play the Game" Masterlist

"You always hide here when you're down," Geto said, stepping onto the rickety floors of the abandoned wooden gazebo at the far edge of the walled gardens. It was meant to be torn down but for your insistence for it to stay erect.

He took out a cigarette and lit it, taking a long drag when you didn't answer, huddled on one of the corners of the hexagonal structure. "You really shouldn't have done that," he told you, his voice ringing crisp in the still air.

"You should really quit that dirty habit," you muttered in a form of retaliation, not really in the mood to be lectured.

"I could say the same with your games, Y/N!" he said harshly, the first time he ever would. It was more for the fact that he felt frustrated that you kissed him all for the benefit of another man as opposed to merely scolding you for whatever wrongdoing you've committed. He felt all the more frustrated that he was doing it at all.

"I'm sorry if I dragged you into this," you told him sincerely. "I shouldn't have –"

"I am not sorry," he interrupted you. "I wanted that for a while now."

"What?" You stood up and walked towards him, making him turn to face you. "What are you talking about?"

Geto placed a hand behind his neck, exhaling exaggeratedly and throwing his head back, closing his eyes momentarily before meeting your blue gaze. "I understand why Kento is taking this harder than what you're expecting." He sighed. "It probably would have been better if you kissed Yuuji instead."

You just blinked at him, perplexed. "I don't get it."

It's now or never. He wanted you to know at least before you made up your mind, but knowing you, he knew you already did. And he wasn't going to be your choice. "Look, I like you. I wanted you for myself ever since you entered university."

"Huh?"

"And three years ago, I told Kento about how I felt," he droned on. "And maybe he thinks that's still the case, that I am still his rival where you are concerned."

"So are you?" you demanded.

He shook his head, smiling as he blew smoke at the opposite direction. "I know a losing game when I see one, and honestly, I'm rooting for the two of you."

You clutched at his arm. "Suguru..."

He ruffled your hair, throwing his cigarette away and hugging you to his side. "Don't get me wrong, princess. I was hurt that I wasn't your favorite anymore. I wanted to tell you, but you beat me to it and told me you liked Kento instead."

"You'll always be my favorite," you said. "You guys don't get replaced, not to me. I love you all differently, and I have things I share with each of you that I can never have with the other."

Geto's eyes widened slightly at your words. "I'll hold you to that." He snickered then. "Seriously though, where the hell did the two of you get things so wrong? Everything just went to shit in a matter of hours. And I thought Ieiri and I were being very specific with our instructions to you."

"Ieiri?"

"She's been talking to Kento, too. You two are just too dense and slow."

You punched him on the arm, glaring at him.

"Ow!" he grumbled, rubbing at the sore spot. "I'm a model, you know. You're not supposed to mark me."

"Oh, is that what you tell all your girls?" you teased.

He rolled his eyes at you. "Kento already made it back to the house. You should apologize."

You stood on your toes and kissed him on the cheek, hugging him tight.

"You might want to refrain from doing just that, princess," he said but you just giggled and made your way back to the manor. "You're still my favorite!" you called out.

He took another stick if cigarette, chuckling at you, but as he was about to light it, he opted not to.

**

You've done it this time. You just knew it. You realized that when you sobered up from all the crying you did after the incident at the lake. It was too late to say you should have listened to Yuuji and regret wasn't really something you could relate to. Typically. Now, you wanted him to say, "I told you so." Him and Megumi. Throw in Nobara, too, but you knew you weren't going to forgive yourself if things didn't turn back the way they used to be where you and Nanami were involved. That was all you were hoping for if he really has been put off by the mere idea of you.

Geto was just as much of a trickster as you are, but what you did not foresee was the result and his reaction to you, and you weren’t exactly ready for the his confession. That was a first and after speaking with him, you understood. Nanami was downright outraged. He might have not gone all out on you about the matter but you knew there was something else he wasn't saying. He has always been considerate of your feelings, and you were afraid you've trampled on his. It was regardless of whether you meant it or not. You just crossed the line.

The situation wasn't good, and you knew Gojo would have killed you if he saw just how you were behaving at the lake, and you could just pray to every higher being out there that he never gets to find out or you’ll have no choice but to sit down and listen to his lecture. He may be averse to the idea of you dating any of his friends, and he may be the best brother anyone could have, but he would definitely not tolerate what you have done.

A bigger part of everything that’s been happening was your fault. You knew it, and you weren't afraid to admit it either. Although Nanami may have his faults for being so much of an over-thinker and being indecisive, he was right. Why couldn't you be a normal person for once and just be honest about how you feel? Why couldn't you just tell Nanami you loved him and you have been in love with him for the longest time? Again, you couldn't relate to the idea because you haven’t ever been able to healthily express your opinion, but enough was enough. You were going to do it tonight. It didn't matter what the result was. You wanted him in your life, and you’ll go through lengths to have him.

After tossing and turning on your bed for what seemed like hours and later wearing a path on your bedroom floor while fidgeting on the hem of your silk robe, you finally decided there was no way you were sleeping. You couldn’t if it saves you when the dread of him totally disappearing because of what you do gnawed at you from the inside.

You were worried sick of Nanami who disappeared after the incident. You called him on the phone several times but every attempt went straight to voicemail, and out of your frustrations, you found yourself retreating to that same spot where Geto found you. You were only able to rest easy when he spoke to you, telling you that Nanami already made it back to the manor.

Functioning on instinct, you got out of your room barefoot, the flaps of your robe flying behind you as you marched towards the guest room where he was staying. You even had your fist raised to knock on the door but at that very moment, you stopped. For the first time, you felt vulnerable. You didn't have a clue about what you would say to him the moment you see him. You didn't know how you would approach him or if it was already the right time to do so. It was an unfamiliar feeling.

Digging your nails into your palms, you listened for movement on the other side of the door when you heard the door to the adjoining bath open and close, followed by the quiet padding of bare feet on the carpeted floor. Your breath snagged, thinking of turning away. You decided to do just that but then, the door suddenly opened, making you squeak in surprise, the sight of him dressed in just his navy pajama bottoms causing you to ogle his muscular chest and abdomen.

Well shit, you thought. He was beyond hot.

"Er..."

"What is it, Y/N?" he asked, sounding mostly tired than mad. He didn't look happy to see you, but at least he didn't slam the door to your face. Too much of a violation to his manners, you surmised, tempted to tease him, but you opted not to. You weren't in any position to be playing your little games.

You exhaled in batches before you finally found your voice. "I... n-need to talk to you. Can I...come in?"

He just looked at you for a moment before taking a step back and opening the door wider for you. He then turned his bare back to you as he walked over to the bed, the muscles on his sides and back flexing with each movement. He then motioned for you to sit on the chair situated quite far from him before he himself sat down, waiting for you to talk.

You didn't sit down and instead stood behind the chair, gripping its back. "Look, I'm sorry."

He ran his fingers through his damp, blond locks, looking like a model for an expensive underwear brand as he did so. "Hmm. Are you now?"

Your throat grew dry, wishing you could smack yourself right there and then for thinking of other things when you were supposed to be apologizing sincerely to him. You knew that he was trying to be sardonic but you couldn't help but think how mesmerizing he sounded. Composing yourself, you nodded. "I am. Suguru and I –"

"I don't wish to hear it, Y/N."

"It didn't mean anything!" you finally snapped, breathing heavily and not realizing you've crossed halfway towards him. You stopped, catching yourself just in time. "I just..." You sighed. "I just wanted to make you jealous."

“Well, what the hell, Y/N! You’ve succeeded.” His jaw clenched as he said the words, eyes intent on you and unrelenting. “And guess what, you’ve done more than just make me feel jealous. You made me feel guilty, too, because I can’t help but think that I pushed you to do that because of what I said to you this morning. Are you happy?”

“No…” You shook your head, your breath snagging. “I was being selfish. None of it is your fault so you don’t have to feel that way. You’ve been trying to talk to me all day, and maybe I should have given you the chance, but being me, I relied on my baser instincts and made a game out of things again.”

He stood this time, towering over you. "That's all you know. Games," he told you quietly, his tone at odds to his words. "You never really cared who gets played in the end as long as you're amused." He reached over and picked up a few strands of your hair before flicking them off his fingers in disdain. "Isn't that what it is?"

His words hurt. "No..."

"Unfortunately, I got caught up in it, all the while thinking that maybe you'll spare me because..." He shrugged. "Doesn't matter. I lost again. Congratulations."

"I'm sorry."

"Sure." He scoffed, shaking his head. "I'm tired, Y/N," he said as he sat down on the bed, burying his face into his hands.

This was it, you thought to yourself. You can't miss your chance. It was regardless of the consequences. You told yourself that. You were not going to back down even if it means you get hurt. Even if it means he would reject you.

Without thinking twice, you moved closer to him, settling on your knees directly in front of him just by his feet. You reached for his hands, gently easing them away from his face. You smiled at how big they were compared to yours, his palms rough against your fingertips. He let you pull them away, slowly moving of their own accord to cup your face, his dark, intense eyes searching yours.

"Y/N, I can't do this anymore."

You chuckled even as tears glistened in your eyes. You brushed his hair away from his forehead. "You read minds now?"

"I'm serious."

"Forgive me. I couldn't help it."

"What are you –"

Before he can finish what he wanted to say, you pushed yourself up on your foot and pressed your lips against his. You felt him stiffen against you, his hand tightening over the slope of your hips as you pushed him forward. You placed your left foot on the bed just beside his thigh while your hands took possession of his face, smiling into the kiss when he finally moved and reciprocated in kind. Your toes curled in anticipation.

He pulled you down, mouths enmeshed, breaths in sync, until you were leveled to him. He raised a hand, placing it on the side of your face, making you lean against its warmth. Your eyes flew open when he pulled away and pressed his lips against your forehead, lingering there before he kissed the tip of your nose, then your cheek just beside your mouth. Nanami closed his eyes as he leaned his forehead against yours, his hand soothingly rubbing at your bare thigh.

He was breathing deeply, brows furrowed together. Unable to help it, you started planting butterfly kisses where you could reach, capturing his lips again, hand gently caressing his jawline. Nanami twisted around, laying you on the mattress and hovering over you, continuing to kiss you. His scent had stuck to the sheets engulfing your senses and rendering everything nonexistent but him. You were lost in a world filled with nothing but him and the feel of his hands roaming all over your body in slow, sensuous movements as if he was blindly mapping out your every contour and curve.

"I don't think we should be doing this," he breathed out, chuckling quietly, but in the next moment, he sought entrance to your mouth, his hot tongue finding yours, stealing your breath. You held on tight to him, thinking he was overthinking things again, easing his mind by returning his ministrations in kind, and locking him in place with your arms wrapped around his nape. You moved your leg from underneath him, brushing your thigh between his legs, making his breath hitch when you applied the slightest of pressure, feeling him becoming stiff as you rocked your thigh back and forth against him.

Nanami drew back slightly, cutting the kiss. He opened his eyes, looking at you longingly, fingers tracing your shoulder. He looked at you with uncertainty as he fiddled with the lapels of your robe. "Tell me to stop."

At that, you smirked at him, your fingers also wandering up the expanse of his hard abdomen, slowly trailing fire up his chest to his collarbones. You bit your lip between your teeth as his skin seemed to grow warmer where you were touching him, the way he was unsteadily breathing adding to your thrill, beyond glad you had that effect on him.

"I don't want you to stop, Kento." You rose a fraction on your elbow and pecked him on the tip of his nose. "I want you."

He sighed then. “Y/N, if we’re going to do this, I want you to be certain.”

“Like a hundred percent certain?” you teased. “What’s the legal jargon for that? Do you want me to say, ‘Sustained,’ or ‘No objections, your honor’?” You giggled and he joined in, shaking his head. “Way to kill the mood though.”

“Sorry.” He flashed you a rueful smile.

Reaching out, you cupped the side of his face, eyeing him with as much conviction and certainty as you could. “You should know by now that I don’t do things I don’t exactly want to do. And when I say I want this – I want you – then that’s precisely what I want.”

He nodded slowly.

“You’re still overthinking.”

“I’m just thinking of what to say to Satoru –”

“You chose the wrong time to be talking too much.” You pulled him close, crashing your lips to his in reckless abandon. It was sloppy at best, but you hoped it would convey your certitude and confidence in what you were about to engage in with him. “You’re all I’ve ever wanted, Kento, I could cry just having you this close to me.”

Your words seemed to have unlocked something in him as his pupils dilated and his clear eyes clouded with want, and you couldn’t have been more glad that you decided to tell him how you honestly felt. Nanami lowered his head, claiming your lips with his in a slow, gentle kiss, his lips making love to yours in a seductive rhythm that spoke volumes of what he can’t typically express with mere words. The urgency in his kisses increased and you matched his fervor with yours, slightly rising off the bed to meet him halfway, taking as much as you could as he took from you – your breath, your heart, your soul.

As if a switch flipped, his gentle movements turned careless as he grabbed your shoulder and slid the robe off you, throwing it somewhere behind him, eyes alight with excitement as he further undressed you, pulling your matching nightie down, smirking when he discovered you weren’t wearing a bra underneath.

“You planned this,” he rasped.

You grinned smugly at him. “Maybe I did.”

“You’re beautiful,” he said, attacking your neck with open-mouthed kisses while his large hands took possession of your breasts, kneading them. You gasped when he caught one of your nipples, twisting it experimentally and watching your reaction when he latched his mouth onto the other, licking around it before giving it a particularly hard suck.

“Oh god,” you whimpered, eyes blowing wide when you heard the sound of your silks being ripped off of your body followed by a soft growl as he continued to devour your tender swells of flesh. His hands reached down, covetously taking your thighs, humming against your breast at the warmth and softness of your skin underneath the rough pads of his palms. He drew one hand upwards to the flimsy lingerie you were wearing, ripping it away wildly as well, making you gasp.

“Hey, don’t –”

Any protests you had died in your throat when he reached down the apex of your legs, his fingers immediately teasing your folds and rubbing gently. “Do you feel how wet you are, my love?” he rasped. “You want me this much?” When you didn’t answer, he prompted you by putting more pressure on the sensitive nub, making you buck off of the sheets with a squeaked out, “Yes.”

Your nether lips were slick with arousal and your clit started to become engorged as he touched you there, making you whine in pleasure as you carelessly threw your arms back on the mattress. He spread your legs wider, giving himself full access to your body while you lay there with hooded eyes, watching him have his way around you, his pupils dilated as he drank in every contour of your body.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, groaning in approval when you slightly arched your neck backwards, reveling in his touch. He started rubbing your clit in circles with just enough pressure to have you gripping on the sheets while his free hand took hold of your exposed breasts, kneading the supple flesh between his fingers. Nanami delighted in the way you looked writhing under his mercy, eyes hazy and mouth partly opened as you let out pleasured sounds, wishing to know how he can make you moan and tremble even more.

Nanami withdrew his hand from your chest and traced down the expanse of your belly until he reached your pelvis, securing you in place as he inserted his long digits into your throbbing cunt, going in and out. He chuckled softly at the sight of you taking his fingers in, the lewd sounds coming from your pooling juices as you clenched around him, spurring him on. He pressed down on your clit around and around, over and over again, circling around that sensitive part of you.

“Just like that,” you mewled, your hips lifting off the mattress to grind against his hand, meeting the friction he was creating and amplifying your desire.

He smirked as he hovered over you. “You just love this, don’t you?”

“Y-yeah,” you breathed out, feeling your first orgasm hitting you when he started erratically thrusting his fingers into you, the movement of his wrists quick while every thrust was accompanied by your snagged breaths.

Feeling himself getting harder and more titillated with the way your body tossed and turned beneath him, with his free hand, he shoved down his silk pajama bottoms, tossing it away along with his underwear, releasing his cock from its confines. He was, however, taken aback when you suddenly pushed yourself up, smirking at him as your eyes shifted between his dark orbs and his erection, thick, long and pulsating.

Without a warning, you pushed against him, your hands tight on his broad shoulders until his back was against the mattress. Having successfully turned tables on him, you straddled his lap and claimed his lips for your own, kissing him hard and unrelenting while your hands ran down his pecs, down to his hard abs, one of them racing faster than the other as you reached for his length, wrapping your fingers around it, its heat sending you on a wild rush.

“You’re so hot,” you droned absently, making him smile.

“You’re hotter when you’re trying to dominate me like this,” he responded, chuckling.

“Don’t I always though?” you teased, your grip on him tightening slightly while you ran your thumb over his tip, spreading his precum all over the pinkish head, making him quaver in delight. Whatever response he had in mind died right there and then when you lifted yourself up aligning yourself with him. You grabbed the base of his length, guiding him leisurely inside you, the slow pace driving you both on the edge. Your legs shook slightly as you slid down onto him, using his firm thighs to anchor yourself until you were fully sitting on him, his cock buried deep inside you.

“You feel so good,” he whispered, out of breath, feeling himself nestled in your warmth, fitting tight and snug as if you were made just for him. He sat up slightly, holding onto your hips as he slid out slowly, almost to the hilt, holding you up before very gently easing his way back inside, continuing with that slow pace, building a rhythm you both got used to. You held onto his shoulders, meeting every languid thrust halfway, establishing connection with every movement of your bodies.

“Ah…Kento…” you keen, as you both moved against each other, feeling every part of each other against yourselves, melding in a soft embrace as you rode him up and down. You both couldn’t get enough of each other, your nails digging on his back while his hands held your waist in a bruising grip. Your hips met each other in a steady rhythm, the sounds of your moans filling the room, mingling with skin slapping on skin and distinct squelching as you repeatedly swallowed his cock into your hole, making you crumple in rapture.

He reached up, placing a hand at your nape, making you lean closer to press his mouth onto yours, your tongues meeting in a duel, your whimpers drowned out by the action. He released your lips in favor of your neck, progressing downwards as he nipped on your flesh, all the way to your collarbones until he reached your breast, latching his mouth onto one of your nipples, making your toes curl as his ministrations brought about sensations that hyper-stimulated every one of your senses.

You luxuriated in everything that was him, the feel of his mouth on you, his length filling you up to the brim over and over again, in and out with every push, his smell, his warmth, the excitement leaping in his eyes while he focused on pleasuring you. You were caught in the midst of your love and fondness for everything that made up Nanami Kento, voicing it out by repeatedly saying, “I love you,” or broken parts of it anyway as if a prayer of fragmented pleas and exultation as he made you his.

He paused when he heard you say it, pulling away, his eyes wide as he gazed at you with his cloudy eyes suddenly becoming clearer while his vision focused on you. “Say that again,” he said.

“I love you,” you murmured, feeling your face grow warm at his unabashed scrutiny. Then again, “I love you,” with more conviction this time. “I’m madly in love with you, Kento.”

“You are?” he asked as if in disbelief, his mouth stretching into smile, eyes filling with joy when you nodded. And along with that, he felt himself growing even harder as if a silent affirmation to how he felt about you. “I love you, too.” He kissed you and laid you down on the bed. “So damn much.”

Nanami settled himself between your legs, placing them over his shoulders as he realigned himself with you, pushing in without preamble and pounding into you in a faster rhythm than earlier. He slid so easily inside of you as he pushed forward and pulled out again and again, the new position making your walls grip tighter around him while he fucked you deeper. He relished the way he was spreading you apart, mesmerized by the way you were connected.

“More,” you purred when you felt him hitting you right where you wanted him over and over again, making you see galaxies of stars as he rammed into you. “Right there.”

“Whatever you want, my love,” he panted, dipping himself even deeper. “You like that? You like how daddy fucks you?”

Your eyes shot open when he said that, knowing you were seeing a new facet of him you’ve never encountered before. But you were not able to dwell on that when you were prompted to respond with a rough, hard thrust, saying, “Yes, daddy. I do…so m-much,” when he pulled out all the way and shoved his dick back in, and in that same instant, you found yourself creaming around him. Your essence dripped down onto the sheets as he continued to thrust faster into you, his breath hitting your skin with the rhythm of his movements as he moaned your name, planting butterfly kisses on your neck.

“You’re so good,” he said as you clenched tighter around him. “Give me one more, baby.”

He hastened his pace even more, rising up with one of your legs hanging on his arm while his free hand reached down, playing with your clit, applying pressure and setting the tempo of his movements with his length which slid in and out of you unabatingly. Your moans were getting louder while your brain felt like it would turn to fizz as your heart pounded in your chest, holding onto the build of that familiar pooling of heat in your loins. In a sudden flurry of sensations, your body lifted clear off the bed as you came long and hard.

Nanami rode you through it, going even harder and rougher as groans started to spill out of his mouth, ending in a crescendo of your sensual cries and a dragged out moan from him as he came inside you, his white, hot seed coating your walls and overflowing out of you.

Closing your eyes, you tried to catch your breath, feeling a shiver run down your spine as you came down from your high. Everything felt detached and surreal as your mind started filling with thought after thought, dominated with nothing but the fact that he just made love to you, the idea not quite sinking in despite the panting, boneless mess that you are at that moment.

You gasped when you felt him pulling out of you before hovering over you to place a kiss on your forehead. You forced your eyes open to look at him, cracking into a crooked grin when you finally looked at him, his hands brushing away stray strands of hair from your sweat-matted forehead.

“I love you, Y/N,” he told you in hushed tones, while you were unable to do anything but nod weakly as your body succumbed to exhaustion.

**

He bet everything on Gojo’s wedding week. And it was all worth it.

The whole matter has not sunk in just yet, so much so that he didn’t get a wink’s sleep trying to make sense of it all, but mostly afraid that he will wake up in the morning and find that everything was just a dream. A very vivid, beyond pleasant dream. But the sun rose in the horizon, and as he lay there awake, he had his proof of everything that happened beside him, asleep and very much real, pressed against his side.

When you came to him the previous night, he was certain things between you would end. If he was being honest, he has had it with your playing. He didn’t know exactly what your aims were the previous night until you made the move. Again, if he was being honest, he was also being a coward, always the one at the end of the rope you were reaching for. He wanted to switch your positions for a change, but when he did, it felt like he was getting nowhere, just pulling the rope without anyone at the end.

He thought he had lost when you kissed Geto in front of him, didn’t know what to do with the information when you said you were doing it to make him jealous. And no matter how low you went just to get his attention or to retaliate to his lack of response to you the previous day, he couldn’t say he didn’t like that you did it, too. He didn’t like it per se, but your motivations behind it spoke volumes of how you felt. He was just too blind to see it.

You were right about certain things, one of them being the fact that he was supposed to know you and understand how you communicated. Another was the fact that it wasn’t too much for you to ask him to be selfish for his sake and yours. He had wanted to act exactly that way for a long time, and when you were giving him the chance, he walked away from it instead. And as per usual, you were the one who fought your way against him for the same aim of having him.

He sighed, shifting to his side to face your slumbering form. He felt his heart melting at the sight of you softly breathing and appearing so serene snuggled against him and wearing his shirt. He could almost laugh when you suddenly fell asleep on him right after he made love to you. He sighed, knowing you wouldn’t wake up any time soon after you closed your eyes, decided to clean you up and dress you up before settling beside you, too.

But out of everything, since the previous night, whenever he would remember you telling him you loved him, his heart just stops for a second only to resume its beating in irregular staccatos. You told him you could almost cry having him that close to you, but he was the one who felt like shedding tears about having you.

He bet his heart knowing there was a possibility that you would just toy with it and break it. In the end, he finally got everything he wanted in your person. He should have already known that in order to get to you, he has to go through everything, have his heart shattered if that’s what it would take. He wanted to peel all your protective layers, but you ended up doing that to him instead, and it was safe to say you succeeded. Still, although he felt like dying when he saw you kissing Geto, he wouldn’t have it any other way. He’d go through it all again if it meant he would get you in the end.

Nanami caressed your cheek with the back of his fingers, smiling when you scrunched your nose a bit, your brows furrowing slightly. Just then, your eyes opened, your ocean-blue irises devouring him in an instant in waves of emotions, the most dominant of them all being gratitude towards whatever higher power brought you to the world to exist and love him when you could have anybody else.

You broke into a sleepy grin the moment you saw him. “Good morning, daddy,” were the first words that came out of your mouth, teasing him the moment you woke up.

He felt heat suffuse his cheeks when you said that, flashing you a pained look. It hadn’t been embarrassing when he suddenly decided he had a daddy kink and wanted to hear you say it, but now that he has sobered up from the feel of you against him, he didn’t exactly want you to say it, not when you were mercilessly ragging him for it first thing in the morning. He didn’t detest it though.

Nanami diverted his gaze from you, his face turning red, but you abruptly rose slightly, grabbing both sides of his face to make him look at you.

“What are you getting all shy around me for?” you cooed. “Don’t you like it when I call you that?” You smirked. “Come to think of it, I was startled when you said that, too.”

“Are you making fun of me?” he said, pouting.

Your eyes rounded and you let go of him, even going to the extent of moving away from him.

“What?” he asked, suddenly panicked as he sat up, grabbing your arm, afraid you’ll walk away.

You clucked your tongue. “D-don’t do that…that p-pouting thing…” you spoke haltingly, unable to talk properly as you pinched the bridge of your nose, looking flustered.

“Do what?” he asked, not quite catching what you were saying.

“Don’t go acting cute so early in the morning. I’m not used to this side of you. Jesus, Kento,” you told him all in one go, your hands flailing about. “You’re messing with me.”

He arched a brow at you and started laughing heartily. You were genuinely distressed and he didn’t know what he would do with you. “I’m sorry, darling. I didn’t know you were not immune to my charms.” He pulled you towards him, making you face him. “How are you feeling by the way?”

“I’m fine.”

“Not sore anywhere?”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Fishing for compliments now?”

He shook his head slowly, not understanding what you were talking about. “I don’t think we’re on the same page.” He started fussing around you then, even lifting his shirt which you were wearing, slightly looking for telltale signs of the possibility that he could have hurt you in any way when he spotted bruises on your hips. “Oh no.”

“Why?” you asked, blinking cluelessly when you saw what he was looking at. To your surprise, he suddenly took you in his arms, his expressions indicating distress. “What’s going on?”

“I hurt you,” he mumbled. “I’m sorry.”

It was your turn to laugh. “You obliterated me, Kento, but I’m not sorry about it.” You pulled away from him and pecked him on the lips. “You were awesome.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“I should go easy on you. I don’t really like the idea of injuring you in any way.”

You narrowed your eyes on him. “You’ve set the bar on how good you can be between the sheets. If you hold back on me, I’ll throttle you. Maybe I’ll ask Satoru for help, too.”

“What –”

“You’ve been warned, Nanamin.” You leaned forward, planting your face on his chest. “Stop worrying. I don’t regret anything, and if you make love to me as well as you did last night every single day, I’ll gladly have my battle scars.”

Nanami cupped your head, rubbing soothingly, his eyes meeting yours while a slight smile played at the corners of his mouth. “You’re so weird sometimes.”

“You love me.”

He kissed the top of your head. “I do. With all that I am.”

“Stop getting into a tizzy then.”

“Okay, Y/N.”

“Okay, Kento.”

“Are you always going to call me by my name now?” he asked, tilting his head to the side. “I like it better than when you call me Nanamin.”

Your brows knit together then. “I’ve kinda gotten fond of that nickname though. But if that’s what you want, I’m down for it, too.” You grinned at him. “Kento.”

Nanami broke into a smile, but then you said, “Can I always call you 'daddy' instead?” He rolled his eyes, feigning annoyance. “I’ll throttle you.”

You chuckled. “My mother would flip!”

“Satoru would flip.”

You laughed, wrapping your arms around him. The two of you stayed that way for a few moments, just enjoying the comfortable silence while you listened to his heartbeat and basked in his warmth, his muscular arms wrapped around you securely. You’ve never felt safer.

You were, however, the first to break it.

“Kento?” you began.

“Yes, my love?”

“What are we now?”

“You’re all mine and I’m yours,” he stated firmly.

“So we’re official?”

He scoffed. “If last night wasn’t enough to make us official, I’d be happy to prove it further to you. You’re the woman I’ll marry. I’m not giving you a choice on that.”

You snickered. “Fine.”

“Fine?” he repeated with inflection, pushing you down on the mattress while he hovered over you. “Why do you sound as if you don’t like it?”

You burst into bubbles of laughter. “I’m not complaining…”

“But?”

“If that’s the case, I want Satoru to know first before the others. Is that okay?”

He nodded. “That’s just fair, I think.”

“Thank you.”

“Anything for you. When do you want us to tell him?”

You held his hand, entwining your fingers together and beaming tenderly at the way yours were engulfed by his. “Soon. Very soon.”

-end of part 7-

Aaaaand we're down to the second to the last chapter. This one's rather self-indulgent and I got carried away with the the "daddy" thing lol. Anyway, I would like to say thank you to everyone who's been reading this fic and looking forward to my updates. You guys make me happy!

*I used “you” here, but since my character is Gojo’s little sister who is established to be his female clone for reasons essential to the plot, she possesses the same blue eyes and white hair. I did not exactly want to create an OC (although technically, I did by describing Y/N), but I opted for the best of both worlds in this fic, leaning more towards the literary aspect of it as opposed to it just being reader/you-oriented. I hope this isn’t iffy to anyone, and yeah, i’m not being exclusive or whatever.

Thank you so much for reading. Likes, comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed it.

© ORIGINAL WORK BY nanaminokanojo. CHARACTERS ARE INSPIRED BY GEGE AKUTAMI'S “JUJUTSU KAISEN.” [20210806]

PHOTO/IMAGE/GIF/FANART CREDITS TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.

[jayeray-hq]

Sakusa : You Know We’re Meant to Be

JayeRay’s fluff prompts

Post Time Skip/Manga Spoilers!

Warnings: A little but of Hurt/Comfort and bullying but lots of Fluff after

If you like this, please check out the Character Masterlist!

This is part of a collaboration I’m doing with @lilolpotato​ some fluff to counter some of the hate from the Sakusa Hate Night thing that was going around 😊💖 Also a huge huge thank you to the amazingly talented @yuujiscurse​ for the banner! Their work is amazing! 😊💖

You weren’t sure if they simply didn’t know you could hear them whispering or if they simply didn’t care, as you stood waiting for your boyfriend to emerge from the locker rooms. Hopefully you wouldn’t have to wait long, Sakusa was usually the first out due to insisting on showering before the others of the team could infect the space with their germs. Still today you hoped he would hurry, even faster than usual, so you could leave the receptionist and the woman she was talking to, likely someone who worked in the building, far behind you.

“What does he even see in her?” the woman who’d greeted you almost every time you’d entered the building with a saccharine smile that was apparently hiding a mouthful of venom whispered to her blond coworker.

             “I certainly don’t see anything special,” the other woman, a pretty brunette agreed giving you a clear once over a blatantly dismissive look on her face, “She’s probably absolutely hideous behind that mask she wears all the time.”

             Your hands balled into fists in your jacket, as you tried to ignore them, reminding yourself that you wore the mask for a reason. It was for both your comfort, and your boyfriends. Sakusa’s germaphobia was a very real fear, and frankly you didn’t mind doing a few things to accommodate his fear, or make him feel more comfortable where you could, especially since you knew he would and had done the same for you before.

 Wearing a mask out in public was a simple thing, and frankly considering the pollution in Japan, not all that uncommon. The women were clearly being deliberately petty and you sank deeper into the jacket burrowing into it, and taking comfort in the familiar smell and feel of it. It was one of Sakusa’s old Itachiyama jackets, one he’d gifted to you when the two of you had first started dating.

 It was warm and comfortable, and a blatant reminder of how very much your boyfriend cared about you. After all very few people were allowed to touch his things, and even fewer were given gifts, especially sentimental gifts. Komori had teased the two of you for days when Sakusa had first given it to you, exclaiming every time he saw you wearing it that even he had never been allowed to touch Sakusa’s Itachiyama jackets and he was his cousin.

 It smelled like him, clean and crisp from the detergent he preferred to use for all of your clothing, one you’d become quite fond of yourself, and that you associated solely with him. It took your mind off the cruel women in front of you, at least for a little while.

 “Can you believe just the other day he dropped his towel on accident, I tried to hand it to him, and he gave me the most disgusted look and just walked away,” the brunette told the receptionist clearly deeply offended by the incident, “As if I were something dirty he’d found on the bottom of his shoe.”

 “I’ve tried to give him pens to use before,” the receptionist admitted equally huffy as she explained, “He won’t touch them, not until he disinfects them with a wipe first, and even then he’ll only hold them if he’s wearing gloves.”

 You sighed quietly to yourself, a part of you wanting to storm over there and defend your boyfriend and an equal part understanding, just a bit where they were coming from. Sakusa had a fear, one that was very real to him, even if it seemed silly to others, and he had extreme ways of reacting when forced to face that fear. Still even you could admit sometimes his inability to properly interpret social cues could leave him coming off cold, or even cruel even if he didn’t mean to be that way.

 “I bet she’s not even his girlfriend,” the spiteful brunette hissed, “Just an obsessed groupie who follows him around.”

 “He probably treats her like trash,” the receptionist added in a cruel enjoyment to her unkind speculations, “Which is really no less than she deserves honestly.”

 The women were clearly lashing out, and on the only target the had readily available, but that didn’t stop you from feeling hurt or furious on behalf of your boyfriend. How dare they insinuate he treated you badly? The idea was infuriating especially when you knew how very hard he tried for you.

 Sure, your relationship wasn’t all smooth sailing, but then what relationship was? Yes, you’d had to exercise a lot of patience as Sakusa slowly worked himself up to touching you, but it had been completely and utterly worth it. The feeling of being held in his arms, knowing he desperately wanted you to be there, so much so that he fought off his worst fears in order to do so was indescribable. You’d honestly never felt as loved as you did when your germophobic boyfriend reached his hand out to you, assuring you that he wanted to be able to touch you.

 Even several years in you still couldn’t cuddle without a thorough shower beforehand, and some aspects of physical intimacy, including public displays of affection were especially hard, but it was worth it. You were so proud, both of your boyfriend and how very far the two of you had come as a couple, and it infuriated you that these two women, who knew absolutely nothing of his struggles would dare to insinuate such awful things about him.

 Oh, you knew they probably didn’t actually believe them. You’d dealt with jealousy from other women before. Your boyfriend was undeniably incredibly good looking, stunning even, and for some reason a lot of people found his supposedly aloof and cold demeanor cool and enticing. He’d had fans for as long as you’d known him.

 Still it didn’t stop you from wanting to march right up to the women and force them to take it back. They could say what they wanted about you, but in no way shape or form would you allow them to badmouth your secretly dorky and completely socially inept boyfriend. Honestly one more word from them and you might’ve done just that, fortunately or unfortunately your furious thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of your boyfriend.

 “Hey,” the sound of his voice pulled you from your murderous thoughts and turned your attention to Sakusa who had emerged from the locker rooms at last. His hair was still a little damp from his shower, the dark curls not quite as springy as they usually were as they fell across his forehead, and he was fully zipped into his Black Jackals jacket, hands in his pockets the traditional mask covering half his face, “let’s get going before the others come out.”

  “Sure,” you agreed trying to keep your tone as upbeat and normal as possible ready to fall into step with him and head to the store, which was the whole reason you’d agreed to meet him at the Black Jackals usual practice gym in the first place.

 However it seemed you hadn’t done a very good job of concealing the lingering upset from overhearing the women’s gossip session. That or your boyfriend was getting better at reading you, though both honestly were possibilities. He stopped in his tracks, forcing you to come to a halt as well, his brows sitting heavily over his dark eyes as he peered at you intently, clear concern visible in them.

 “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice taking on the clipped edge that let you know he was deeply concerned. Apparently, you’d been more obvious than you’d thought.

 “Nothing,” you tried to assure him, forcing your tone to be upbeat, not wanting to drag him down, “Why would something be wrong?”

 “Don’t lie to me,” he ordered, the words blunt, but the clear care in his tone taking any sting out of them. Honestly he had very little in the way of tact at times like these, something you should probably be annoyed by, but could only find strangely endearing.

 “It really is nothing,” you assured him, your own tone softening at his clear concern for you, “Just overheard people gossiping about us again.”

 “Were you upset by them?” he asked hesitantly, clearly peering into your eyes, his whole body fidgeting with restless energy, a tension to him that reminded you of a rubber band stretched and ready to snap. For all that many read him as uncaring you knew that Sakusa was extremely protective of the few people he allowed close to him, and that you were one of the privileged few. He was clearly ready and willing to tear verbal strips off anyone who’d dared upset you.

 “Yes,” you told him, figuring honesty was probably the best policy at this point, “But only because they were saying untrue things about you, about how you treat me.”

 Some of the tension in his shoulders relaxed at that, and his eyes softened. You couldn’t see his mouth because of the mask, but long familiarity let you know the corners would be curling up in relief,. He clearly didn’t care a bit what people said about him, an attitude you wished rather desperately that you could emulate.

 “Let them say what they want,” he told you firmly, “It’s not something that bothers me, so don’t let it bother you.”

 “If only it were that easy,” you told him your own lips curling into a wry smile.

 Your eyes widened in surprise as he pulled one of his hands from his jacket pockets and gently took hold of your face, the warmth of his shockingly bare fingers on your skin making your heart flip over in your chest  his thumb gently swiping across your cheekbone rendering you completely and utterly speechless.

 “The only opinions about my person that I care about are opinions from people who matter to me,” he told you sincerity dripping from very word, “And the only opinion I care about when it comes to our relationship is yours.”

 Your heart was beating a rapid tattoo against your ribs at his fervent declaration, especially since you knew he meant every word. Your boyfriend was nothing if not completely and utterly honest when it came to you, even brutal at times. He was never one who’d spare your feelings, which was how you knew moments like these were as raw and honest as it was possible to be.

 “I love you Kiyoomi,” you told him a little helplessly, the words falling out of your mouth before you’d had a chance to really think about them.

 “I love you too,” he responded without missing a beat, even if you could see the faintest of pink blushes decorating the tops of his cheekbones over the mask, “And I don’t like seeing you upset. What people say about me doesn’t bother me, so please don’t let it bother you.”

 “But wouldn’t you be upset if people were saying things about me?” you pointed out reasonably, well aware he would be, as he’d proven many times over in the past.

 He clearly couldn’t think of an argument to that and so instead remained silent, so you continued, “You mean so much to me Kiyoomi and it hurts to hear anyone might think poorly of you or insinuate cruel things about you and how you treat me that are blatantly untrue.”

 He watched you with soft eyes, his thumb still gently tracing your cheek as he explained, “So long as those things don’t cause you to doubt me I could care less.”

 “Never,” you assured him fervently, “I like to think that by now I know you pretty well Kiyoomi and I don’t think there’s anything ridiculous petty gossipers could to make me doubt you, to doubt us. Despite the fact that we’ve had our challenges I always felt like we fit well together. Like two pieces of a puzzle.”

 “I’m glad,” he admitted freely, “I’ve always hoped that you’d felt the way I do.”

 “The way you do?” you repeated curiously.

 “Like you know you’re meant to be,” he told you the words stealing the breath from your lungs and you were fairly sure you forgot how to breathe entirely as he leaned forward to press a gentle masked kiss to your forehead.

 Fortunately, or unfortunately you were pulled from your thoughts by raucous sounds from behind the two of you. It turned out you’d been so wrapped up in your conversation with your boyfriend you hadn’t noticed you were blocking the hallway and keeping the rest of the team as a captive audience of sorts. Apparently the private, intimate moment wasn’t nearly as private as you’d thought, and you were suddenly incredibly grateful the mask helped cover your cherry red cheeks.

 Apparently Bokuto was the one who’d interrupted your moment, too moved by it to stay quiet any longer, and now the former Fukurodani Ace was fervently congratulating your poor boyfriend about how smooth he was. Sakusa looked incredibly put upon as the team swept you up with them as they left the building in a small herd, all of them gently teasing or congratulating the two of you on how very cute your relationship was.

 In the midst of all the chaos your boyfriend managed to sneak his hand into yours, his fingers twining together to keep you close and connected to him. You accepted the gesture, feeling warm, and secure and completely and utterly loved, enough to shoot the poisonous receptionist and her bitter friend a blinding smile on your way out the door.

 Sakusa was right. Their opinions, especially on your relationship, shouldn’t matter to you, at the end of the day you knew he loved you and that was more than enough.

[raviotherabbit]

royal pain in the ass - chapter 4

Chapter 4: Era of Twilight Queen Zelda heads out for the night.

[first] - [previous] - [next] read it on ao3!

  △ ▲△

“Are you sure this is alright?” The young Hero of the Four Sword trailed Zelda through the halls of her castle, their shoes clicking on the smooth tile below them. “I mean, I wouldn’t want to bother you…”

“I could never be bothered by a hero,” Zelda clarified. “Besides, I believe you of all people should appreciate our collection.”

The pair stopped at a grand set of doors, towering over them with the crest of the royal family, depicted in gold, right in the middle. Before Four could voice any more concerns, Zelda pushed the doors open, dividing the crest in two.

Forgetting his manners, Four rushed past the queen and into the armory. Zelda couldn’t help but chuckle as he admired the vast array of weaponry, hands hovering with a fear to touch. She was struck by how dorky the heroes she grew up hearing legends of actually were, but perhaps she should have guessed they’d be much like her own…

Zelda’s heart dropped at that thought. Oh, Link…

“This battle-axe…” Four marvelled, mouth agape. “I could only dream of making something so well-crafted…”

Forgetting her troubles for a moment, Zelda caught up to Four. “This one is a bit old, actually. I’ve been considering having it hung up somewhere, for posterity.”

“You can never go wrong with an axe on a wall,” Four added.

“Come,” she beckoned him further into the armory. “Let me show you my personal collection.”

Delighted at the notion, he followed her. Eventually, the two came to a wall more tastefully decorated, with several bows and swords hanging.

“I’ve used all of these, at some point,” her hand traced the wooden edges of a bow. With a fond smile on her face, she pulled her rapier from its display. “But I’ve always been fond of my swords.”

Zelda held the rapier out to Four. He hesitated for a moment, looking up to her as if to ask for permission. When she nodded, he took the sword from her with a child-like glee, inspecting it thoroughly.

“I’ve been training with it since I was young,” Zelda explained. “It’s been my favorite.”

And yet, it hadn’t been enough. When the time came, to either fight or die, Zelda had instead chosen to surrender. Her burden went to Link, almost carelessly so, and now…

Noticing her distress, Four placed the rapier back in its display. “Twilight will be fine,” he insisted. “If he’s not back by tomorrow, I think Time is planning on going after him.”

Twilight. The name always throws her for a loop when she hears it. How could Link be so fine with it?

“I’d like to apologize to him, if I can,” she revealed cautiously. “I owe him that much.”

“I think he’s just a bit stressed out,” Four frowned, looking off. “All of us are. Legend got a bit snappy yesterday, and Twilight had to physically stop Wild from pouncing on him.” He sighed wearily.

“I wish he didn’t feel as though everything were his responsibility,” Zelda admitted. But, truthfully, who was she to talk? After all, she was the one who gave him such ideas.

Maybe she deserved what he said to her.

  △ ▲△

“Stay safe, Zelda,” Gaepora instructs his daughter, doing his best to remain stoic as he holds her close. “The places you’ll travel will be unfamiliar, but I know that you’ll be able to find your way.”

“We’ll be home soon,” Sun promises, arms tight around her father. “Both Link and myself.”

Gaepora pulls away from Sun, glancing back at the portal. It appeared just after breakfast, right in front of the Sealed Temple. “Keep those granddaughters of mine safe.”

Sun laughs at that. “I will, father.”

Meanwhile, Artemis and Flora stand waiting by the portal. The glowing, golden light still has a draw on them, but they resist enough to allow Sun her goodbyes. It tugs at Flora’s heartstrings, digging that pit in her stomach a little bit deeper. Her only thought is, ‘Why?’

Karane, one of the knights of Skyloft, marches up to the two queens, dragging Pipit by his collar behind her. She releases him just as she reaches them, and Pipit struggles to right himself.

“Pipit,” Karane asks him. “Do you have anything you’d like to say to these two?”

“Er, yes,” Pipit clears his throat. “Your majesties-” he bows awkwardly. “I’m sorry I pointed my sword at you and called you demons.”

“Uh, well.” Flora shifts from one foot to the other, glancing up at Artemis.

Artemis places a hand on Flora’s shoulder, smiling sweetly down at the two knights. “Thank you for your apology, sir Pipit. It’s greatly appreciated.”

Pipit looks back at Karane, who nods in approval. The two bow for them before making their leave.

“That was very diplomatic,” Flora notes, watching as the knights bicker amongst themselves.

“He made a mistake, and he apologized for it,” Artemis explains coolly. “I don’t see a reason to keep being upset.”

The two are interrupted by Sun, who approaches as she waves back to her father. With one hand gripping her satchel’s straps, she asks, “Well, are you guys ready?”

“It’s been lovely staying here, but we need to get moving,” Artemis asserts.

“Then let’s go.” Flora offers a small wave before she steps backwards into the portal. With a bright flash of light, she disappears.

Artemis smirks. “Oh she’s getting sure of herself, isn’t she? Come one-” she waves Sun along to follow her. “We have to catch up before she gets herself lost.”

Side-by-side, Artemis and Sun walk through the portal. Travelling through time is always disorientating, even though both of them have done it before. Sun’s not very surprised to find that these portals aren’t much different than the Gates of Time, but still, she squeezes her eyes shut as they travel. The world warps around her, a chaotic mess until it stops very suddenly.

Sun peeks her eyes open, just as the portal sputters to a close. She finds herself in the middle of a field, Artemis recuperating for a moment with her hands on her knees. On the other hand, however, Sun feels alright, if a little tired. Flora stands a few feet away, using a hand to block the sun from her eyes as she looks off into the distance.

“That must be the castle, just ahead there,” Flora gestures out, and Sun can just see the silhouettes of a city against the daylight as she makes it to her side. “We can get there in no time.”

“Wow, a real, actual city!” Sun utters in awe. “I mean, Sky’s told me about the ones he’s been to, but seeing it now…”

Flora gasps. “I didn’t even realize-!” She eagerly takes Sun’s hand and guides her towards the city hurriedly. “You have so much to see! Come on, let’s-”

“Hold on.”

The pair barely make it a few steps before Artemis stops them, still hunched over nausea. Flora grits her teeth, breathing in sharply. “Artemis, are you okay?”

“Just…” Artemis plants herself on the ground, but it isn’t long before she lays back, staring up at the bright blue sky. “Just give me a second.”

  △ ▲△

“Castle Town is… a lot,” Sun comments, subtly shifting to hold onto the cloth of Flora’s cloak. “I’ve never seen so many people before in my life.”

The trio are making their way through the streets, weaving their way through the city’s crowds and passing exuberant vendors. A Goron shouts into the masses, advertising fresh spring water, and Sun covers one of her ears.

“Don’t worry, the castle’s right up there,” Flora points up above the buildings, where the spires of walls are visible. “I’m sure when we explain the situation to the Zelda of this time, she’ll give us a nice, quiet place to spend the night.”

“Hm,” Sun hums in response, noticing Artemis frown slightly at Flora’s words.

“Now that you’ve said it…” Artemis mutters to herself, but she doesn’t finish the thought.

The crowd seems to thin as they approach the castle, which makes sense since the gate is guarded by two heavily armored individuals, both wielding some rather sharp spears. Flora, however, is unfazed, and marches right up to the guards. While Sun tries to follow her, Artemis places a hand on her shoulder, holding her back a few feet. Her hand slips from Flora’s cloak.

“Wait,” Artemis commands.

“Hello,” Flora greets the guards, ignoring their scrutinizing glares. Her hands are folded gently in front of her, the picture of politeness. “We would like to see the queen.”

The soldiers both look towards each other, before both burst out laughing.

“You want to see the queen?” the one on the right, gangly and tall, jabs at her.

“Who are you to demand an audience with her majesty?” the one on the left, shorter than his partner, continues.

Flora scoffs indignantly. “Well I never-!”

“Hold on.” Artemis raises a hand, silencing both guards. “Flora, remain dignified,” she reminds her descendant. “We have information about Link that her royal highness must hear immediately.”

“Uh…” the tall guard idly scratches his face. “What’s link?”

Artemis blinks, taken aback. “Th-the hero.” She composes herself. “Link.”

The guards exchange another glance with each other. “The hero’s name is Link?” the tall one asks, only to receive a shrug from the short one.

“Oh for Hylia’s sake,” Flora sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Yeah, listen ladies,” the short guard steps forward, flipping his spear so the blunt, wooden end is pointing out. “You’re not seeing the queen today, so scram.” He pokes Flora with the spear.

“Well I never-!” With rage in her eyes, Artemis grabs onto Flora’s arm, dragging both her and Sun away from the castle gates.

“Artemis, wait!” Sun protests. “I think this is still salvageable!”

Ignoring her, Artemis shouts back over her shoulder at the two guards. “Listen to this! You two are going to be in big trouble soon!”

  △ ▲△

Flora, with a book in hand, disappeared into the depths of Castle Town. After her display on the battlefield, Artemis doubted she’d be in too much danger in the city. Besides, exploring their surroundings seemed to be a good alternative to meeting this time’s Zelda, and that was way easier when they split up.

Of course, Sun came with her. Artemis didn’t necessarily trust Sun to be on her own in this kind of setting, not yet at least. Judging by the fact that she was currently latched onto her arm like a sloth, she may have made the right choice.

“I have an idea of when we are,” Artemis explains to her.

Sun’s head snaps to Artemis as though she’d been broken out of a trance. “Oh, you do?”

Artemis nods. “I think there’s a business around here where we may find some help.”

“Time war stuff?”

“Time war stuff.”

Sun perks up and begins scanning the buildings up and down the street. “I can help. What does it look like?”

“Well,” Artemis paused. She’d never actually seen the place, had she? She just heard about it late at night when her troops made camp, and she was always about five seconds from punting Little Link into the forest by that time. Which is to say, her attention hadn’t always been there.

“It has to do with bugs,” she finally settles on.

Sun tilts her head. “Bugs?”

“Bugs,” Artemis affirms. “Agitha, the owner, and she loves them. I think it’s a zoo of some kind?”

“A bug zoo in Castle Town,” Sun remarks. “I think I understand cities even less now.”

Artemis shrugs. “I don’t understand it either, to be honest.”

Sun hums to herself, before suddenly pointing to a building across the road. “Agitha’s Castle?” she reads the sign aloud, “Is that it?”

“Right, that’s what it was called!”

When Artemis pushes open Agitha’s wooden door, they’re both immediately hit by a wave of warm air. The chirping and buzzing of several insects greet them, a butterfly going so far as to flutter over and land on Sun’s head.

“Artemis there’s a tree in here,” Sun states, eyeing the bugs climbing all over it with concern.

“Agitha!” Artemis cups her mouth with a hand as she shouts. “Are you here?”

“Is that who I think it is?” a voice rings out from the second floor. A young girl appears, leaning over the railing to peer down at her guests. “The other Princess Zelda!” She races to the stairs with heavy footfalls.

“Well, it’s Queen Zelda now,” Artemis informs Agitha as she bounds down the stairs. Her smile is warm and pleasant, like a fire on a chilly day.

Agitha takes the queen’s hands, holding them in her own, buzzing with energy as an excited smile graces her face. “Then you’re the other Queen Zelda! I can’t believe you’re here! I thought the War Across the Ages was finished?”

“It did,” Artemis nods. “My friend Sun and I are here on separate business.”

Hearing this, Agitha’s eyes snap to Sun, as if noticing her for the first time. “Oh, hello there! I’m Agitha.”

“Uh, hi,” Sun awkwardly responds. “I’m Sun, I suppose.”

Though Agitha squints at her words with suspicion, she’s quickly drawn away by Artemis. “We need to see this era’s Zelda, but the guards haven’t let us into the castle,” she explains. “Do you know of a way we can arrange a meeting?”

“Those guards are tricky.” Agitha slowly draws her hands away, bringing a finger to her chin as she thinks. “There may be something,” she reveals. “Why don’t you come have some tea? I’ll tell you everything I know.”

  △ ▲△

While their visit to Agitha’s Castle was by no means short, the subsequent search for Flora ended up being way longer than anticipated. Eventually, they find her laying against one of the buildings bordering the castle wall,

“Breaking and entering is not an option, Flora,” Artemis reprimands, picking up her exhausted descendant off the city streets and slinging her over her shoulder.

“I… ran the whole… perimeter,” Flora pants out, book still clutched tightly in her hands. “We can climb it.”

Sun, standing behind Artemis, pats Flora’s head in consolation.

“We’re heading to dinner,” Artemis says. “Agitha recommended a nice little bar we could eat at.”

  △ ▲△

The bar, thankfully, isn’t too far from where Flora collapsed. Sun breathes a sigh of relief when she sees it’s mostly deserted, save for a couple of patrons sitting at a table past the bar. One is a redhead, a drink by his side as he converses with the girl next to him. She’s black-haired, and curiously enough, her ears are rounded. Both perk up when they see the trio enter.

“Telma!” the black-haired lady calls out towards the back. “You’ve got some customers!”

“Er, is she alright?” the redheaded man points with his pen towards Flora, who’s still being carried by Artemis.

“She’s fine, just tired,” Artemis clarifies. She unceremoniously deposits Flora at the nearest table. “My sisters and I were wondering if we could get a meal here?”

“Well you certainly came to the right place, I’ll tell you that!” He offers her a thumbs up, only to be jabbed in the side by his companion.

Just then, a woman pushes through the back door, leaving it swinging behind her. “Well hello there, girls. Can I get you something?”

Artemis places a hand on Sun’s shoulder. “Wait here with Flora, I’ll order for us.”

Sun nods, sliding into the seat next to Flora, who’s currently laying face down on the table. Quietly, she slips Flora’s notebook away from her.

“So what is this?” Sun asks, thumbing through a few of the pages. There’s a lot of writing, but she also notices some drawings of diagrams. “Is it your diary?”

“Of sorts,” Flora murmurs. “It’s a research journal.”

“Oh!” she realizes. “I remember you seemed very interested in some of the monuments of my time. I could tell you more about them, if you’d like.”

“Sun,” Flora pops her head up, resting her chin on the wooden table. “I would love that more than anything. But I currently don’t have the stamina to write a single sentence.”

With a frown, Sun pats her shoulder. “Don’t worry, we’ll have lots of time later.”

Her sympathy brings a small smile to Flora’s face. “How was your time with Artemis, today?”

“We met one of her Time War friends,” Sun explains. “She mentioned her before, Agitha? She told us about this place.”

“And I bet you like it much more than the rest of the city.”

Sun’s neck grows hot, as she awkwardly tries to refute that. “Well- I-”

Flora reaches to place her hand over Sun’s. For a brief moment, her heart races at the thought that the glow might return. When nothing happens after a few seconds, she relaxes again. Never has she been so happy about a lack of anything before.

“Don’t worry,” Flora says, oblivious to Sun’s panic. “I know it can be a bit of a jump, from so little to so much. It was the opposite for me, but I felt similarly when I returned to my Hyrule.”

“Where did you go?” Sun asks, as if it were the most innocent question in the world.

“It was-” Flora tries to explain, but she just sighs. “I sealed a great evil away for a long time. When Wild eventually came to my side, so much time had already passed.” She looks away. “I didn’t recognize anything, anymore.”

“You didn’t- you didn’t have to say that,” Sun says. “I mean, I also sealed away an evil, the Demon King, but at least I went to the past to do it-” She takes a deep breath, composing herself. “What I’m trying to say is, I’m sorry. It must have hurt.”

“Well-”

The pair are interrupted by Artemis, returning to the table with the barkeep, Telma. She places her own bowl of soup in front of her while Telma serves Sun and Flora.

“Hope you girls enjoy,” she smiles, glancing over at Flora. “I made this special, I hear it’s supposed to help after a long day.”

“Thank you,” Flora responds automatically. She sits up slightly, eagerly yet carefully bringing a spoonful of soup to her mouth. There’s a buzz of excitement in her chest as she recognizes the blend of flavors; it can only be cream of vegetable soup. In fact, it’s almost like-

Wait.

Flora’s eyes go wide, and she almost drops her spoon. “Carrots and honey.”

“What?” Sun tilts her head at her.

“This is a carrot and honey cream of vegetable soup, I-” She remembers the night she first tried it. After one hundred years of fighting, she was so tired, and that night, Wild brought her to a stable. He showed her how to make it, explaining where he got every ingredient. And the way it warmed her stomach after so long, especially when he followed it up with a fruitcake dessert…

“This is Wild’s recipe,” she reveals, looking up at Telma. “Did he- how did you get it?”

Before Telma can respond, the door to the bar opens, and in steps a figure in a long, black cloak.

  △ ▲△

Honestly, all Queen Zelda Elaine Hyrule wanted was to relax at Telma’s after a long day of courting nobles and other queenly business. She knew at least a few members of the Resistance would be there, and what better way to get her mind off things than to listen to Shad ramble on about the sky beings for hours?

What she didn’t expect, however, was a young girl looking like she was going to cry about her soup while grilling Telma about the recipe.

“Uh,” Artemis looks between Telma and the girl, befuddled.

Telma grimaces when she notices her. “Honey, why don’t you go sit with Shad and Ashei in the back? I’ll have this handled in a second.” The pair of them are standing just a few feet away, Ashei with a hand ready to draw her sword.

“How did you get Wild’s recipe?” the girl demands, standing as one of her companions tries to reach for her.

“I didn’t take it,” Telma counters. “He gave it to me-”

“Wild?” Zelda asks. “As in, Link’s friend, Wild?”

A silence passes over the girl, she and her friends staring at Zelda. One of the other patrons at the girl’s table, seemingly the oldest, speaks up. “You know Link.”

“He’s-” Zelda almost calls him her friend, but truthfully, she doesn’t know if he would call her such at the moment. “Yes. I know him. And how do you know Wild?” She raises a skeptical eyebrow.

“He’s my best friend,” the first girl says, crossing her arms.

“We’re friends of Link’s friends,” the older one says. “The ones he’s travelling with now.”

Very suddenly, it clicks in Zelda’s mind. These aren’t just any visitors, now are they?

“Ah, I see,” Zelda replies. “You all are quite far from home, are you not? Tell me, what is it that brings you to the Era of Twilight?” She slides up to their table, resting her hands on its wooden surface.

“Link and his friends may be in danger,” the last one, a girl with a feather on her belt, reveals. “We need to see this time period’s Zelda.”

“Well then, you’ve found her.” Zelda pulls down the hood of her cloak. She takes one of the empty seats at the table. With her hands folded in front of her, she narrows her gaze at her counterparts. “Telma, give us a moment. What’s wrong with Link?”

“Dusk, I presume?” the older one asks, receiving a nod in response. “I’m called Artemis, these are Sun and Flora.” She gestures to the other two. “We encountered a monster that could change shape, primarily taking the form of our heroes. He taunted us with their safety, and since we haven’t seen them in quite some time, we can only assume he’s done something to them.”

“That’s… concerning,” Dusk admits. “So why have you come to me, then?”

“We want your help,” Sun continues. “We’ve been going through the portals, and they’ve brought us… Zeldas? They’ve brought us all together.”

Flora plops back down in her chair. “The shadow creature is strong. We’ll need as many hands as we can get to defeat it.”

Dusk’s first instinct is to refuse them outright. Though she’s not sure about the rest of them, she has a kingdom to run! She can’t just leave on a journey across time on a whim, not when her people need her. She isn’t Link.

Oh.

But this is for Link, isn’t it? Link, who she let do everything while she was trapped in the twilight of Hyrule Castle. Link, who saved a land that wasn’t his without question. Link, who deserved more than she had given them.

“Ashei, Shad!” she calls out, beckoning the two Resistance members to her side. “Tomorrow, I’m going to make an announcement. As trusted advisors and saviors of Hyrule in your own right, I will leave you both, as well as Auru, in charge of all royal duties until further notice.” She turns her attention back to the other Zeldas. “I’m coming with you.”

“Thank you,” Sun smiles at her sweetly. “All of our Links mean a lot to us, I’m sure you understand.”

“Sorry you had to see me, er,” Flora gestures to her soup, which she stirs with her spoon. “It’s just… I haven’t had this soup in a while, you know?” She suddenly turns towards the bar, where Telma is cleaning some dishes. “And sorry for yelling at you, miss!”

“Don’t you worry, honey!” Telma calls back. “Tell Wild thanks for the recipe when you see him, alright? I think he could use the pick-me-up.”

“Pick-me-up?” Flora echoes quietly.

“Now.” Artemis slams her hands on the table lightly. “Dusk, I should tell you. We had the worst experience with a pair of guards outside the castle, earlier today.”

“Oh, did you?” Dusk leans in, resting her elbows on the table. “Well, we’ll have to handle that.”

[costellos]

I loved the hcds of the bucci gang realizing that they are in love, how is it with the squadra?

YEEEESSS thank you for this suggestion, friend! delicious. finally some good food. I only focused on Risotto, Prosciutto, Melone, and Ghiaccio for this one. it doesn’t seem like there’s much of an audience for Illuso, Formaggio, and Pesci, anyway.

Bucci gang ver. here!

❥ ┋ ❝ la squadra realizing that they’re in love!

risotto nero.

Risotto realizes he’s in love when you prove him wrong.

he’s a man on a mission. as a world-renowned assassin, Risotto knows exactly what needs to be done and how to do it. there is no room for hesitation in this line of work. that’s why he was so surprised when you were placed in his team.

you’re capable, he’ll admit that much. but during his assignments with you, he’s quick to notice those brief moments of apprehension. there might be a glint in the target’s eye, that sign that they’re not ready to die yet. even though he tells you to ignore it, you still hesitate. he concludes that you’re not ready for this.

it happens while following an assignment from the Boss. Sorbet and Gelato still haven’t turned up. despite his team being nothing but obedient (even with their suspicions of the couple’s fate), Risotto doesn’t like the way this mission is carrying out.

chatter fills the streets of Naples. streetlamps are ignited, signing a near-end of the day. there isn’t anything off about this night, not technically. it still doesn’t feel right. Risotto keeps his guard up as he turns with you into an alleyway. you’re supposed to retrieve a yellow envelope from the Boss here.

you catch it before he does. the mission is a set up, with the Boss sending men to dispose of Risotto, as his death would shamble La Squadra. yet before the Boss’s henchmen can do anything, you swipe at their legs, incapacitating them.

there weren’t any giveaways that these men were working for the Boss. yet when you both approach them, they admit they were paid a hefty sum to carry out the assignment. that’s when he sees it: the Aegis tattoos on their wrists.

like always, you hesitate when getting rid of them. thankfully, the job is done and you’re both safe. at least for now.

“you caught their tattoos,” he notes.

you admit that you did. it’s a sign of loyalty that all of the Boss’s higher profile cronies bear. a divine shield, the tool that Zeus himself used to strike fear into the hearts of men. Risotto is shocked that you caught the marks so fast.

you always hesitate during missions. he’s well-aware of that. but while he initially saw it as a weakness, there’s more to you than he anticipated. your ability to analyze the situation, to catch details that even he would miss. it’s... curious. yet intoxicating nonetheless. ↳ “good work.” his hand is on your shoulder, an action that you’ve become familiar with during your assignments with him. this feels different somehow, though. warmer. “but don’t assume that this is the end of it. tonight proves that we need to be more aware.” aware of everything now, he notes. your surroundings, the people you talk to, and as Risotto spends more time with you, his own feelings.

prosciutto.

Prosciutto realizes he’s in love when he sees your efficiency.

he doesn’t like dwelling on things. feelings, main points, and certainly not missions. Prosciutto makes his best effort to complete his assignments as quickly as he can. that doesn’t mean he cuts corners, though. he’s very good at his job.

that said, he gets quite frustrated watching Formaggio and Melone carry out their assignments. they always leave a trace of themselves behind, and in the case of the former, he often has to deal with several needless causalities. going over their paperwork is always such a headache.

then he’s partnered with you. despite your three months on the squad, this is the first mission Risotto has had you collaborate on. not that Prosciutto minds. like all other things, he doesn’t think much of it. he’s seen enough reports of your own fighting style to know that you’re skilled.

it didn’t come so apparent until you landed on-site. the Forum of Augustus, ruins left by Augustus himself honoring the Roman god, Mars. although Prosciutto had visited Rome countless times (sometimes for formal work, sometimes out of pleasure), this is his first time stepping foot in the forum.

you’re supposed to dispose of a small but rival gang. Prosciutto makes diligent work of aging them. but there’s one kid who’s stubborn, using her explosive stand to send shock waves throughout the site.

he sighs. this might be more work than he had anticipated. no wonder Risotto sent two people for this assignment.

but before he can think of his next move, Prosciutto finds the girl at his feet. he scowls. then he looks at you. you’re breathing heavily with your arm still raised, a sign that you had used your elbow to knock her out. he’s not sure how you did it but you did, and now this mission is over before it began.

“nicely done,” he tells you. the forum doesn’t look terribly damaged. there are some collapsed columns and chipped statues, but nothing worth fretting about. so he starts using Grateful Dead to disintegrate the bodies to nothing more than dust. that’s when you start beating yourself up, something about how you could’ve done better. Prosciutto turns to you.

you wanted to cause less damage. the Forum of Augustus is a national landmark; just because it was used as a meeting grounds for some lowlifes doesn’t mean that it should be destroyed. likewise, you wanted to make Prosciutto’s job easier. you had heard that he’s a stickler for inefficient work, and this being your first mission together, you didn’t want to be a nuisance.

Prosciutto blinks. you went that far for some thousand-year-old cement? for him? he’s so used to his colleagues brushing him off (save for Pesci, bless him). being considered for once feels... nice. so he puts his hand on the small of your back, shaking his head at your grievances. ↳ “to be honest, you far exceeded what the others would have done.” Prosciutto comes off as a cold man, but he’s actually quite comfortable giving praise as he sees fit. it certainly applied here. “don’t dwell on it. let’s just finish the job.” and it was true: you did great work, exceeding beyond his own expectations. how else will you surprise him?

melone.

Melone realizes he’s in love when you go out of your way to protect his stand.

yes, he can make a new junior at any time. this one, though... di molto! it’s absolute perfection! the ideal combination of nature and nurture, this junior is sure to put up a beautiful fight. Melone is brimming with excitement.

he first thought it was a mistake. your using your stand to protect his, defending it from an onslaught of punches from your target. “I can’t tell if they did it on purpose or not,” the junior reports to him. Melone simply waves his hand in the air, telling it not to worry. it can trust you protect it. he only says that to reassure the junior, however. while his other colleagues had protected it in the past, they never went out of the way to do so. Melone thinks nothing of it.

even still, he’s puzzled. he knows he can make a new junior at anytime. you know this too. 

ugh. whatever. he won’t think too much about it.

but then it happens again. this time, your stand swoops the junior into its arms, saving it from a falling lamppost. when Melone hears word that you defended his stand — for sure now — he’s not sure how to react. so he leans back in his seat, hand stroking his chin.

he’s become so accustomed to Formaggio mocking Baby Face. not like that idiot would understand, anyway; Melone’s gotten used to it. he knows what Baby Face is capable of. his colleagues do too. and certainly you.

that’s why he can’t wrap his head around why you would do it. it’s the first thing he asks you when you return back to the squad’s hideout.

because I knew how proud you were of this one, you respond. you make it sound so casual, with your bright smile and shrug of the shoulders. Melone simply looks back at you, eyebrows scrunched. even Risotto would let the junior perish if it meant completing the mission. you obviously went beyond simply defending it. at that point, it’s just risky for everyone.

despite that... he can’t stop thinking about it. your prioritizing his happiness over the mission might have been foolish, but he still appreciates it. how you smiled when you told him, how you made it sound like the easiest task in the world. Melone suddenly finds himself wanting more missions with you. so he approaches you as you’re leaving for your next assignment, frame overlooking you, expression amused: ↳ “heading out now? di molto! let me have Baby Face assist you!” he’s so obvious about wanting to spend more time with you but he doesn’t care. someone who entertains his silly, little pleasures is something worth keeping an eye on. “no, no, I insist. please, it’s nothing worth fretting about.” maybe one day, you’ll have eyes for him too.

ghiaccio.

Ghiaccio realizes he’s in love when you indulge his rant.

although he can remain level-headed during a mission (to a certain degree), there are many things that makes Ghiaccio tick during moments of peace. his most obvious grievance being inconsistencies in diction and proverbs.

everyone is familiar with the Venezia rant. that said, most had become familiar with what makes him annoyed. and unfortunately, most do it on purpose.

it happens while planning for the next group assignment. it’ll take place at Teatro di San Carlo, a historic opera house next to the Piazza del Plebiscito. Prosciutto is running over the details when he says it: foyer. not as foi-yur, however. foi-yeh. and Ghiaccio loses it.

he goes off on a tangent, explaining that the word stems from old French and it doesn’t make any sense for it to be pronounced like that. he’s slamming his fist on the table, voice raised as he makes his point. Prosciutto and Pesci are looking at him blankly. Formaggio and Melone are stifling a laugh. Risotto and Illuso let out a sigh and turn to each other. with a nod from Illuso, Risotto holds up his hand, asking that Ghiaccio save this for a different day.

despite his obvious displeasure (crossed arms and a soft click of the tongue, typical of him), Ghiaccio quells his argument. Risotto gives Prosciutto the okay to continue.

so he does. but this time, he makes it a point to continue using ‘foi-yeh.’ he emphasizes it every time he uses it, his azure irises flickering toward Ghiaccio with every use. he’s enjoying this. Ghiaccio clearly isn’t.

at the end, Prosciutto asks if there are any questions. you raise your hand. to be honest, Ghiaccio isn’t paying attention to most of what you’re saying. that is, until he hears you use ‘foi-yur.’ you emphasize it as clearly as Prosciutto had with ‘foi-yeh,’ sprinkling it wherever you can. when you finish, you turn to Ghiaccio (who’s now staring at you, eyes wide) and flash him a thumbs up.

Ghiaccio isn’t sure what to do. so he responds with an ‘okay’ sign, eyes still wide from your little show. no one has ever defended him like that. “defended” might be a strong word for most, but to have his point be acknowledged in such a small way has Ghiaccio at a loss for words. so he just sits there, wordlessly, staring at the blueprint that Prosciutto is using for this next mission. once Risotto calls the meeting adjourned, though, Ghiaccio is the first to spring from the table, taking his spot beside you as the others file out of the room. ↳ “you didn’t have to do that, you know.” he blinks. shit, was that to harsh? “they’re going to call you a kiss up now.” there. that puts the concern on you, because truly, he is worried that the others will tease you now. but you just shrug and say that you don’t care, that you didn’t want him to feel ignored. Ghiaccio is, in spite of White Album’s abilities, a hothead. he’s a man built from passion and liveliness and enthusiasm. and after hearing you say that, he’s starting to feel those sentiments apply to you, too.

[deep-space-elf]

Cullen x Reader - Misheard

Summary:  Y/N wants to finally confess her feeling to Cullen, but when she arrives at his tower, she overhears something that makes her question his feelings for her.

Word count: 3326

Warnings: None really, expect maybe that it’s a little angsty 

A/N: You can also find this fic on AO3

Y/N felt a little silly, but she just wanted it to be perfect. She looked into the mirror for the 5th time in the last 10 minutes. The dress, a gift from Josi, really looked lovely on her, but would Cullen like it? Not so long ago, she always rolled her eyes at girls who would behave like her just then. Looking perfect for a man… But tonight wasn’t just any night. She was determined to confess her feeling for her commander, and it wouldn’t hurt to look lovely for that occasion, right?

She looked into the mirror once again, and shook her head. She was pretty sure that Cullen felt the same, and he has seen her at her worst, right after a whole mountain dropped on her, half frozen to death. Stop being silly and just go! No more excuses! She took one last breath and made her way to Cullen’s tower.

As she walked through the atrium under the library, Solas looked up from his book and raised one of his thin eyebrow when he saw her. A small smile played around his lips. “Good evening, Inquisitor.”

“Evening, Solas,” she said curtly and walked past him. Just before the door closed behind her, she heard Dorian asking Solas a question, that sounded strangely like “Is it finally happening?” and “It looks like it”. She was so not looking forward to the teasing, that she knew would be happening. But Cullen was totally worth it.

When she reached the tower, she hesitated. Her hand was already raised, ready to knock, but of course, her mind choose that moment to question her intend. What if he didn’t feel the same? Maybe he was simply nice and not romantically interested in her. She would make a fool of herself, and would never be able to look into his eyes ever again! That certainly would make war room meetings awkward.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a strange noise from the inside. She froze and waited. There it was again, but she couldn’t tell what it was. She looked around, to see if anyone was watching her, but luckily, the few people who were still wandering in the courtyard, were busy walking towards the tavern. She leaned her ear against the door, and waited.

There it was. A soft moan from Cullen. A cold shudder run through her body and her heart clenched almost painfully. She swallowed a lump in her throat.

Of course he could sleep with whomever and whenever he wanted, they weren’t anything but friends at the moment, but the fact that it happened on the night she wanted to finally confess her feeling, felt like a slap in her face. She couldn’t help but wonder why he choose to sleep with someone else, when he knew that she she was interested. Or at least she thought he knew. Maybe she was right before, and he simply wasn’t interested romantically in her. Tears of hurt and frustration blurred her vision.

She rushed back to her tower the same way she came.

“Inquisitor?” Solas asked, surprise and worry carrying in his voice.

She ignored him, threw the door open, and let it crash back in the lock behind her.

“What happened?” Dorian asked the elven mage.

“I’m not sure,” Solas said. “But she was clearly upset.”

Dorian huffed. “I’m going to kill him.”

Solas might not much like the Tevinter, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t impressed by his loyalty to their leader. Especially after such a short amount of time. “I think that would only upset her further.”

--- 

She barely slept that night. Her thoughts kept repeating what she had witnessed tonight and how to handle the situation from there. She was hurt, though she knew she had no right to feel that way. Even if Cullen felt the same, they weren’t in a relationship, and he had every right to see whomever he liked. It just irked her, that he was giving her so much hope, but then slept with someone else.

Almost every exchange they had, in the last couple of weeks, were heavily streaked with flirting. A suggestive sentence here, a little shy smile there, and oops was that an “accidental” touch? There was tension between them, so obvious, even Dorian noted it while watching from the small window in the alcove he claimed in the library. Needless to say he teased her all the time about it, and constantly asked about updates about they liaison.

She had told him a hundred times that there was nothing going on, but Dorian kept on pushing. He knew she had feelings for their commander, and he insisted that Cullen felt the same. “You should see how he looks at you! I can see those heart-eyes all across the courtyard,” he would say. And she believed him. Dorian had a little mischievous streak in him, but he would never mislead her with matters of the heart.

But now she couldn’t help but wonder, if maybe Cullen was nothing more but fascinated with her, because she was the Herold, their Inquisitor, and not because he was interested in her as a person. Maybe she misread all their flirtation, and it wasn’t the way she saw things. After all, Cullen wasn’t very skilled with words, and sometimes, he said things without thinking, and correct himself - almost too late - what he had just said.

Or maybe, or maybe, or maybe… ugh. She rolled on her stomach and covered her head with a pillow. I hate being in love.

---

The war room meeting went as awkward as one can imagine. Y/N couldn’t bring herself to look at Cullen, even when he was directly talking to her. That resulted in several curious and questioning stares from her advisers, or confused and hurt ones in Cullen’s case. She knew she was handling the situation badly, even a tad bit childish, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at him.

“I think that’s everything for today,” Josephine said cautiously. Actually, there were still several things she wanted to discuss with the Inquisitor, but the woman was obviously not in the… what? Condition? Mood? Whatever it was, she assumed it was better to end it here, and discuss everything else, once their leader doesn’t look like she’s about to kneel over any second.

Y/N nodded. “Good.” And with that, she turned on her heels and basically fled from the room.

“Inquisitor,” Cullen called after her, “if you have a moment…”

“Sorry,” she answered, without turning around, “maybe later, but I’m rather busy.”

Cullen turned to the two other advisers, baffled by the Inquisitor’s behaviour today. “With what?”

Josephine only shrugged. Leliana’s eyes followed Y/N until she was out of sight, before she turned towards Cullen. “There is obviously something bothering her. Give her some time.” She didn’t however said that she assumed it had something to do with the commander. She noticed how uncomfortable Y/N became as soon as Cullen entered the room. Interesting.

Cullen shook his head. Sometimes it felt like every woman he knew, was ought to make his life even more complicated than it already was. He wondered if there was something he has done, that made her act so strangely.

He thought about the last time they spoke, yesterday morning, and couldn’t come up with anything that might have upset her. On the contrary, she even suggested they should have dinner together sometime, so Cullen could introduce her to all his favourite Fereldan meals. His heart had skipped a beat at the suggestion. His heart sank however when re realised that maybe she was regretting making such a bold proposal.

He had to get to the bottom of this. If anyone knew what was going on with her, it was Dorian.

---

Cullen found the Tevinter mage in the library, where he seemed to spend most of his time. He approached him, while the mage was looking for a certain book in one of the shelves. “Dorian? May I have a moment of your time?”

Dorian turned his head in his direction, and Cullen almost made a step backwards when he saw the hatred in the other men's eyes. Was everyone bugged by his presents today?

“Depends on what you want,” Dorian said, the usual playfulness in his voice was absent.

“I-I wanted to talk about Y/N,” Cullen said, scratching his neck.

The Tevinter turned fully to him, with his eyes narrowed. “What a coincidence! I wanted to talk about her with you as well,” he said mockingly. “Solas stopped me however. He thought it would upset Y/N only further.”

Cullen peaked up at that. So he was right, Dorian knew what was going on. “So she is upset. Do you know what caused it?”

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say, because Dorian’s eyes narrowed dangerously now. “No, I’m not sure what caused it, but I have a pretty good idea who.”

“Who? Well, who was it?” Cullen asked. When someone upset her, he wanted to know, and maybe have a few words with them.

“Obviously, you!”, the mage almost shouted, which earned him a couple of “shhh” which he ignored.

“Me? But what have I done?” Cullen asked. He really had no idea.

Dorian crossed his arms over his chest. “I would like to know that as well. All I know is, she went to your tower last evening, and when she returned, she was crying.”

“Last evening? My tower?” Now Cullen was completely lost. She didn’t visit him yesterday, did she? All he remembered was going to bed, after another stressful day, which resulted in a terrible headache. “She didn’t visit me yesterday.”

Dorian crocked his head to the side. What was Cullen playing at? Whatever excuse the ex-templar tried, he wouldn’t get out of this that easily. “Yes, yes she was. All nicely dressed. Must be around nine.”

“I was already asleep at nine,” Cullen said. He sat down on a nearby chair, and rubbed his face with his hands. “Something is wrong.”

Dorian sat down opposite him, still not fully believing him, but he couldn’t deny that something was off.

“And she wasn’t with you?” Dorian probed.

“No!” Cullen said forcefully.

“Hmm,” Dorian stroke his chin. “Maybe something on the way there… but if something happened, why didn’t she tell Solas or me?”

For a moment they sat in silence, both lost in thoughts. Eventually Cullen got up. “Well, there’s only one way to find out. I go talk to her.”

Dorian nodded. “Tell her I’m there for her if she needs me.”

Cullen smiled. “I think she already knows that, but I’ll tell her anyway.” And with that he left.

“You surprise me, Dorian,” Solas voice came from below, as soon as Cullen had left the library.

Dorian lent on the cordon and looked down. “Oh? And why is that?”

“I expected at least one fireball.”

“Are you insane? Not in a library!” Dorian huffed and got back to the bookshelf, ignoring Solas’ faint snicker.

---

Well… that went horrible. Y/N sat on her bed, with her head in her hands. So much for handling it like an adult.

She knew had to get a grip. It may hurt, but she needed to get her feelings under control. After all, she was supposed to work together with him and couldn’t avoid him forever. Not to mention it was anything but fair to him. He didn’t do anything wrong.

After telling herself several times that she needed to stop moping, because that wouldn’t change anything, she got up and went to her desk. A pile of unread letters waited for her to be read and answered. Maybe this could distract her for a while.

Just when she was halfway through the first letter, she heard the door to her tower being opened and closed. She put the letter down and waiter for the visitor to announce themselves.

“Inquisitor?” Cullens voice carried up the stone walls.

He noticed. Shit. He noticed and is going to ask what’s wrong! What am I supposed to say? Shit, shit, shit!

“Up here,” she answered, and hoped he wouldn’t notice the slight waver in her voice.

Soon Cullen conquered the last steps. He knew he had to find out what happened yesterday, but he hadn’t thought about how to do that. Now that he was there, standing on top of the stairs, he silently cursed himself for not thinking of a plan before he marched into her private quarters.

“I- um, may I speak with you for a moment?” he asked and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Yes, sure, of course,” she said and wondered if she demonstrate her nervousness any more obvious.

She gestured to the chair on the other side of her desk, and Cullen sat down, looking anywhere but at her.

Cullen cleared his throat. “I was wondering if I have done anything to offend you?”

Yes. No. Yes… but not really. I hate my life. She shook her head. “No, everything’s fine.”

“Then why… this morning, at the meeting, it seemed like you were avoiding me, and when I talked to Dorian, he told me you were upset yesterday, after, so he and Solas assume, visiting my tower,” he said, and finally looked at her. She was blushing an adorable shade of red.

The images of last night came flashing back. She standing in front of his tower, ready to knock, when she heard the moan. A moan she would have been delighted to hear under different circumstances. Her heart throbbed painfully and she swallowed a lump in her throat. “I- it- it was… nothing. Really. It was nothing to worry about.”

Cullen didn’t understand her. She was obviously upset, if not downright distressed. Something was bothering her, why wouldn’t she tell him. He thought they’d build a friendship over the last couple of month, and she would trust him enough to tell him if something wasn’t right. Maybe he had been wrong. He had hoped she would see him as more than just the commander of the Inquisition, but a friend whom she can tell everything as well. Ever since they arrived at Skyhold, he and Y/N would spend some time together, talking about anything and everything. They would even flirt occasionally, and Cullen had hoped that perhaps, she could feel something more for him. But it looks like he had been wrong.

It hurt, but he wouldn’t give up that easily. She may not feel the same for him, but if something was bothering her, he wanted to know and fix it. He would be there for her, as commander, as friend, as lover, whatever she choose him to be! “Inqui- Y/N,” he said softly, “I can see something is bothering you. Did something happened while you were on the way to my tower? Because I know, as opposed to what Dorian may thinks, that you weren’t in my tower. I sleep so lightly, I would have heard you knocking or entering. Please tell me what happened. I- we are worried about you, Y/N.”

Y/N looked at him with wide eyes. “Asleep? You were asleep?”

“Yes!?” it almost sounded like a question.

“Oh…” Suddenly she realised that he probably moaned in his dream, or even worse, his nightmare. And I ran away like some angsty teenager. Way to go, Y/N!

“What does it have to so with anything?” Cullen asked, still confused by her question.

A good question for which she had no answer, expect for the truth but that was not an option. For the second time this day, she put her head in her hands and groaned.

Cullen rounded the table and knelled beside her. “Y/N, what’s wrong?”

“I’m an idiot, that’s what’s wrong,” she muttered between her hands.

“I don’t understand…”

“I thought,” but she stopped herself. She couldn’t tell him the truth, it was too humiliating!

Cullen carefully took her hands and lowered them from her face. Her expression was a mixture of defeat and anger. Without realising it, he cupped her cheek. His thumb was softly stroking her cheekbone. When she looked at him with a questioning gaze, he froze. What was he thinking? He wanted to lower his hand, but her hand stopped him. It was his turn to look rather puzzled. She leaned into his palm, and both of them relaxed a little.

“What happened, Y/N,” he tried again, his voice barely above a whisper as if he was afraid that speaking too loud would ruin this moment.

“Like I said, I was an idiot,” she said with a sad smile.

“But what does it mean?”

She said nothing and only starred into his eyes. This beautiful shade of brown, in which she could easily get lost in. Her eyes flickered to his mouth. She had been wondering for some time what it would be like to kiss those lips. He was so close… it would be so easily to just kiss him. She looked back up. His looked so worried at her, it brought her out of her little fantasy, and she remembered that she owned him an explanation and maybe an apology.

“Cullen I-” But he pressed his lips to hers, before she could say any more.

For a second she was too shocked to do anything, but before she knew it, she was leaning into the kiss. His lips, so warm and soft against hers… But before she could truly savour the moment, his lips were already gone, along his his hand on her cheek.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what came over me!” Cullen backed away from her and stood up.

“Cullen-” she said, a little breathless.

“I have no words for how sorry I am,” he continued to ramble.

She stood up and walked over to him, until she stood directly in front of him. “You don’t need to apologise.” This time it was her hand that cupped his cheek. “Just tell me, do you feel… could you imagine… I mean…” Why was this confession stuff so hard?!

“Yes,” he said, “I mean, that is, if you wanted to ask… I felt something for you for a while and…”

“Me, too!” she said. They were slowly closing the space between them. “I just never thought you…”

“Y/N? May I kiss you again?”

His husky voice send her shiver through her. “Maker, please!”

---

“Sooooo?” Dorian asked and plopped down next to her.

Y/N knew it was a mistake to have her breakfast in the hall, but eating alone in her chambers was always kind of depressing.

“So what?” she asked him, not looking up from her plate.

“A little birdie tole me-”

“Was that birdie’s name Sera? Or Varric?” she asked.

“-that our dear commander visited you again last evening, but no one saw him leaving it. Not until half an hour ago.” Though it was a statement, the question he wanted to ask was clear. She wouldn’t make it that easy for him, though.

“That’s right,” she said in a neutral voice.

When Dorian didn’t ask anything else, she looked up, and regretted it immediately. He was looking at her meaningfully.

She sighed. “Yes, we stuttered our way through…”

Dorian laughed. “Oh, it must have been adorable! I want all the details!”

“All the details of what?” Cullen’s voice came from behind them.

Y/N quickly got out of her chair. “Cullen! Now that you’re here we can finally start with the meeting.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the table.

“But I haven’t had any breakfast, yet,” he protested weakly.

Solas sat down where Y/N sat only moments ago, watching the couple. “Should we tell them that this door leads to her chambers and the war room?”

“Nah,” Dorian said, “let them have some fun.”

[set-phasers-to-whump]

fine.

prompt: stitches (from day 24)

whumpee: nick burkhardt

fandom: grimm

hey! this fic took me longer than i thought to write but i had a really fun time with it and i’m super pleased with how it turned out! it’s a bit more medical than my usual stuff and there’s like, a good bit of descriptions of needles so be careful of that! hope you enjoy :)

Nick ducks the knife, and it slashes through the air where, just half a second ago, his face had been. He kicks at his opponent’s knee, and the man steps to the side to avoid it, then swings out with the knife again. It grazes Nick’s cheek, and then he’s pushing the man’s arm away, leaning into a punch, which is deflected. 

The knife cuts through one of his sleeves and into his skin. He lands a hard punch to his opponent’s face, and follows it up with a fist to the stomach. In return, the knife digs into his face, just in front of his ear, and drags downward. Nick pulls away, tries to grab the man’s arm, and ends up with a cut across his right palm. 

This cut is the first one he’s actually felt, over all of the adrenaline. It’s hard not to feel it, since it’s right across the hand that he needs to punch and block with. It burns and protests as he curls his hand into a fist, but he ignores it and decides to go for it. 

It being the end of this fight. He launches forwards with everything he’s got, doing his best to protect himself but knowing he’s going to get a little more cut up in the process. He lashes out with hit after hit, until a particularly nasty punch to his opponent’s face has him spinning on his feet. He looks at Nick, the knife in his hand glistening red, his eyes unfocused, and apparently decides he’s had enough. He turns and runs. 

Some part of Nick thinks he should follow this guy. But he highly doubts they’ll be meeting again, and he also doesn’t think either of them actually wants to kill the other. So he stays where he is, sitting down on the cool (and, if he looks hard enough in the dim light, blood-speckled) concrete, back pressed to an uncomfortable metal support beam. 

He sits there and catches his breath and feels the adrenaline start to wear off, leaving him feeling slightly shaky and entirely too aware of the injuries he’d sustained during the fight. His face is wet and warm and stinging, and his palm of course is still hurting, worse now, for having been curled into a fist and used heavily for the past few minutes. There are a couple of spots on his torso where he can feel the fabric of his shirt getting damp with blood, and a few similar spots on his arms. The cuts sting and burn and bleed, but he’s reasonably sure that none of them are deep enough to be any immediate cause for concern. They just sort of hurt, and they’re making him feel like he doesn’t want to get up off of the floor. 

But he can’t exactly stay here and wait for the pain to wear off (not that it will, necessarily, but at some point he’ll get used to it, which is good enough). It’s sunset now, and it’s November, and if he stays here too much longer he’s going to get really cold on top of being all cut up, and he’d prefer to not deal with that. He’s already shaking a little, though he’s loath to admit it. 

So he reaches his unhurt left hand across his body and wrestles his phone out from his pocket. The brightness of the screen is startling in the low light of his surroundings, and he squints for a minute as he locates the right contact. 

Which is Monroe. Monroe may not like it, but Nick knows he’s not going to push him, not going to make him disclose any information like who he’d fought with and why. He loves Hank, but the first thing his partner is going to do is insist on knowing the who, what, when, where, and why of the situation. And the first thing Juliette will do is insist that he tell Hank about it. Which then leads to the same problem. So Monroe it is. 

“What’s up?”

“Monroe, hey,” Nick starts, and then realizes he’s got no idea what else to say. “Could...could you maybe come and get me?”

Monroe’s voice goes serious. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Nick replies quickly. “Nothing bad, anyway.”

“Nick.”

“There was...a fight, and I got a little cut up.”

“And that’s ‘nothing bad,’ huh?”

“It’s fine,” Nick insists. “None of the cuts are that deep. I’m fine. I could just use a ride.”

Monroe sighs. Nick pictures him pinching the bridge of his nose. “Okay, fine. Where exactly are you?”

Nick tells him, and Monroe promises he’ll be there as quickly as he can. “Try not to bleed too much before I get there, okay?” he asks, and Nick promises he’ll try. 

Not that there’s much he can do to stop himself from bleeding. From what he can feel, none of the cuts are too deep (he hadn’t lied to Monroe), and he’s only got one useful hand, anyway, which means he can’t apply pressure to every single cut. And he can’t really tell which ones might be worse than the others - they all hurt, and they’re all bleeding, and it’s honestly kind of hard to tell where one cut ends and another begins. 

So he just sits there, bleeding and trying to stop his body from trembling, because, as a rule, Nick doesn’t get shaky. He doesn’t want Monroe to worry about him, and anyway, it’s not like there’s a reason for him to be shaking. It’s just the adrenaline leaving his system after an intense fight. A normal reaction, sure, but not one he’d like to be having. So he focuses his attention on stopping it, so much so that he doesn’t notice Monroe arrive until he hears his voice.

“Nick? You in there?” 

Nick looks up from where he’d been staring intently at the floor. Outside a cracked door, he sees the beam of a flashlight. “Over here!” he shouts to Monroe, and watches as the door opens. The beam of the flashlight moves around, and hits him. He closes his eyes against the sudden brightness, and when he opens them, Monroe is standing a few feet from him. 

“‘A little cut up,’ Nick? Really?” 

“What?”

“Dude, you look bad.”

“It’s fine, really. None of them are that deep. I told you.”

The flashlight goes directly into his face then, and Monroe crouches down next to him, looking him over intently. “Yeah, buddy, several of these are pretty deep. I’m pretty sure you’re gonna need stitches.”

“No, no, I’m -”

Monroe cuts him off sharply. “Hospital. Stitches. Now. Or I call Hank.”

“Fine,” Nick agrees, and reaches out his left hand to let Monroe pull him to his feet. 

Once he’s standing, he sways for a second, slightly dizzy. Maybe he’s lost a little more blood than he’d thought. He doesn’t want to even think it, but Monroe is probably right - the hospital might just be a good idea. 

The drive is silent but not tense. Monroe looks over at Nick every few seconds, like he’s worried Nick’s going to bleed to death right there in the passenger seat. Nick would remind him to keep his eyes on the road, but he’s kind of tired and he’d rather not speak unless he has to. He trusts that Monroe will get them there safely, anyway.

Luckily, the ER isn’t terribly busy. They both sink into uncomfortable plastic chairs, and Monroe holds a clipboard with a form on it and asks Nick questions while Nick presses a towel onto his cheek and holds loosely onto another one wrapped around his right hand. 

A few minutes later, Nick is called back by a kind-looking nurse, and he stands and tries not to wince at the movement as he follows the nurse back to a room. 

The nurse gestures for Nick to sit down on the table and types some information from Nick’s form into the computer. “The doctor should be here in just a minute,” he tells Nick, “but before she gets here, would you like to tell me what happened?”

Nick shakes his head slightly. “An accident,” he says. The nurse looks unconvinced, but doesn’t press the issue, which Nick is grateful for. He honestly has no idea how to explain this in a way that doesn’t involve the words “knife” and “fight,” which he thinks are probably words that the people in the ER would rather not hear.

The nurse leaves the room, then, and a second later, the doctor walks in. She pulls on a pair of gloves and has Nick remove his shirt - which takes him far longer than it ought to - and then looks him over. 

“These cuts on your torso and arms won’t need stitches,” she says, beginning to wipe the blood off of him with a damp cloth, “but even under all this blood I can see that a few of the ones on your face, and definitely the one on your hand, are going to need to be sewn up.”

Nick had been expecting this, so he nods, trying not to wince when the cloth hits what must be a particularly deep cut on his face. 

“Almost done,” the doctor says reassuringly, switching to another cloth and carefully taking his hand. 

He definitely winces when the cloth hits the gash in his hand - in fact, he very nearly pulls his hand away, but stops himself. The doctor makes a noise of sympathy, and Nick tells himself that he better get it together. It’s not like he hasn’t had worse. 

With his various cuts now cleaned up, the doctor moves on to closing them. Her gloved fingers rub a numbing cream around the cuts on his face, which feels strange but not painful. She waits a few moments, getting the needle and thread ready and explaining the stitches to Nick. 

“The stitches that’ll be on your face are dissolvable. I won’t need to remove them - once your injuries have healed, they’ll just disappear. Now hold still,” the doctor says, and then there’s a needle pulling through his skin, and he freezes. 

It doesn’t hurt, which is a relief. It feels extremely weird, though. He’s numb, but there’s a sort of distant pulling feeling in his skin as the needle passes through it, and if he focuses on that too much he starts to feel a little dizzy, so he stares at the wall and its poster of proper sharps disposal techniques and tries his best not to think about the needle and thread weaving their way through his skin. 

“That part’s done,” announces the doctor, after what Nick thinks is a few minutes. “I’m going to put a special glue onto a few of the other cuts, bandage the rest, and then stitch up your hand. Speaking of your hand, I���m going to need to give you a shot of local anaesthetic now, so it’ll have time to start working before I stitch it up.”

She turns to the cabinet behind her and grabs a few items that Nick can’t quite see over her shoulder. When she turns back around, she’s holding a small needle and an alcohol pad. 

“This is probably going to sting a bit,” she warns, and Nick assumes she means the alcohol pad, which does sting, but then the needle goes into his hand and stings way more, and suddenly he has to blink very hard to clear the tears from his eyes, but then the moment passes and the stinging subsides and he lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. 

“Doing okay?” the doctor asks, and he nods. He’s fine. This is really not that bad, in the grand scheme of things, he reminds himself. Not that telling her that would be a good idea. 

Assured that Nick is alright, the doctor begins applying the glue to some of the cuts on his torso, face, and arms. The ones on his face barely feel like anything when she glues them shut, owing to the numbing cream from before, but the ones on his torso and arms sting and burn where the glue touches them, and once again - which is now two times too many - he finds himself blinking back tears. 

And then that’s over, and he’s fine, and the doctor puts small butterfly bandages on the rest of the smaller cuts (he doesn’t have the heart to tell her he’ll pull them off the second he’s out of here), and then she moves on to his last and worst cut. 

“I’m not going to lie, even with the anaesthetic shot, this is probably going to be unpleasant,” she warns. 

“It’s fine,” Nick replies, holding out his arm for her to get to work. 

The needle pulls through his skin, and, just as the doctor had said, even with the anaesthetic, it hurts. He closes his eyes and tries to take deep breaths and the whole time he feels every prick of the needle, every stitch crossing his palm, and it feels terrible. He wonders if she hadn’t given him enough anaesthetic, or maybe she’d given him the wrong thing, and he thinks about asking her but he doesn’t want to move at all, and he thinks he might be shaking again, and his hand is burning, and then - 

“All finished,” the doctor announces, and, in mild surprise, Nick looks at her, and then at his palm, which is now covered by a gauze pad. 

“Thanks,” he says quietly, and carefully slides off of the table, holding his right hand out away from his body to make sure it doesn’t bump into anything. The doctor helps him pull his torn, bloody shirt back over his head and arms, and then he’s released into the waiting room, where Monroe stands to greet him. 

He must look about as bad as he feels, because the first thing Monroe says is, “whoa, dude, you good?”

“Fine,” he replies, and his voice comes out more snappy than he’d meant. “Sorry,” he adds. “Just tired.”

“I bet,” Monroe says, as they step through the sliding doors and into the chilly night air. “Let’s get you home.”

Nick asks the question before he has the time to think about it. “Can I come to your house?” If he goes home, he’ll have to explain this to Juliette, and while there’s no escaping that, he’d rather not do it tonight. He’d rather not do anything tonight, except take a few painkillers and lie down and sleep. 

“Yeah, of course,” Monroe says, and if he’s surprised that Nick asked, he doesn’t show it. “Anytime.”

“Thanks,” Nick replies. “For all of this. And - sorry. For kind of dragging you into my problems.”

Monroe turns and gives him a stern look as he parks in front of his house, but doesn’t say whatever words it is he’s thinking, which Nick is grateful for. He can only take so much kindness in one evening. 

Monroe says something else instead, lighthearted but sincere, as they step through the front door. “What else are friends for, if not dragging each other into their problems?”

aaa thanks for reading this! the medical stuff is about as accurate as i could get it :) hope you enjoyed, love you!

[senadimell]

If you've got time to share, I'd love to hear more about your thoughts around Snape and Lupin.

@deathdaydungeon, here you are!

After a conversation with @frederick-the-great, I’ve been thinking about Lupin, Snape, and what they say about morality in HP. I’m not talking about the troublesome white hats, black hats morality, but am instead looking at from this angle: Lupin is nice and well-liked, but often lacks a backbone, whereas Snape is mean and disliked, but incredibly brave. Which is more important? I find Harry’s last sacrifice to be a useful point by which we measure their impact.

Lupin and Snape useful to compare on several important fronts.

As foils for each others’ teaching methods

The way they deal with social disadvantage

Their connections to Harry’s father and how they pass on James’ legacy

1) They both teach at Hogwarts, and are foils for each other in many ways. Snape is mean and takes away points. He’s seen as selfish. His classes are hard and unpleasant for Harry. He’s mean to Neville, and rather than encouraging him, mocks him and belittles him, which just adds to the overall disaster of Neville’s poor self-esteem mixing badly with potions class.

However, even Umbridge admits that Snape’s teaching methods work, and she’s working for Fudge who doesn’t like Death Eaters and has been defied by Snape in GoF, so we know he’s effective for a lot of people, if not Neville.

Yet, for all that, Snape saves Harry’s life multiple times. On top of that, Snape wants to keep the fact that he saved Harry’s life a secret.

“Very well. Very Well. But never--Never tell, Dumbledore! This must be between us! Swear it, I cannot bear...especially Potter’s son...I want your word!

My word, Severus, that I will never reveal the best of you? Dumbledore sighed, looking down into Snape’s ferocious, anguished face. “If you insist...”

DH 679, The Prince’s Tale

Conversely, Lupin is nice and rewards points. He’s seen as generous. His classes are fun and interesting for Harry. He’s kind to Neville, and expresses confidence in him that leads him to succeed and do well. That confidence is a huge part of Neville’s character development. I doubt he’d grow into the resistance leader in DH if not for the many times teachers expressed confidence in him, like Dumbledore in PS, Lupin in PoA, Fake!Moody in GoF, and Harry in OotP. Harry certainly approves of his methods:

“You’re the best Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher we’ve ever had!” said Harry. “Don’t go!”

PoA 424, Owl Post Again

However, it’s worth noticing that Hermione does worse on his exam than we ever see. She fails the Boggart test, and she and Harry were the only two people not permitted to experience the Boggart in class. Lupin’s teaching methods aren’t foolproof. Despite that, he’s overall seen as a nice guy and good teacher.

Yet Lupin endangers Harry’s life. The secrets he keeps are dangerous: his secret to keep is that he’s a werewolf and  actively endangered three students lives with his negligence, as well as the fact that he hid a secret about a believed and convicted mass murderer to save face with Dumbledore.

“That was still really dangerous! Running around in the dark with a werewolf! What if you’d given the others the slip, and bitten somebody?”

“A thought that still haunts me,” Lupin said heavily. “And there were near misses, many of them. We laughed about them afterwards. We were young, thoughtless--carried away with out own cleverness.

“I sometimes felt guilty about betraying Dumbledore’s trust, of course....he had admitted me to Hogwarts when no other headmasters would have done so, and he had no idea I was breaking the rules he had set down for my own and others’ safety. He never knew I had led three fellow students into becoming Animagi illegally. But I always managed to forget my guilty feelings every time we sat down to plan our next month’s adventure. And I haven’t changed...

Lupin’s face had hardened, and there was self-disgust in his voice. “All this year I have been battling with myself, wondering whether I should tell Dumbledore that Sirius was an Animagus. But I didn’t do it. Why? Because I was too cowardly. It would have meant admitting that I’d betrayed his tryst while I was at school, admitting that I’d led others along with me...and Dumbledore’s trust has meant everything to me. He let me into Hogwarts as a boy, and he gave me a job when I have been shunned all my adult life, unable to find paid work because of what I am. And so I convinced myself that Sirius was getting into the school using Dark Arts he learned from Voldemort, that being an Animagus had nothing to do with it...so in a way, Snape’s been right about me all along.”

PoA 355, Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs

Plan is emphasized because those trips that ended in “near misses” weren’t some impulsive romp. They were planned and coordinated in advance.

“I just saw Hagrid,” said Harry. “And he said you’d resigned. It’s not true, is it?”

“I’m afraid it is, said Lupin. He stared opening his desk drawers and taking out the contents.

“Why?” said Harry. The Ministry of Magic don’t think you were helping Sirius, do they?”

Lupin crossed to the door and closed it behind Harry.

“No. Professor Dumbledore managed to convince Fudge that I was trying to save your lives.” He sighed. “That was the final straw for Severus. I think* the loss of the Order of Merlin hit him hard. So he--er--accidentally let slip that I am a werewolf this morning at breakfast.”

“You’re not leaving because of that!” said Harry.

Lupin smiled wryly.

“This time tomorrow, the owls will start arriving from parents ....They will not want a werewolf teaching their children, Harry. And after last night, I see their point. I could have bitten any of you...That must never happen again.

“You’re the best Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher we’ve ever had!” said Harry. “Don’t go!”

PoA 424, Owl Post Again

What strikes me about this conversation is how Lupin shifts the blame around. This doesn’t start with an admission of guilt. He’s not leaving because the parents are right. He’s not leaving because he’s seen how dangerous he can be, or because he owns up to making an incredibly dangerous decision. He’s leaving because Snape forced his hand. If Snape didn’t do that, he would do the same thing he’s always been doing: sweeping his misdoing under the rug and promising himself privately that he’s going to change, but never doing it.

It’s always someone else’s fault for Lupin. That’s a neat tie in to the next point of comparison:

2. Lupin and Snape both experience marginalization in wizarding society, but in very different ways. Lupin faces socio-legal** marginalization and Snape faces socio-economic marginalization.

Lupin’s a werewolf. We see how prejudice affects his life, from his inability to find a job and his worn out clothes to his people-pleasing nature. He’s always acting nice and harmless. He does nothing to play into the condemning stereotypes he’s faced since childhood. Despite that, he still can’t find a job. Nobody will hire him, and people are scared to interact with him. From the way he talks about werewolves, it’s implied that this prejudice is held blindly across Wizarding society. Both Ron and Hermione are horrified to learn Lupin’s a werewolf. *** Later on, he’s legally limited in the kinds of jobs he holds and the kind of magic he’s allowed to perform. Lupin has no control over his transformations, and did not choose his condition.

Lupin’s not really wrong when pities himself. The odds really are stacked against him when he’s treated as if he’s a wolf 24/7, not just a few predictable times a month. His prospects are honestly awful.

The problem is, his condition is dangerous. Thus, the issue of victim blaming is particularly thorny for Lupin. He can’t just accept that he’s a monster for something he has no say over, and yet he can’t escape the fact that sometimes he is monstrous for reasons out of his control. He feels guilty for the people he could have hurt, but also seems to resent that people blame him for something that’s not his fault. The problem is that he carries that lack of accountability into spheres where he should be accountable, like not taking his medication and endangering children because of it.

Snape’s story is very different. He is poor in both the wizard and muggle worlds, and half-blooded, and was sorted into Slytherin as a child. He doesn’t have one condition against him, but checks boxes that make it hard for any one side to accept him. He’s too impure and poor to survive on his own for the Slytherin, but is a Slytherin with Death Eater friends and housemates interested in dark magic, which means he’s never going to fit in with the Order of the Phoenix crowd, especially when some of its members torment him at school. ****4

 This essay makes a convincing point that the wizarding world is not a meritocracy, and that people like Snape need powerful patronage to advance if they don’t have the money to support themselves.

I don’t consider the sorting a proper choice. I know Harry does, but I’m of the opinion that at age 11, very few people have been taught how to analyze different perspectives and make an informed decision. Most 11-year-olds are trained to obey their parents and accept their family’s ideology. Harry’s choice rests on very little evidence--most of what he knows is what Hagrid told him, and that he doesn’t want to be sorted into Voldemort’s house along with Draco Malfoy, someone who reminds him of Dudley. I don’t think Snape was very informed either (I’d love to know why), because he doesn’t realize why it Lily wouldn’t be sorted into Slytherin.

“You’d better be in Slytherin,” said Snape, encouraged that she had brightened a little. DH 671, The Prince’s Tale

Either the pureblood rhetoric just wasn’t strong in those days, or his mother didn’t tell him about that.

...“Where are you heading, if you’ve got the choice?”

James lifted an invisible sword.

“’Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart!’ Like my dad.”

Snape made a small, disparaging noise. James turned on him.

“Got a problem with that?”

“No,” said Snape, though his slight sneer said otherwise. “If you’d rather be brawny than brainy--”

DH 671-2, The Prince’s Tale

It seems that most people just follow familial preferences. As to why Snape wants to be in Ravenclaw over Slytherin, my preferred interpretation is that he had a family legacy, knew that Slytherin rewarded the ambitious and clever, and that Slughorn, the head of Slytherin house, had a knack for making the kind of connections that a poor, clever boy would need to succeed.

Nevertheless, once Snape was in Slytherin, the odds were stacked against him. The house in that era was full of people who would later be Death Eaters. “Dark Magic” wasn’t frowned upon among his housemates, and siding with Voldemort wasn’t yet widely acknowledged as a transgression by wider society.

“No, no, but believe me, [Sirius’ parents] thought Voldemort had the right idea, they were all for the purification of the wizarding race, getting rid of Muggle-borns and having pure-bloods in charge. They weren’t alone either, there were quite a few people, before Voldemort showed his true colors, who thought he had the right idea about things.…” OotP 112

Additionally, people like Bellatrix were in the years above him, and given how Fred and George acted with younger students, I think it’s highly likely younger students had to find a place in the hierarchy or be the target of ‘pranks.’ He was a halfblood, after all, and dirt poor.

Snape knew these people. He ate with them, slept with them, and went to class with them. It is so much easier to understand and befriend someone you spend time with. I’d say that most people who subscribe to problematic ideologies aren’t just awful to be around all the time, or else these movements wouldn’t gain any traction. They’re likely funny and nice to be around if you’re not on their bad side.

In addition to strong peer pressure to befriend the people who would be death eaters, he was also bullied four to one. His bullies received protection from the headmaster when he was nearly killed or permanently maimed. They were popular and well liked.

The best analogy I’ve heard to describe Snape's Hogwarts situation is that he’s a kid in a rough neighborhood who joins the local gang. It provides protection and the hope of social mobility, and from his perspective, the other gang fights just as dirty (his treatment by the marauders). He doesn’t stop to think that the system is flawed, or that the gang’s very existence indicates the failure of authority and threatens its members. He just sees himself as a kid with nothing who needs help with protection and advancement. We know that Voldemort hasn’t shown his true colors, and it’s possible he showed different faces to different people.

‘Now, yer mum an’ dad were as good a witch an’ wizard as I ever knew. Head Boy an’ Girl at Hogwarts in their day! Suppose the myst’ry is why You-Know-Who never tried to get ’em on his side before ... probably knew they were too close ter Dumbledore ter want anythin’ ter do with the Dark Side.

‘Maybe he thought he could persuade ’em ... maybe he just wanted ’em outta the way. All anyone knows is, he turned up in the village where you was all living, on Hallowe’en ten years ago. You was just a year old. He came ter yer house an’ – an’ –’ (“The Keeper of the Keys”)

Dumbledore’s cited as the reason they turned him down, not their blood status. I think there’s evidence that the wholesale anti-muggleborn campaign wasn’t a huge part of the first wizarding war, and wasn’t implemented until the second, even if there was anti-muggle propaganda. (Muggle=/=muggleborn). It’s implied that Tobias is abusive and that Snape hates him for what he did to him and his mother; it’s implied that faced class prejudice by the muggles around him as well:

“I know who you are. You’re that Snape boy! They live down Spinner’s End by the river,” she told Lily, and it was evident from her tone that she considered the address  a poor recommendation.

DH 665, The Prince’s Tale

When you read stories about people who are able to escape cycles of gang violence and poverty, there’s almost always someone who lifts them out. There’s someone who pushes them, or extends a hand, or believes in them. There are community outreach programs, or churches, or an English teacher that pushed them to do better and try out for a scholarship. That person is usually someone who knows what it’s like and knows how hard it is to get out.

Snape doesn’t seem to get that support anywhere. Slughorn doesn’t seem to notice him, for whatever reason. Lily doesn’t approve of his friends, but also doesn’t understand at all what the pull is--that it’s hard to swim against the current of what everyone else is saying, despite the fact that she feels the same pressure to end her friendship with Snape.

“… thought we were supposed to be friends?” Snape was saying. “Best friends?” “We are, Sev, but I don’t like some of the people you’re hanging round with! I’m sorry, but I detest Every and Mulciber! Mulciber! What do you see in him, Sev, he’s creepy! D’you know what he tried to do to Marry Macdonald the other day?”

DH 673, The Prince’s Tale

In the very same conversation, the fact that Snape is not allowed to share what happened to him with Lupin and the werewolf incident means that Lily will never be able to understand what Snape is facing: That the leader of the good guys makes excuses for and protects people who recklessly endanger the lives of others.

“And you’re being really ungrateful. I heard what happened the other night. You went sneaking down that tunnel by the Whomping Wollow, and James Potter saved you from whatever’s down there--”

Snape’s whole face contorted and he spluttered, “Saved? Saved? You think he was playing the hero? He was saving his neck and his friends’ too!...”

DH 674, The Prince’s Tale

Later in the year after SWM, she tells Snape this:

“None of my friends can understand why I even talk to you.”

DH 675 The Prince’s Tale

She expects him to reject all of his classmates and stand against the tide, despite the fact that she knows how hard it is to do that and can’t comprehend why he sticks with his classmates. She expects him to be grateful to James Potter as if what he did was altruistic, because the Headmaster swore Snape to secrecy and he keeps his promises, despite the fact that someone else was spreading the story. (The fact that she says she heard it instead of talking about it like its common knowledge implies that she heard it from a friend, so our friends the Marauders likely weren’t keeping their lips zipped even if Snape was.)

I don’t say this to shift the blame away from Snape to Lily in regards to Snape joining the Death Eaters. I just want to point out that Lily wasn't someone who could help him break the cycle. He didn’t squander some chance she offered him. She just wasn’t enough to break him out--not empathetic, motivated, or well-informed enough. (I think the fact that they were peers plays a big role in that).

Ultimately, Snape did choose to join the Death Eaters. He did yield to peer pressure. He did obey his assignment and report the prophecy to Voldemort. He spent his youth yielding, following the path in front of him, and choosing what was probably the easier choice: stick with your group, find powerful friends, do what they want, and don’t ask too many questions about their methods. That’s what makes his decision to betray Voldemort so powerful to me.

Here’s part of the passage when Snape betrays Voldemort:

...The adult Snape was panting, turning on the spot, his wand gripped tightly in his hand, waiting for something or for someone...His fear infected Harry too, even though he knew that he could not be harmed, and he looked over his shoulder wondering what it was that Snape was waiting for--

Then a sliding, jagged jet of white light flew through the air. Harry thought of lightning, but Snape had dropped to his knees and his wand had flown out of his hand.

“Don’t kill me!”

DH 676, The Prince’s Tale

He was terrified. He knew he was caught between the world’s two most powerful wizards, but it was worth it if he could save his childhood friend.

Then when Lily dies:

“Her son lives. He has her eyes, precisely her eyes. You remember the share and color of Lily Evans’s eyes, I am sure?”

“DON’T!” bellowed Snape. “Gone...dead...”

“Is this remorse, Severus?”

“I wish..I wish I were dead....”

“And what use would that be to anyone?” said Dumbledore coldly.

DH 678, The Prince’s Tale

Whatever motivation Snape had before is gone. A person’s life who is not his own is worth more than his own, and he’s drowning in guilt. From now on, Snape works to be useful in saving Harry’s life, and later many lives, at risk of death. His choices are a black mark on his record, likely making it difficult for him to get a job when he’s been tried as a Death Eater, and all of his wizarding connections are Death Eaters or their associates. He has no money or influence. Dumbledore hires him.

So Lupin has a single ailment and faces constant social and legal discrimination. He constantly tries to undermine people’s expectations about werewolves by being mild, but unfortunately is too afraid of rejection and its consequences to stand up against bad behavior or take full responsibility for his failings. He has friends who support him, but do it by engaging in risky behavior. He does not stop them. Perhaps he fears exposure and expulsion. Perhaps he just likes belonging for once. Either way, he does not come clean until forced to.

Snape is different; instead of facing outright rejection, he’s from a poor background and grows up surrounded by peers who join something somewhere between a gang and a cult while being bullied by people groomed by a rival organization. The headmaster of his school supports the rival organization and swears him to secrecy about an incident when they endangered his life, sending the message that his life is worthless. That same group continues to publicly bully him. He continues down this path until he realizes that it endangers something he cares about, and makes a decision that puts him at risk of being killed by the two most powerful wizards alive. He changes course.

Snape seems to view his problems as challenges facing him, whereas Lupin sees his problems as part of who he is, and not something he can change. Lupin seems to accept what happens to him in a fatalist kind of way. He sees what happens as inevitable and somewhat out of his control, whereas Snape never seems to blame his circumstances for him becoming a death eater, even though they clearly limited his options. I think that attitude matters. However, because Lupin’s facing a fictional magical malady, it’s difficult to fully blame him for that attitude.

Both Lupin and Snape have to react to powerful societal pressure that makes it difficult for them to succeed. Comparing them is apples and oranges at best, because their circumstances were so different. I don’t think you can judge either’s morality based on group identity, though.

3. Finally, they both act as a window on James: who he was, and what he means to Harry, who never knew him. That means in some way, they help pass on his parental legacy to orphaned Harry.

Hogwarts is Harry’s home, which means that the teachers are more than just teachers, but play a symbolic parental role in his life.

Hogwarts was the first and best home he had known. He and Voldemort and Snape, the abandoned boys, had all found home here.

DH 697, The Forest Again

You can’t understand Harry without realizing what he lacks: a loving home and living parents. He’s always looking into the past to find his parents, and is saddled with a legacy he struggles to understand--why did he live, who were his parents, and what does he need to do now?

Lupin and Snape also share a connection with Harry that goes beyond a normal teacher-student relationship, unlike McGonagall or Flitwick. Snape and Lupin are more personally connected to Harry than the other professors because they know Harry’s parents and went to school with them. I will mostly focus on James from here on out since we know so little about Lily personally and Harry mostly tries to emulate or avoid his father’s behavior and legacy.

They’re also the last people who knew James to survive, and they die almost at the same time. They’re the only teachers apart from Dumbledore who give Harry private lessons. More importantly, these lessons are all tied thematically to Harry’s past. Harry’s experience with dementors and the patronus charm are his first re-encounter with his parents and his past.

Terrible though it was to hear his parents’ last moments replayed inside his head, these are the only times Harry had heard their voices since he was a very small child. But he’d never be able to produce a proper patronus if he half wanted to hear his parents again.

PoA 243, The Patronus

In the end of PoA, Harry sees himself and mistakenly thinks it’s his father.

“Come on!” he muttered, staring about. “Where are you? Dad, come on--”

But no one came. Harry raised his head to look atet he circle of dementors across the lake. One of them was lowering its hood. It was time for the rescuer to appear--but no one was coming to help this time--

And then it hit him--he understood. He hadn’t seen his father--he had seen himself--

Harry flung himself out from behind the bush and pulled out his want.

“EXPECTO PATRONUM!” he yelled.

PoA 411, Hermione’s Secret

So the patronus itself is linked up with Harry’s past, and his coming-of-age. He doesn’t rely on others to save him, but must do it himself. (Though Harry’s never really trusted the adults to save him.)  It’s interesting to note that Harry actually learns the Patronus charm under Lupin’s tutelage.

On the other hand, Snape introduces Harry to the unpleasant side of his father’s legacy. Through Snape, we see that James wasn’t just a little cocky, but a bully.

“Apologize to Evans!” James roared at Snape, his wand pointed threateningly at him. “I don't want you to make him apologize,” Lily shouted, rounding on James. “You're as bad as he is.” “What?” yelped James. “I'd NEVER call you a--you-know-what!” “Messing up your hair because you think it looks cool to look like you've just got off your broomstick, showing off with that stupid Snitch, walking down corridors and hexing anyone who annoys you just because you can--I'm surprised your broomstick can get off the ground with that fat head on it. You make me SICK.” She turned on her heel and hurried away.

....

He had no desire at all to return to Gryffindor Tower so early, nor to tell Ron and Hermione what he had just seen. What was making Harry feel so horrified and unhappy was not being shouted at or having jars thrown at him; it was that he knew how it felt to be humiliated in the middle of a circle of onlookers, knew exactly how Snape had felt as his father had taunted him, and that judging from what he had just seen, his father had been every bit as arrogant as Snape had always told him. OotP, Snape’s Worst Memory, emphasis added

It’s interesting note that Harry fails to learn Occlumency from Snape. (In fact, we never see Harry use magical skills he learned from Snape apart from Expelliarmus, which is...important). At the same time, he gains an important perspective.

You can’t have James without this part of him. However kind James was to Lupin, however brave James was when he saved his wife, he was neither kind nor brave when he bullied Snape. It’s uncomfortable and awkward, but it’s important.

When he had finished, neither Sirius nor Lupin spoke for a moment. Then Lupin said quietly, “I wouldn’t like you to judge your father on what you saw there, Harry. He was only fifteen —”

“I’m fifteen!” said Harry heatedly.

OotP

Harry rejects the idea that actively bullying someone is just folly of youth. He knows what it’s like to be disenfranchised. Regardless of what Snape and James’ relationship was, he didn’t deserve that kind of humiliation. And Lupin watched, and defends him. Harry has to grapple with that.

Ultimately, Snape and Lupin do more than just connect him to his past. They also teach him his two signature spells, Expelliarmus and Expecto Patronum. One saves his soul, and one saves his life and frees the wizarding world from Voldemort because of Voldemort’s fractured soul.

Snape and Lupin as moral counterpoints

How do we evaluate this:

“I’d never have believed this,” Harry said. “The man who taught me to fight dementors--a coward.”*****5

DH 213, The Bribe

and this?

“Albus Severus, you were named for two headmasters of Hogwarts. One of them was a Slytherin and he was probably the bravest man I ever knew.

DH 758, Seventeen years later

Ultimately, I don’t think it’s really that useful to pit two people with different backgrounds against each other. At the same time, they represent two different halves of a question: when it comes down to it, should we try to be kind or brave? I don’t think you have to pick one, but when pursuing the two, there are bound to be moments of conflict.

I always come back to the lyrics to Last Midnight from Sondheim’s Into the Woods.******6

You're so nice You're not good You're not bad You're just nice I'm not good I'm not nice I'm just right I'm the witch You're the world

Snape doesn’t care about being nice. I think this is where most non-Snape fans start pulling out the pitchforks and torches. Snape isn’t nice, and he’s not nice to kids. He’s not nurturing.*******7 He’s abrasive, allergic to coddling, and petty when he can get away with it. In fact, most of the people he’s ‘nice’ to are significantly more powerful than him, or someone he needs to be on good terms with.

Lupin is nice. He’s mild. He’s often kind. However, he often picks being liked over standing up for something.

What does that result in? He doesn’t stand up for Snape. The bullying continues and keeps Snape firmly on his path. He wins the respect of the Gryffindors with the Snape Boggart incident but loses whatever credibility he had to tell Snape to ‘put their past behind him.’

On the other hand, Neville’s bravery in DH was nurtured by Lupin’s confidence. Neville kept hope alive and led a rebellion. Lupin is one of the few adults that Harry fully respects and trusts up until the Grimmauld place confrontation. (He likes Hagrid and Molly, but doesn’t necessarily trust them to make decisions in their best interest, while he usually respects Lupin’s judgement). Harry loves him, and it’s because he loved him and watched him die that he needs to act and fight back against Voldemort.

Ultimately, Harry’s relationship with James and the adults who pass on his legacy is one of the most important symbolic relationships in the book. The thematic resolution of the series is Harry’s act of sacrificial love.

He did not know what to feel, except shock at the way Snape had been killed, and the reason for which it had been done....

...He could not bear to look at any of the other bodies, to see who else had died for him. He could not bear to join the Weasleys, could not look into their eyes, when if he had given himself up in the first place, Fred might never had died...

He turned away and ran up the marble staircase. Lupin, Tongs...He yearned not to feel....He wished he could rip out his heart, his innards, everything that was screaming inside of him.

To escape into someone else’s head would be a blessed relief....Nothing that even Snape had left him could be worse than his own thoughts.

DH 660-662, The Prince’s Tale

He rushes to the headmaster’s office to escape into Snape's memories. His memories convince Harry that sacrificing himself is the expedient thing to do, and he heads to the Forbidden Forest. To enable is last sacrifice, he uses the Resurrection stone to witness his parents and his father’s friends. Their combined testimony is enough to ameliorate his personal fears about following through with this final act.

Lupin and Snape leave entirely different legacies behind. Lupin encourages and inspires. As an authority figure, he gives people like Neville space to grow and his compassion towards Harry gives him the strength to face his demons. Harry’s decision in DH to die must have something to do with the kindness he was shown, and the sacrifices people who loved him made for him, of which Lupin is a part. Despite what he saw in Princes’ Tale, Snape wasn’t one of the people who’d make an appearance with the Resurrection stone.

Yet Snape sacrificed his life for Harry and the wizarding world, entities that Snape didn’t seem to like and that certainly weren’t kind to him. His form of bravery is about endurance, tenacity, and willingness to do what is right even when you hate your allies and no one else is going to credit you for what you do. And that’s very Harry. Even if he hates Draco, he’s not about to let him die if he can help it. Harry has much more in common with Snape than Lupin, I think.

Since this is about souls, let’s return to the Patronus charm. Snape’s not the kind of person who typically inspires that kind of emotion required to cast a Patronus in others, at least from what we see in Harry’s perspective. Yet because he has experienced that love, he can cast it and shows Harry what needs to be done. Snape enables Harry to dive under the ice. Lupin’s the kind of person who can inspire a patronus, but isn’t the one to make the sacrifice play until after Harry confronts him about his duty to his family. Ultimately, though, they both sacrifice themselves in the Battle of Hogwarts.

* Ever since I realized how blatantly tangential Order of Merlin must be to Snape’s character motivation, that line has frustrated me to no end. There’s no way frothing-at-the-mouth PoA Snape just really coveted that Order of Merlin. He’s often petty, yeah, but if Lupin believes it’s just about that and has nothing to do with Snape’s real conviction about how dangerous Lupin’s actions were, he’s deluding himself. I hate that he passes it on to his students.

**Yes, I am making up words today. Lupin’s faces prejudice and discrimination on a social level enforced by increasingly powerful discriminatory laws.

*** It’s worth noting that if we take every book as equally valid canon, then there’s either widespread ignorance towards lycanthropy, as Lockhart convinces everyone he was able to “cure” the Wagga-Wagga werewolf, and as teenage Horcrux!Riddle said Hagrid raised werewolf cubs under his bed, or else lycanthropy is actually a wide range of conditions under a wolfy umbrella ranging from treatable to incurable. Lupin is our primary source for lycanthropy: he’s the one who tells us about Greyback, for example. If we hold the first two books as equally valid, then perhaps we only know about Lupin’s particular type of condition. That’s the Watsonian analysis, anyways.

****4 These footnotes are getting ridiculous. Basically, there’s no consensus on what Dark Magic is, and on what basis it’s Evil. This essay goes into things that are labelled as curses. I’m inclined to believe that the vast majority of Dark Magic is just Magic We Don’t Like for Reasons.

The definition of what is and isn't considered Dark Magic is never explained: often it just seems to mean "a curse I don't approve of".  Even "curse" has never been satisfactorily defined, but we can certainly say that not all curses are regarded as evil, since some appear to be on the Hogwarts curriculum, and are certainly performed without censure.

*****5 While I paired the quotes at the top of this section together for dramatic effect, it’d be a shame not to look at the context of the Lupin fight.

“I thought you’d say [that your mission was top secret],” said Lupin, looking disappointed. But I might still be of some use to you. You know what I am and what I can do. I could come with you to provide protection. There would be no need to tell me exactly what you were up to. Harry hesitated. It was a very tempting offer.

Hermione then asks about Tonks.

“I’m pretty sure my father would have wanted to know why you aren’t sticking with your own kid, actually”... ...“I’d never have believed this,” Harry said. “The man who taught me to fight dementors--a coward.”

...“Parents shouldn’t leave their kids unless--unless they’ve got to.”

...“I know I shouldn’t have called him a coward.”“No, you shouldn’t,” said Ron at once. “But he’s acting like one. “ “All the same...” said Hermione.

“I know,” said Harry. “But if it makes him go back to Tonks, it’ll be worth it, won’t it?”

He could not keep the plea out of his voice. Hermione looked sympathetic, Ron uncertain. Harry looked down at his feet, thinking of his father. Would James have backed Harry in what he had said to Lupin, or would he have bene angry at how his son had treated his old friend?

DH 213, The Bribe

Harry feels personally betrayed that someone who has a family and child would abandon them. Here he is unyielding and accusing to someone he cares about in the hopes that they re-evaluate what matters. It’s a rather Snape-like tactic, actually. Or else a Dumbledore one.

I love the dialogue in this scene, but have some major issues with how Harry’s internalization drops out the window for shock value. JKR does the same thing when has Harry pull the Veritaserum trick in HBP. I don’t like it.

******6 The witch and Snape aren’t perfect analogues, since she’s decidedly more amoral in my opinion, but they’re both contractually-motivated characters whose humanity is shown by their (platonic/familial) love for a more “innocent” character and the guilt at the innocent character’s sacrificial death. Guilt doesn’t lead the witch to do anything productive, and for Snape it does, which is where they diverge on the character path.

*******7 Draco may be an exception to this. However, watching Snape struggle to build rapport with Draco in HBP leads me to think that while Snape’s been on Draco’s side, he’s still not “nurturing,” or in other words, good at cultivating trust and encouraging the strong and wholesome parts of someone’s personality to grow.  

[the-enamorando-deity]

could you do a romantic x reader oneshot on Mick Rory 😍 from Dc's Legends of Tomorrow he's my favorite character (Where he falls in love with the newest member of the team (who's skilled in martial arts, skilled with hacking into computers, and loves to design clothes) after meeting and befriending her new teammates: Sara, Ray, Nate, Zari, Charlie, and John Constantine. The reader was aware that rory has a crush on her when he flirts with her a bit, the team didn't know that the reader had a genetic power called: Replication (that allows her to clone herself), rory was hoping to ask the reader out and also steal her first kiss after easedropping on the reader and sara telling her that she never had her first kiss)!

(The reader's a vegetarian, loves to read and it's always been her dream to be a fashion designer, she doesn't drink: wine, beer, liquor, or, alcohol of any kind. her favorite flowers are blue orchids, and her favorite color is blue. she lived in Lynchburg, va before joining the legends)!

okie dokie it took a few days but i have it, i tried to fit everything you asked for in and i hope it’s okay!

mick rory x reader, no warnings apply

Prompts: mick rory in love with reader, reader is: martial arts/fashion design/hacking trained, rory flirts w reader, she has replication and nobody knew, she tells ava and sara she’s never had her first kiss and rory overhears and wants to ask her out, reader is vego and bookaholic, doesn’t drink, likes blue and blue orchids, lived in lynchburg virgina.

Blue

You were two months into your most recent career, and every day you considered yourself grateful. Your whole life, you wanted nothing more than to be part of a team or a family, and accomplish something wonderful. You had wanted to be a fashion designer since you were young, but your attempts hadn’t yet reached the heights you craved.

You wanted it all, and little did you know it was possible to have everything at the same time. You had been helping Gideon write period accurate designs into her program, adding your own details and revelling in the compliments you received. They were kind people, more so than anyone you had met in your other careers. 

And yet, you still had secrets that you tried your best to hide from the team. You were brought on with several recommendations, and the reasons why was only a resume. Accomplishments you had worked harder than anything to achieve lay on a few pieces of paper, but you knew there were still things to be done, and to see.

Time travel seemed a good way to do and see it all, but you weren’t expecting them all to be so accommodating. Although you first thought of some of the crew a little more rigid, you made friends with them all quickly, but tried to stay out of the way of the more quiet one they had warned you about.

They called him grumpy or rigid, a criminal even, but he barely spoke to you, only a few grumbles or glances. Still, he seemed nice enough, once tossing you a blue coat when the ship’s AC was broken. You had insisted you help Zari fix it, and she finally gave in, only the pair of you working together finally fixing it. 

You tried to give him the jacket back, but he looked away and mumbled “Keep it”. You wondered if he’d overheard your favourite colour was blue, or maybe it was just coincidence.

Seated in the kitchen, you were reading as Ava and Sara entered. Joking around with each other, they greeted you with matching mile wide grins. Sara started playing with the food fabricator as Ava joined you at the table.

‘Hey, Y/N, wanna weigh in on a discussion Sara and I are having?’

You lowered your book, morbidly curious. ‘That depends, do I get kicked off the ship if I side with the wrong captain?’

Sara turned to shrug, ‘I won’t, but Ava might. We’ll decide later.’

You were now concerned more than curious, but figured why not, surely it was a reasonable discussion. 

‘So, Aves and I were watching tv and making out, you know, like people do,’ Sara started, ignoring the embarrassed sigh from Ava, ‘and suddenly, I hear this noise-’

You grimaced, and Sara stopped, waiting for you to say what was hanging on your tongue. ‘I can’t weigh in.’

‘Why not?’ Ava asked, absentmindedly rubbing Sara’s shoulder.

Wishing more than anything you could have what they did, you glanced around to make sure no one else was listening. ‘I haven’t… kissed anyone.’

‘What, in like a while, or…?’ Sara started, shutting up as your cheeks grew red. ‘Oh…’

Maybe you should have checked the hallways before saying something so loudly, as they weren’t exactly empty. Mick had overheard, and quickly disappeared before he could be spotted eavesdropping.

The following weeks, Mick seemed to speak more per day than he had your entire time on the ship. After a mission to Assam in the 1800s, you returned to your room to find a blue orchid taped to the door, one that you had mentioned in passing about being your favourite to Zari and Nate.

You looked for the culprit in the halls, but whoever it was seemed to be long gone. It made your heart buzz, and you quickly hid in your room as your powers began to override you. Replication, your doctor had called it, and you couldn’t think of a more fitting name.

Your body quickly split in half, followed by three more splits. You tried to calm yourself and rejoin, but each part of you was as excited and energetic as the last. Bursting from your room, all but your original form spread out across the ship ins search of stimulation.

One ran to the gym, practising the martial arts skills you’d been gaining since childhood, and another for the library, to study up on all the monstrous and mysterious missions you’d missed in the years the Legends had run prior to your addition. You couldn’t keep track of where they had all gone, but you collapsed in exhaustion, only hoping no one saw more than one of you together.

Mick mumbled over and over to himself as he paced the halls, stopping short as he saw you run from the laundry down the hall, frowning and starting to head after you. Quick footsteps sounded behind him, making him turn, only to see you again, but running from the library to the kitchen.

He growled and spun around to follow you again, when another you appeared to the side and vanished before his eyes. ‘Y/N, I don’t like tricks,’ he hissed, but you weren’t there to calm his anger.

Mick appeared at your door, pounding hard with the side of his fist. Some of your replicants had returned to the host body, but you were still down one, and answering your door right now was something you didn’t know if you had the strength to do. And yet, you did it anyway.

‘Hi, Mick,’ you smiled, exhaustion plainly clear on your face. ‘How can I help you? Did your typewriter ribbon get caught again?’

He growled a response, and you smiled kindly at him, but your eyes widened at the sight of yourself standing behind him.

‘Gotta go!’ you grinned, quickly shutting your door and barricading it with your body. A soft knock sounded then, and you hoped it was yourself.

Opening it, you swallowed heavily as Mick still stood there. He seemed to have a strange look on his face, and your eyes trailed down to see his hand tightly holding a clump of blue orchids.

‘You’re from Virginia, yeah?’ he queried, forcing a smile as you nodded curiously. ‘I had a mission to break at least ten laws there, maybe you can help.’

Positive that wasn’t what he came there for, you gestured to the flowers. ‘You brought me flowers to ask if I wanna help you break laws?’

He tightened his fist around the flowers and finally blurted the true reason he was there, and the air immediately softened. ‘I uh… wanted to take you to dinner.’

‘Dinner?’

‘That’s what I said. You don’t have to drink, I know you don’t do that,’ he said, not even remotely tripping on his words, and his grumble was reduced to only a light grizzle.

You were stumped to say the least, and only when your last replicant returned to your body did you realise that the whole time you had been onboard the WaveRider, Mick had been flirting with you. He was asking you out, and you were about to say yes, until you realised he had just seen your powers.

‘Mick, wait, I can explain-’

‘No need, I’m caught up,’ he muttered, holding out the flowers. ‘So, dinner or breaking the law?’

taglist: @marvelfansince08love @mymarvelwomen @imnotasuperhero @natasha-danvers @veteranwerewolf95 @monihaswritersblock @natasharomanoffswife @xxxtwilightaxelxxx 

[callboxkat]

Infinitesimal (part 59)

Author’s note: Sorry for the wait on this one! Enjoy! :)

Warnings: injury and illness, hospital mention, captivity mention, arguing, food mention, death mention, more Christmas content in an entirely wrong month

Word count: 4890

Infinitesimal Masterpost!

Writing Masterpost!

...

An entire day without the humans.

That was what Logan had promised at breakfast that morning, saying that he was going to be spending the day with Roman in the hospital, and that he wouldn’t be back until after they would usually have dinner in the evening. Virgil still didn’t quite understand what a hospital was, other than they were apparently places humans went if they were sick or injured. And for some reason, everyone there wore strange outfits, like long white coats or entirely blue outfits, and pieces of fabric over their faces. Or at least, that was what he saw on the television.

“I’ll just grab something at the cafeteria there, or perhaps at a nearby store,” Logan had said, placing a plate on the table. “In any case, I likely won’t be coming back here to give you three your usual meals. Hopefully, these provisions will suffice, instead.”

The plate had contained the bottle caps with their breakfast, as well as some extra water, bread, butter, raisins and other dried fruit, nuts, veggie chips, and even what appeared to be an entire sugar cookie. It was more than they would need for the day. Far more. But Virgil hadn’t been about to point it out, let alone complain.

“It’s fine,” he had said, watching as Patton tentatively made his way over to the cookie. Emile, meanwhile, seemed to be trying not to laugh at the ridiculous hat the human wore—striped red and green, with what were clearly meant to be pointed ears on the sides, comically larger than a human’s normally were. Virgil had decided not to ask.

“Are you sure?” the human had checked. “Roman probably wouldn’t mind, and I could come up with an excuse for Remus—”

“It’s fine,” Virgil had insisted. “Just go to your hospital thing.”

Patton had looked up as Logan finally nodded, a tiny green sprinkle stuck to his cheek, sitting on the plate by the cookie. He shifted, glancing between them all before asking, “Will… will Roman be back soon?”

“Tomorrow morning, most likely,” Logan had said, a smile tugging at his lips. “He’ll be fine, don’t worry. He misses you three already.”

Virgil had frowned. “What? Why?” he had asked, not really thinking about it as he said it. His tone might have been slightly harsher and more incredulous than he’d intended it. Slightly.

Logan had let out a breath through his nose, glanced at Virgil, and got to his feet. “Well, I should get going,” he sighed. “Remus is waiting, and he did threaten to break down the door if we didn’t leave early enough—he was joking of course, don’t worry.”

And he had left, without another word.

…

“Virgil… that was a little mean,” Emile said. They’d been alone for a while now, and were in the middle of eating their breakfast.

Virgil, who had been contemplating joining Patton’s sugar cookie binge, lowered his spoon and turned towards his brother. “What was? I didn’t do anything.”

“Asking why Roman would miss us,” Emile said, as if that would make sense.

“How’s that mean? I can’t ask a question?”

Patton glanced up as he stuffed another handful of cookie in his mouth. His eyes flicked between the two of them.

“More the implication of it,” he shrugged (one-shouldered, of course).

Virgil frowned at him. “What implication?”

“Well… obviously, they care about us. Especially Patton, I’d guess, but they care about us too.”

Virgil gave him a heavily doubtful look.

“Logan just gave us an entire sugar cookie,” Emile pointed out, clearly feeling that that was all the evidence he needed, and that he didn’t need to bring up the wealth of other evidence he obviously had.

…Which, okay, maybe it was, and maybe he did. Maybe. But Virgil still didn’t see the problem.

Emile rubbed at his good eye. “So, when you asked why Roman would miss us, it sounded like you thought the idea that he might care was ridiculous. Implying that you don’t care about them, either.”

“Because I don’t. They’re humans.”

Emile gave him a long look, making Virgil feel a bit weird, but he wasn’t going to take back what he’d said.

“Well,” Emile said, “human or not, they have feelings. And Roman’s sick, and you basically just told Logan, who’s obviously very worried about him, that you don’t care.”

“What—” Virgil groaned. He hadn’t done anything! “Whatever. Who cares. I don’t care if they like me, as long as you get better.” He grabbed his crutches and started to get up. “I’m getting more food.”

Patton, who had started picking at the cookie rather than shoving it in his mouth, relaxed somewhat now that Virgil and Emile’s tense conversation had ended. “Do you want some, Em?”

Emile smiled at him. “Sure.”

Virgil sat down and irritably bit into a piece of the admittedly very tasty cookie, watching as Patton brought a piece of it over to his brother, laying a bit of paper towel over his lap so he wouldn’t get covered in crumbs.

…

An hour later, Emile was taking a nap, and Virgil and Patton were walking in laps around the table. It was partially so that Virgil could get more practice with his new crutches, and partially so that they could both stretch their legs. Sitting on the table all the time could leave them rather restless, especially since neither of them had left Emile’s side for long. The pair of them could technically leave whenever they wanted, even if for just a short while, but neither had in days. Not since Patton had fetched Virgil’s birthday presents, something that had been Emile’s idea.

“Do you really not care about them?” Patton asked after a while, speaking quietly so as to not wake Emile.

Virgil glanced over. “Do you?”

“I….” Patton worked his jaw, then shrugged. “Well, yeah. I do.”

“Why?”

“They did save me.”

“Isn’t not letting someone die kind of a low bar for decency?”

“It’s not just that.” Patton ducked his head as they walked. “I don’t know. I like them. They’re nice to me.” A moment passed, and then Patton looked back at Virgil, searching him. Virgil’s face grew slightly hot under his gaze. Patton nodded to himself, apparently satisfied with whatever he’d been looking for. “I think you do care about them. You just don’t want to admit it.”

“Pat, they’re human.”

“So?”

“So—Pat, come on. You should know more than anyone why littles and humans can’t be friends.”

Patton’s body language changed. He looked straight ahead and folded his arms tightly, much more closed off than before. Virgil instantly regretted what he’d said. It was cruel to remind Patton of something so awful. He knew his friend wanted nothing more than to forget it, despite the scars and the memories he still struggled with.

“Shouldn’t I of all people know how to tell a good human from a bad one?” Patton asked quietly, not looking at him.

Virgil took a deep breath, in and out, focusing on the swing of his crutches for a few steps. “Sorry. You’re right,” he said. He looked up at the ceiling, far, far above. “Look… I know. I know they care, at least in their own human way. And I know you wouldn’t go around getting attached to just any human. It’s just… hard, for me.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I guess I just….” Virgil paused, and Patton stopped walking as well. “I hate feeling helpless, you know? And being around humans is just… it’s hard to feel anything but helpless.”

“They haven’t hurt us, though,” Patton pointed out softly.

“I know. It’s just the fact that they could.”

Patton nodded. “I get it. It took me a long time to get used to them, too. After… you know.” He swallowed. “I was so sure they were going to….” He shuddered slightly. “But they didn’t. And I know they’re not going to.”

Virgil was silent for several long seconds. “I know they’re trying to be nice,” he said quietly, “and let’s say they really do care. But that doesn’t change who and what they are: They’re still human. I’m sure there’s a part of them that sees us as lesser, even if they deny it, even to themselves.”

“Virgil….”

“Did they ask you? When they took you from that beach, did they ask you if it was okay?”

He’d meant the question rhetorically, but Patton seemed to consider it. His friend paused, then sat down on the table. Virgil joined him. Patton pulled up his knees and put his chin on top of them. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I think I passed out before they could.”

Virgil grimaced. “And before that?”

“I was hiding in a shell,” Patton said. “And they were there, collecting shells, they told me. And I guess they found the one I was in, so I must’ve gotten out….” He furrowed his brow, thinking hard. “I’m not really sure what happened after that.”

“Did they chase you? Try to catch you?”

Patton opened his mouth, then closed it, uncertain. “…Maybe,” he admitted. “I don’t know. But maybe, for a second.”

Virgil nodded, his suspicions confirmed. “That’s what I thought.”

“It was just a second!” he protested weakly. “I’m sure it all happened very fast. They’d never seen a little before. They probably didn’t know how to react.”

“But they did try to catch you, without your permission, before they even knew you needed help. Doesn’t that tell you something?”

Patton was starting to look distressed. “They didn’t even know if I could talk, at first, or understand them. I remember that. At the start, they kept saying I probably didn’t know what they were saying, but they’d try. They didn’t know if I was like them, or just… I guess an animal who looked like them.”

Virgil gave him a doubtful look.

“Ever since they found out, they tried to treat me more like a person.”

“But they still kept you in a cage.” Among other things they had done that Patton seemed to be forgetting. They might have been months ago, but that didn’t mean they didn’t happen.

“…They didn’t lock it. And I hardly went in there.”

Virgil snorted, and was about to point out that he had on top of a table even taller than this one at the time, too sick to get away; but before he could, he realized that there were tears beginning to collect in Patton’s eyes.

That was more than enough to shut him up.

A beat passed.

Patton rubbed at one eye. “They apologized for everything and let me go,” he said finally, “and they saved me and Emile. Without asking for anything in return. That’s what I choose to remember.” He looked at Virgil pleadingly. “Just try to give them a chance, okay? Just try to be nice? And not just because they’re so big? I think it’d make them really happy.”

Virgil looked Patton up and down, then reluctantly nodded. “Okay. I’ll try.” He’d do it to make Patton happy, at least.

Patton smiled and hugged him. “Thank you.”

Virgil hugged him back, not sure what else to say.

…

When Emile woke up from his nap, they had had lunch, which consisted of bread and butter and dried fruit, and more of the sugar cookie for dessert. Virgil was beginning to wonder if any of the cookie would be left by the time Loan returned.

Later in the day, they changed Emile’s bandages again. Virgil was glad to see how much his brother’s injuries had improved. The rope burn on Emile’s arm was gone, now, and the bruises on his body had nearly faded away. The cut on his head also looked much better. Virgil wasn’t sure if it really needed a bandage anymore; but he’d rather be safe than sorry, when it came to his brother’s health. Maybe they could ask Logan about it when he returned, the littles decided.

The concussion, broken arm and tail, sprained ankle, and dislocated shoulder would all take longer to fully heal, but they would heal.

Afterwards, Emile went for another short walk—strictly two laps this time. He didn’t seem inclined to argue with that limit, especially given how his last attempt at a third lap had ended. Virgil was glad for that.

Much of the afternoon they spent talking and making up games they could play with what they had with them on the table. Snowflakes drifted past outside, visible through the gaps in the curtains until the sun went down.

Overall, it wasn’t a bad day.

It was sort of strange, to go so long without so much as a peep from either human. As hard to believe as it was, Virgil had actually started to get used to their presence. He also caught Patton looking towards the doorway a few times, as if hoping they’d show up, and Emile had made a comment about Logan’s absence as they got ready to eat dinner. Maybe they were wondering how Roman was doing—and, okay, maybe Virgil was kind of curious about that too.

…

Late that evening, Logan finally returned. From the sound of it, he was carrying the same large bag he had left with that morning, but it seemed to be significantly emptier.

The light flicked on in the kitchen as the human entered, and there was the quiet sound of him setting down what he had been holding. Then, there was a small sigh, and footsteps approached the living room.

Logan knocked on the door frame, which was rather unnecessary, considering he already had all three littles’ attention.

“Good evening,” he said with a small smile, coming inside. The ridiculous hat he had worn earlier and the day before was in his hands, now. He knelt in front of the table, to be closer to eye level, staying a few feet away. “Did you three have a good day?”

“Sure,” said Virgil, to play nice.

“Did you?” Emile asked, only somewhat timidly.

Logan nodded, a fond look on his face as he thought about it. “Yes, it was quite enjoyable. More so than I had expected.”

“How’s Roman?”

“Is Roman okay?” Patton blurted out at the same time.

“Roman is doing well,” Logan said. “He’s resting, and he seems in good spirits. He’s not happy to be in the hospital, especially today, but we tried to make the best of it.”

“Especially today?”

Logan nodded vaguely, looking off to one side.

“Can we have another sugar cookie?” Patton asked, apparently unable to stop himself.

Logan looked amused, and his eyes drifted to the half-finished cookie on the plate. “I can get you another tomorrow,” he said. “I think Remus ate the last one in the car. I’m glad to see you like them.”

Patton looked pleased at the idea.

  Logan set down the ridiculous hat he’d been holding, put his hands on his legs, then asked, “Do you three celebrate Christmas, by chance?”

“…Why?” Virgil asked rather than answering. He tried to remind himself that Logan was probably only asking out of curiosity; but he still didn’t quite feel secure enough to admit that he and Emile had never celebrated it, and that they only knew some vague information about the holiday. He didn’t know if Patton had ever celebrated it, or if he knew any more about it than they did; but now was probably not the time to ask. He kept a carefully neutral tone, rather than allowing any bite to sneak in. For Patton.

“Well, Christmas was today,” Logan informed them. “Or is today, more accurately. Roman is quite fond of the holiday, and he was disappointed to have to spend it in the hospital, regardless of my and his brother’s efforts to cheer him up. He will likely wish to do some sort of celebration with the three of you, once he is home and able.”

“Some sort of celebration”? What does that mean? Virgil frowned.

Emile and Patton also looked unsure, so Logan added, “It won’t be any sort of large celebration, especially given that he needs to rest. I believe he has presents for the three of you, however.” He paused, then continued in a slightly more humorous tone, “It will likely involve more sugar cookies, if that is at all persuasive.”

“He’s found our weakness,” Emile hissed behind his good hand.

He probably hadn’t meant for Logan to hear that, but the human clearly had. He let out a small huff of a laugh.

“There’s no reason to be nervous, I assure you. It will be very, ah… “low-key”.”

“Okay,” Patton said shyly, the first to respond.

He might admit to caring about the humans, Virgil thought, watching as Logan straightened to his full, impossible height, but they do still make him nervous. As they should.

…

The next morning, Logan brought Roman home.

He’d warned them, at breakfast, that he would be doing so; and sure enough, just over an hour after Logan had left for the hospital, they had arrived. Virgil had looked up as he heard the door open. The pair had walked in, and someone—probably Logan—had dragged a kitchen chair out for the other—probably Roman—to sit down in with a muffled thump. Virgil could hear the both of them now, talking in the kitchen. Roman’s voice was low and quiet and infrequent, enough that Virgil couldn’t make it out very well. Logan’s voice, however, was clear. He kept asking Roman if he was okay, checking that he was comfortable, things like that. Nothing overly interesting, although interesting chit-chat wasn’t what Virgil was listening for.

Finally, Logan’s footsteps approached the living room. He stood in the doorway and knocked.

All three littles had already been watching the doorway, of course.

Logan smiled tiredly. “Roman is here,” he informed them, unnecessarily. He shifted on his feet. Virgil felt nervous, wondering what that was about. “He is feeling much better than he did before,” he said slowly. “But… I hoped to make a request.”

Patton and Emile glanced at each other.

“What kind of request?” Patton asked, his head tilted slightly.

“Well… as you know, Roman is still not feeling quite like his usual self. I would propose that he and I spend tonight, and perhaps tomorrow night, or ideally however many it takes until he is well, in the living room with you. We would stay on the couches, without bothering you any more than necessary. I would greatly appreciate it—"

Virgil had heard enough. “No. No, absolutely not.”

Patton didn’t exactly look keen on the idea either, but also didn’t seem to agree with Virgil’s flat refusal. “Virgil…”

“I said no.”

“It is their home,” he said softly. “They’re letting us stay here. We should hear him out.”

“No. I know you asked me to be nice, but no. We’re not doing that.”

“I understand why you would be reluctant,” Logan said, “but all I want is for more of us to be around, in case something happens. I doubt anything will, but… I…” Logan swallowed. “I almost didn’t find him. I almost didn’t get out of bed.” He looked to one side, appearing briefly lost in thought. He straightened again. “It would ease a lot of anxiety, to know that I was not the only one around to notice if something happened.”

Virgil frowned at him, still not exactly pleased.

“If something did happen, what could we do?” Emile asked quietly, but loud enough for the human to hear, posing what Virgil felt was a very good question.

“Not much,” Virgil put in.

“Perhaps not physically,” Logan allowed, “but you could alert me to his plight.”

“…Won’t you be there anyway? Why can’t you have a sleepover in one of your rooms?”

Logan colored slightly. “I have considered it, but… I’m not the lightest sleeper,” he admitted.

The littles all glanced at each other. Emile gave a one-shoulder shrug. Patton was biting his lip. Virgil folded his arms.

Logan looked towards the kitchen. “Just… allow me to fetch him. Please. So that you can see him, before you make up your minds.”

Pretty sure I already made up my mind, Virgil thought. But he didn’t say anything as Logan left.

They heard a few whispered words, and then Logan returned, with Roman holding onto one of his arms.

Patton let out a small gasp, and Virgil’s arms unfolded as he stared at the human.

Roman’s face was dotted with bits of sweat, his hair dull, his face paler than usual. He leaned on Logan, his breathing shallow. Virgil could hear it as he wheezed in and out.

Still, when he saw the littles, he smiled.

“Sit down here,” Logan urged, leading Roman to the seat on the couch closest to the doorway. Roman sank into it gratefully, leaning his head on the back of the couch and closing his eyes, like just walking in from the kitchen had exhausted him.

…Damn it.

“Fine,” Virgil said.

…

Logan had set Roman up on the couch, propped up on pillows and covered with lots of fluffy blankets, holding a smoothie and with Netflix pulled up for him on the TV.

“They added Avatar,” Roman told the “mouse-men”, his voice softer and airier than usual, but still cheerful, “So it’s... a lot easier… than the DVDs.”

The “mouse-men”, who were all sharing two bottle caps, each filled with a bit of Logan’s and Roman’s smoothies (Logan’s was strawberry-banana, Roman’s mango-blueberry), clearly didn’t understand what this meant; but Emile especially seemed happy at the idea of watching more of the cartoon series.

Logan was very glad that the three of them had agreed to let him and Roman stay in the living room with them. It made him feel better, knowing that there were three more people around to notice if Roman had another attack and couldn’t alert Logan.

He thought of the night before Christmas Eve, when Roman had had his attack. Logan had only gone to check on Roman because of the second crash, not the first. What if there had only been one, only the sound of the rocks being knocked to the floor? Would Logan have woken enough when it had happened to recognize what it was? Or would he have assumed the same thing he first assumed when he heard Roman’s dresser drawer fall—that Roman was simply being a bit careless as he worked on things in his room? Would he have found his friend in time?

Sure, after what had happened, he would be significantly more inclined to check on his friend after any sort of crash, or remotely similar sound; but that fact didn’t guarantee that Logan would wake up in the first place, or recognize what had woken him. He was a heavy sleeper, as much as he wished he could be otherwise. What if something happened, and Logan slept through the whole thing? He shuddered at the thought.

“Too cold?” Roman asked, interrupting his thoughts.

Logan glanced up. “What?”

“Your smoothie,” Roman said. “Brain freeze?”

“Ah… perhaps a bit,” Logan said. He took another sip, then gestured at the television. “Have you decided what episode you’re going to watch?”

“We’re on The Siege of the North.”

A couple of episodes later, as the credits began to roll, Logan got up to dispose of his now-empty smoothie cup, Roman caught his eye. He looked meaningfully at Logan, then at the “mouse-men”, and back.

Logan paused. Presents? he mouthed questioningly.

Roman nodded, and put his hands together in a begging gesture, hidden behind a pillow so the “mouse-men” couldn’t see. Not that they would have noticed anyway—Emile and Patton were too busy talking about the ending of the first season of their show, dragging an only somewhat reluctant Virgil along in their excitement.

Logan nodded, went to get rid of his cup like he had planned, and returned holding the three small packages he had found in Roman’s air vent, as well as the small decorated Christmas tree he and Remus had brought to the hospital. He’d even put on the ridiculous elf had Remus had given him. By the time he returned with everything, the “mouse-men” had mostly calmed down, and instead watched as he handed Roman his reindeer antler headband, placed the little Christmas tree on an unoccupied table, and then set the gifts before the “mouse-men”. Thankfully, they had just finished not only an episode but a season of the show they had been watching, so the timing was good for Roman hit pause.

“What’s this?” Virgil asked, eyeing his box. Logan had informed them about the presents’ existence, but the “mouse-man” was clearly unsure about what said presents might be, and how he should feel about them.

“Presents,” Roman said simply, smiling.

Patton inspected his box as well, then looked for a long moment at the small, plastic Christmas tree with an expression Logan couldn’t read. Emile followed his gaze and hesitantly pointed at it. “What’s that?”

“That is a Christmas tree,” Logan said, sitting on the second sofa, since Roman was taking up most of the first. “They’re traditional for the holiday. Sometimes they’re real trees; but as you can see, this one is artificial. People decorate them with lights and ornaments, often winter or Christmas themed, although they can be almost anything. Most commonly, they’re colored spheres.”

Emile looked no less confused, but he did seem interested. “Why?”

Roman shrugged, snuggling into his blanket nest. “Fun? I always liked… decorating them with… my family.”

Emile seemed to accept that answer, and turned to look at his present. Patton pushed it closer for him while Virgil looked on, conflicted.

“You may open them,” Logan encouraged.

Roman was also watching, clearly trying to hide how excited he was.

Patton and Emile started peeling back the paper, with Virgil following their lead a second later. Patton finished opening his present first. He lifted up the lid, and pulled out an inch-square piece of paper.

“It’s a drawing! Of…” he blinked. “Me?”

“Do you like it?” Roman asked, sounding simultaneously very excited and very shy.

Patton stared at it for a second, then nodded, his eyes wide. He murmured something that Logan didn’t make out, then said, “How did you draw this?”

Roman looked sheepish. “With great care… and about six tries.”

…

The drawing of Patton was done in very careful colored pencil. The lines were thick enough that it was very obviously a drawing, but it captured Patton’s face almost perfectly. He was smiling, his hair smoother and fuller than it was in real life, and looked as if it would feel soft if you were to touch it. Great care had clearly been taken to get just the right blue-green hue of his eyes.

It was a good drawing, Virgil would admit, especially since a human’s large, clumsy fingers had managed to create it.

Virgil looked away and lifted up the box lid of his own present, revealing that he had also received a drawing. It was done in colored pencil, like Patton’s, and also like Patton’s, it was of him. Virgil pulled it out and looked at it. He could feel Roman’s eyes on him, probably hoping for a reaction, but Virgil did his best to ignore him and just look at the drawing.

The drawing looked just like Virgil, even with the right eye color and the graphite smeared under his eyes, and the start of the hoodie he always wore. He wasn’t smiling, but he looked… strong. Confident. Defiant. Capable. Not at all like the weak, helpless tiny thing he might have expected a human to see him as.

Huh.

Emile was the last to get his gift open, given the fact that he had to do so with one arm. Once he got the box lid off, Virgil helped him pull out the paper within.

“I had to make some guesstimates… with yours,” Roman said, reaching up to touch his temple where the bandages covered Emile’s own. “I hope I got… it right. ”

He had. The drawing in his and Emile’s hands looked exactly like Emile, minus the injuries and bandages that currently obscured his features. He was smiling in his drawing, like Patton, although not as widely. He looked… the only word Virgil could come up with for it was protective. Which suited Virgil’s brother very well.

“Do you like them?” Roman asked.

“I do,” Emile said.

Virgil nodded, looking back at his own drawing.

After the presents were opened, the humans switched from watching Avatar; The Last Airbender to a movie Virgil didn’t recognize. A Christmas movie, they said. Virgil wasn’t sure what elves who wanted to be “dentists” or deer with glowing red noses had to do with Christmas, or how any of this made any sense; but Patton seemed invested in the movie from the start, so he just watched without saying anything. Patton even seemed to be ignoring the Christmas tree, even after Logan had plugged in a cord to light it up.

Next, they watched a movie called The Nightmare before Christmas.

“I think you’re gonna like this one,” Roman had told Virgil knowingly as Logan put it in the player.

…He was right. Virgil didn’t just like it. He loved it.

Not that he would tell the humans that, but he knew that he wouldn’t have had to.

[elisajdb]

GoChi Week 2021: A Fulfilled Life: Part Two

GoChi Week 2021

A Fulfilled Life

Day Two Prompt: Romantic @gochi-week

Goku added another log of wood to the dying fire. The flames grew twice its size from the thick log. Goku hoped that will be enough. It was the last one. He could go out and get more firewood but he promised to stay here and watch Celia. When Goku made a promise, he kept it.

Celia laid nearby on a futon wrapped in a blanket. Her sudden coughing had Goku rushing to her side. “Are you all right? Do you need anything?”

Celia cleared her hoarse throat. “You’re so kind. If I were well, I would cook you a meal. Seeing you eat, always makes me happy. You’re so adorable.”

“Adorable?”

“It means kind; you make people feel good. No one has reacted the way you have to my cooking.” Celia’s sickly smile was tender. “You eat every morsel and you’re always hungry for more. You’re special.”

Goku was used to being called names. Most were of criticism. Very rare he received praised for being himself and he received a lot from Celia. Celia was a kind woman. She fed him yummy meals and mended his clothes. When she fell ill, Goku did all he could to accommodate her. Goku never got sick but saw it happen to Master Roshi, Krillin and Lunch but Celia appeared sicker. Last night she was burning up and this morning she woke with chills and couldn’t move from her futon. If something wasn’t done soon, she’ll die and Goku didn’t want that to happen to a kind woman like Celia.

The cabin door burst open. A man in a bearskin coat, matching hat, knitted scarf and gloves walked in. He had a large sack over his right shoulder and logs of wood under his left arm. He kicked the door shut to keep the cold air out.

“How’s Celia, Goku?”

Goku took the logs of wood from the burly, bearded man. He stacked them by the fireplace. “Still sick. She looks really bad, Silas.”

Silas set down his sack and removed his hat and scarf as he approached Celia. Goku stared at the two confused. Celia was ill but the way Celia and Silas smiled at each other reminded Goku of those weird movies blue-haired Lunch loved to watch. She always cried watching them. Silas touched Celia’s forehead with his gloved hand. “You’re burning up again. Sorry I took so long to get back to you.”

Goku saw Celia wrap her sweaty hands around Silas’s gloved one. Celia didn’t allow any direct touching in fear she will spread her sickness to him and Silas. “You’re here now, Silas.”

“I have the medicine to cure you. I’ll make it now.” Silas grabbed his heavy bag and carried it to the kitchen. “I’ll need your help, Goku.” Silas placed the bag on the table. Goku climbed onto the seat and stood on it to peer inside the bag Silas opened.

A foul stench latched itself onto Goku’s nose. He covered his nose with his hands to protect himself but the strong scent penetrated his hands. “Yuck! What stinks?”

Silas pulled out a variety of green and color plants and wet, squishy dark red organs. “This is medicine for Celia, Goku. These plants are medicinal herbs: yellow root, echinacea, elderberry, hyssop, lemongrass and catnip. This squishy flesh is liver from bear and boar. It’s all around these mountains. It’s better than the chemical medicines used in the big cities.”

The foul stench made Goku’s head hurt. “It stinks!”

Silas grabbed a mortar and pestle. “It does. City medicines don’t have a stench. Chemicals are used to drown the smell. It makes their medicine less effective.” Silas placed the yellow root in the mortar. He began mashing it with the pestle. “Watch and learn, Goku. You may have to use this to cure someone you love one day.”

Goku wiped the sweat off his forehead. He did everything from memory: mashed the plants he collected in the mortar and pestle until they were fine crumbs, drained the blood from the bear and boar liver and boil for an hour; transfer the livers in another pot and boil again for another hour with the crushed herbs.

While that cooked, Goku made chicken soup from a recipe in the cooking books ChiChi sometimes used. He mentally thanked ChiChi for showing him to use appliances and kitchen utensils a year ago when Gohan was a newborn and she needed extra help around the house. The soup was finished an hour before the medicine was ready. Goku spent that time cleaning the kitchen. It was a mess with dirt and animal blood on the floor and table. The counter was covered with messy bowls and stains of food. If ChiChi saw this mess, she’ll kill him. Grabbing a soapy towel, Goku started his big clean. He occasionally looked up to check on Gohan in the other room.

The two-year-old sat on the sofa, clutching his stuffed rabbit engrossed with the talking animals on TV. He was wide awake. After Goku fed Gohan breakfast, he placed Gohan in a carrier and attached him on his back. He’ll take it to his grave he gathered herbs and killed wild animals while Gohan napped on his back. It was either take Gohan with him or leave him unattended at home while ChiChi slept. ChiChi was so ill she couldn’t get out of bed so Goku made a hasty decision. It was all for ChiChi’s health but Goku knew ChiChi wouldn’t see it that way if she knew the truth.

Goku finished mopping the floor when the timer on the stove beeped. Goku turned off the shrilled sound. He raised the lid off the pot. “Ugh!” he groaned. The scent was putrid. “Guess it’s ready.”

Goku filled a mug of the smelly brew. Remembering Silas’ final instructions, he sprinkled cinnamon and stirred to mute the foul scent. Now it was time for the final test. Goku blew on the mug. His lips touched the top of the mug but before he could taste the liquid contents, Goku pulled back.

“Argh!” The cinnamon didn’t help at all! “It still smells like dookie!”

Pinching his nose, Goku sipped the liquid and quickly spat it out. Still bitter and foul; exactly as it should be.

Goku heard ChiChi coughing heavily as he entered their bedroom. He cautiously walked in carrying a tray with a bowl of soup and a mug with a saucer plate covering it. “ChiChi, I got something for you.”

ChiChi groaned as she pulled the covers off her face. She felt as if she was hit by a truck. Her body ached, her head throbbed and her throat was sore. ChiChi sat up and pushed her messy hair back.  She thought she was delirious. Goku held a tray of food. Was this for her? “Did you cook?”

Goku placed the tray on the nightstand. “Just medicine and soup.” Goku handed ChiChi the mug.

“Medicine?” ChiChi noticed the mug had a saucer plate over it. She lifted the saucer, “Why is this…. Ugh!” ChiChi closed it. “It’s ghastly. What is this?”

“Medicine. Drink it. It stinks but it will make you better. I promise.”

ChiChi removed the saucer and immediately recoiled. “Urrgh! How do you know it will make me better?” ChiChi sipped and pulled back. She shuddered as some of the liquid went down her throat. “I taste yellow root and lemongrass. Ugh. This smells like a dead animal.”

Goku knew ChiChi would throw the mug back at him if she knew liver from boar and bear helped created this concoction. “Fresh stuff and herbs I picked outside. When I trained for the 22nd tournament, I met Silas and Celia. They live in the mountains south of Yunzabit Heights. I got the recipe from them.”

“Who are Silas and Celia?”

“A married couple. I was living outside when Silas found me hunting dinner. It was winter and he didn’t think it was right for a kid to be living outside. I told him I can take care of myself but he insisted and invited me to his home for a meal. I stayed with them for a month before I moved on. Grandpa taught me some things, too, but I forgot. Silas showed me what plants to pick, what to eat and how to create herbs to season any meat I hunt. When Celia got sick, he made medicine with plants and stuff around his home.”

ChiChi looked skeptically at the mug. “Did it work?”

“Yeah,” Goku nodded. “It stinks but Celia was better the next day. She’s a nice lady. She made a lot of yummy food for me and fixed my clothes whenever I tore them. I think she was really nice to me because she and Silas didn’t have kids.”

ChiChi stared at the putrid liquid. After hearing that story, there was no way she could reject this. She pinched her nose and drunk the hot, smelly liquid in four gulps. She made a gagging sound as she handed the empty mug to Goku. “I hope it works.” She rubbed her throat. The aftertaste was horrific!

“Time for the good stuff,” Goku said as he handed ChiChi the soup.

This pleasing smell of the hot soup made ChiChi’s mouth water. “Is this my reward for drinking the stinky medicine?”

“Yup. Silas did this for Celia, too.”

“And you’re doing this for me,” she whispered. For several moments, ChiChi stared at the soup.

When she tasted it, Goku saw tears roll down ChiChi’s cheeks. “What?” he panicked. “Is it bad? Did I put too much salt?”

“No. Nothing’s wrong,” ChiChi sniffed. “This is so sweet. I didn’t know you were a romantic, Goku.”

“Romantic?” Goku knew that word. It always tied with flowers and doing nice gestures. Romantic didn’t tie to medicine and food. “I just made medicine and soup.”

“You did,” ChiChi cried, “but it’s more than that. You remembered something years ago to take care of me.”

“Yeah?” Goku drawled slowly still not seeing what he did as romantic. It was practical. ChiChi’s sick and Goku thought of some medicine he felt will cure her. How was that romantic?

ChiChi stirred the hot soup with a spoon before taking a bite. “Mmm,” she moaned. This was so good and what she needed to wash down the nasty medicine! “Delicious. This is the best soup I’ve ever tasted!”

“It is?” Goku tasted it. It was okay but not as good as the soup ChiChi makes. Maybe this cold weakened ChiChi’s sense of taste.

ChiChi wasn’t sure if the medicine was working but her mood was lifting at the wonderful gesture of her sweet and romantic husband. “Where’s Gohan? Did you feed him this wonderful soup, too?”

“Not the soup but Gohan’s already eaten breakfast and lunch. He’s watching TV now.”

ChiChi groaned. Gohan was only allowed an hour of TV time a day and she knew Goku broke that rule. “Did you put Gohan in front of the TV all day?”

“Yeah,” Goku knew ChiChi would be upset with that, “but he’s watching those educational videos. I had to distract him while I made your medicine and soup.”

“Okay.” ChiChi accepted that excuse. After this sweet gesture from her husband, ChiChi couldn’t be mad at Goku today.

Goku kept ChiChi company until she finished her meal. When he left, the concoction of the medicine finally got to her. She fell asleep at three in the afternoon and didn’t awaken until thirteen hours later.

Her throat wasn’t sore; her nose wasn’t stuffy, her body didn’t ache. She didn’t feel sick at all.

The medicine worked.

For the first time in two days, ChiChi got out of bed. She felt great! She was so happy to be strong enough to cook and clean again for her family, and after the way Goku took care of her, ChiChi wanted to give him a big meal and later tonight, show her thanks in her own personal way.

However, with Goku running the house these last two days, ChiChi knew she had a big task on her hands. Her house. Her kitchen. How much of a mess did Goku leave for her?

To ChiChi’s surprise, the kitchen was spotless. The floor was mopped clean. There were no food stains on the table, counter or refrigerator. All the dishes were put away in their correct spots. ChiChi was impressed. Goku was never this clean. The few times Goku cooked, ChiChi was left to clean the tsunami mess he left behind.

ChiChi went to the living room next. This was Goku’s bedroom for the last two days. When she became ill, ChiChi kicked Goku out of their bedroom. She didn’t want to risk him getting sick. If she and Goku were sick, who will care for Gohan? The television was off but the lamplight was still on. This room wasn’t as neat as the kitchen but ChiChi’s heart melted as she understood why. Goku slept on the sofa with Gohan on his chest. Her baby’s tiny hands clutched Goku’s shirt as he peacefully slept. An opened baby book was sprawled over Goku’s face and papers were on the floor. ChiChi knelt and picked up the papers. They were folded like a card. ChiChi opened one. Her eyes watered at the words inside.

‘Get well soon, Mommy!’ With it, was a crude drawing of their happy family. Gohan could write some letters but they weren’t completely legible and he couldn’t form words yet. Goku’s education was limited but he did know how to read and write basic words and he wrote the following notes on the makeshift card.

Mommy always takes care of Daddy and me.

She gives good baths and makes yummy food.

When Mommy is sick, Daddy takes over.

Because Daddy loves Mommy like Silas loves Celia.

ChiChi clutched the card to her chest and softly wept.

Oh, Goku. You are a romantic.

[kieraswriting]

Coffin Chapter Six

Masterpost

“Oh. I see. Yes. Allow me to call you back momentarily.” Logan set the phone down.

“Who was that?” Roman asked.

“It was Emile. He wanted to know if we could house Remy, if only for a short time. His house is likely to be caught in the sweep this evening.”

“Who are they?” Roman asked.

“We met with them while considering what we ought to do with Virgil.” Logan explained. “Remy is a vampire, and is… at the very least, he will resort to violence to protect Emile.”

“Why would we keep him here? There’s plenty of room in the warehouse.” Roman asked.

“Roman, I am well aware of your stance on the matter, but please try to consider that others have differing positions. Emile wishes us to keep Remy and release him afterwards. To protect and hide him from the sweep.”

Roman frowned. “Why would he…?” His voice trailed off. “He wants us to keep a vampire alive, and let it go afterward. To go against the goal we’ve been working towards for years, and to do it behind the backs of the other hunters.”

“Yes. That is what he has requested. Though I am not certain that he is aware of our participation in the sweep.”

“No. I’m not doing it. It’s not—it’s just not right, Logan!”

“I am not in a position to make a moral judgement on this either way. However, I will say that I am inclined to allow him to stay.”

“Why?!”

“Because in all that I’ve seen of him, he acted to protect someone. And it is that person asking us to help him.”

“I just don’t understand. Just because Virgil is good at acting suddenly you both go and get all soft on vampires.”

“Surely you don’t entirely agree with the sweep. You seemed just as distraught as Patton the other night.”

“I don’t like how it’s playing out, but I still think that it’s the right idea. How could you not? Vampires have been hurting and killing for hundreds, probably thousands of years! If they were just gone, we could stop all that.”

“There. That is the point on which we differ.”

“What? That vampires hurt people?”

“No. I agree with you that vampires have caused pain and death, but I do not believe that it will stop if they are killed. It could just as easily be argued in the exact same way from their side. Humans have hurt and killed vampires for just as long as vampires have.”

“But if there’s a war from us to them, and from them to us, and it’s the war causing the problems, wouldn’t it be better for it to be over?”

“I do believe that there would be less pain if people didn’t hurt one another, but attempting to wipe out an entire subsection of people is not a cessation of fighting. It’s quite the opposite, actually.”

“But they aren’t people!” Roman insisted. “As long as there are vampires around they’ll hurt us.”

“I would have been inclined to agree with that sentiment a month or two ago, but since then I’ve opened myself to the possibility of vampires retaining their humanity. And I have found that at least 60% of them retain some aspect of the person they were before, and at least 20% of those are only marginally changed by the turning.”

Roman frowned.

“I still do not know what is the determining factor in the change,” Logan continued. “And I admit that my own experiences are much of what I can draw upon to support this hypothesis. Despite this, I intend to continue to explore this possibility and to seek out more data and obtain other people’s views on this.”

“And what is it that first made you think that vampires count as people?” Roman asked.

“It was Virgil. I believe I have recounted the result of the second test I put him through?”

Roman nodded. “So he’s a good actor. I can be a good actor. And at that point he was still under the threat of being put back in the coffin. He’d have done anything.”

“He was not under any kind of direct threat. While I could have done so, I did not, and certainly did not inform him of any consequences to failing the test. Neither did I inform him that it was a test. I believe that his decision, while possibly influenced by fear of retaliation, was mainly for the purpose of not harming another person.”

“And what, not wanting to hurt someone makes him a person? He’s dead. Or was.”

“Your position that vampires are not people seems to hinge on the fact that they invariably hurt people, so it is reasonable that a desire, and action supporting that desire, in the opposite direction would indicate the opposite.”

Patton came downstairs, walking heavily, and his eyes were red with bags underneath.

“Dad wants me to come to his house, and he wants me to bring Virgil.” Patton poured himself a coffee, something he rarely drank.

“I can come with you,” Roman offered.

“I’d appreciate that.” Patton came and sat down with his coffee. He hadn’t put anything in it other than creamer, which was even more unusual.

“Emile called,” Logan said. “He’d like if Remy can stay here for tonight.”

Patton shrugged. “I don’t mind.”

Logan looked at Roman.

Roman grimaced. “Fine. But I’m not having some random vampire wandering around and trying to kill us. He has to be in the cell, and muzzled at least. Cuffed would be even better.”

Logan nodded. “I’ll remain here, and deal with that, then.”

•^*^••

Patton felt awful. If his dad hadn’t called he wouldn’t have gotten out of bed at all. The scene from a few nights ago kept replaying in his mind. Over and over. The blood, and… and the scream. And the worst part was that it was all his fault. If he just hadn’t gone…

Virgil was following him quietly. Because they were going to be in public, and especially since they were going to his dad’s house, Virgil had on the leather muzzle and his hands were cuffed. Patton could see that Virgil was on the line between nervous and scared, but what else was he supposed to do? His dad had been very specific. He wanted Virgil there.

And both Patton and Roman would be there in case anything went wrong.

Patton walked up to the house. He knocked on the door, but no one answered. After a minute he called his dad.

“Hello?”

“Hi, dad. Where are you?”

“Oh, I’m in the barn. Sorry about that, Pat.”

“That’s fine. I’ll be right there.”

It was fine, until they neared the barn. Maybe twenty or thirty feet away Virgil suddenly stopped, and pulled away from Roman when he tried to pull him forward.

“What’s wrong?” Patton asked.

Virgil couldn’t talk with the muzzle on, but he shook his head. His eyes were panicked, and he kept trying to pull away from Roman.

“Oh, come on. I’ve been in there loads of times. We aren’t handing you over or anything.” Roman said, pulling at Virgil’s arm again.

Patton laid a comforting hand on Virgil’s shoulder. “It’s alright. We’ll keep you safe.”

As soon as he opened the door Patton regretted not listening to Virgil. The sound of heavily muffled crying filled the air, not loudly at all, but all the more appalling for it. Patton looked around. Stacked five and six high, all around the barn, were coffins. His dad was standing in front of a row of cells, and in several of them were vampires, mostly laying on the ground.

“Dad. What-?”

“Patton!” His dad’s voice was far too loud, too cheerful. “Finally!”

His dad came and took him by the arm, pulling him towards the cells. The vampires inside were covered in burns.

Patton fought to breathe. His vision was swimming, and his legs threatened to buckle with every step.

“W-what..? Dad… what are you doing?” His voice only barely escaped his rapidly closing throat, and trembled the whole way out.

“Are you alright? You sound sick.”

Patton was shaking. He knew his face had to be deathly pale. The crying seemed to get louder, until it was all he could hear.

“Here, sit down, Pat.” His dad’s voice was all concern, but somehow that made it sound worse.

Patton collapsed into the cheap foldable chair. Soon Roman was there, kneeling in front of him.

“—on. Pat, come on. Talk to me.”

Patton suddenly realized that Roman had been trying to get his attention, his dad also there, but standing awkwardly, as if he didn’t know what to do.

Patton wasn’t sure that he could talk. He set a hand on Roman’s arm, and Roman smiled in a tight sort of way.

“Why don’t we go back to the house,” his dad suggested.

Roman picked Patton up, and Patton didn’t even have the strength to protest at all. Virgil followed, keeping himself where Roman was between him and Patton’s dad. He was shaking worse than Patton was.

It took several minutes of sitting on the couch with a cup of cold water for Patton to come back to himself. Roman was sitting next to him, and his dad was sitting in his chair just across the room. He looked around for Virgil, and found that he was sitting on the floor near the couch, his head bowed where Patton couldn’t see his face past his hair.

“Are you feeling better now?” Roman asked.

Patton nodded. “A bit, yeah.”

“What happened?” His dad asked. “If you were sick you could have told me. I’d never have wanted you to come all the way out here sick.”

“No, I-I’m not sick. Not that I know of.”

“Perhaps you should get checked out,” his dad suggested. “You nearly passed out back there.”

Patton nodded, still rather dizzy-feeling. “What did— what did you need me for?”

“It can wait, I have time.”

“No, I’m already out here, I can just…” Patton trailed off, but he knew his dad would understand anyway.

“Well, when I came to your house the other day, I unlocked your basement, but your vampire, instead of trying to ambush me, or trying to escape, just zipped back into the cell. I wanted you to show me how you did it. I’ve been trying on my own, but it hasn’t worked yet, and you always had a way with training vampires—“

Patton leaned over the arm of the couch, and Virgil had to scramble back to avoid getting puked on.

“Patton!” His dad came and felt his head. “You aren’t hot… I think you need to go to the emergency room.”

Roman left, and came back with a towel and a large bowl. Patton accepted the bowl and held it in his lap. He felt bad that Roman was cleaning up his puke, but he didn’t trust his legs to hold him if he tried to stand up.

“I’m gonna take him.” Roman said.

Patton’s dad nodded. “Yeah, that’d be a good idea. Call me when you figure out what’s wrong.” He leaned down and cupped Patton’s face. “Get better, honey, don’t worry about anything else, alright?”

Patton nodded weakly, still not sure that he wasn’t going to throw up again. “Can I take the bowl with me?”

“Of course. I don’t need it.”

Roman carefully picked Patton up again. He made Virgil take the front seat to that Patton could have the whole back row of the car.

They’d been driving for several minutes before Patton spoke. “I don’t think I’m sick.”

“You just threw up! And nearly passed out! What else is that supposed to be?”

“It’s just— I knew my dad didn’t like vampires, but I—I never would have thought—“ his words got cut off in a choked sob, and tears began pouring down his face. “And—and he wanted me to—“

Roman pulled over into a little side road, and stopped in an empty parking lot. He got out and came around into the back with Patton.

“Hey, it’s alright.” Roman hugged Patton as best he could with the awkward positioning.

“No, it-it isn’t! M-my dad tortures p-people!” Patton’s sobbing only got worse.

Roman just hugged him. He murmured soft things that didn’t mean anything, and stroked a hand through his hair.

•^*^••

When they got home, heh, he was thinking of it as home. Roman didn’t bother to really do anything with Virgil. Just opened the basement door, let him through, and closed and locked it.

Virgil went down the stairs, and was surprised to see a different vampire in the other cell. He was wearing the bar muzzle, but his hands were free. He only briefly glanced at Virgil before continuing his attempt at picking the lock, despite the burns he was getting.

Virgil sat down on the couch. His shoulders ached slightly from his hands being cuffed behind his back so long, but it paled in comparison to the sounds still running through his brain.

He sat there, partially drowning in his own thoughts, and partially trying desperately to escape from them.

Suddenly there was a loud noise, and movement in front of him. He jerked his head up, and saw the muzzle, laying on the ground, and a dent on the coffee table from where it had hit before bouncing off.

“Hey, know where the key is?” The other vampire asked.

Virgil shook his head.

The vampire sighed, and sat down on the mattress. “Agh, Emile…”

Virgil was mildly curious, but it wasn’t like he could ask. And the vast majority of him was just tired. A bone deep tiredness he hadn’t felt in a while. He was really starting to get hungry, too, which didn’t make anything better.

The other vampire didn’t talk to him, which made sense seeing as he couldn’t answer, and after a little while, Virgil fell asleep.