#anyway i put my own kneecap back into place (while screaming) which was probably my first mistake because now it is fucked

[amjustagirl]

Summary: Sakusa Kiyoomi's heart has always pointed north. He wonders if it's broken when it starts to point inexorably towards her. 

Set in the aftermath of The Astrophile, in the same universe as Storm Chaser.

Pairing: Sakusa Kiyoomi / f! reader

Genre: Fluff, angst, romance 

Wordcount: 7.8k 

Masterlist link here

A/N: Dedicated first and foremost to Ami @softsakusa, one of the first people to convince that my writing isn’t shit and that I should keep creating fics. 

This fic is also for all the readers who wanted a happy ending for the reader in The Astrophile (which sets out the backstory of the reader, Iwaizumi and Oikawa), and also follows the events of Storm Chaser (which follows the turbulent relationship of Miya Atsumu and now wife - I named her Kaiyo in this fic to avoid confusion!). 

Hope you like it - reblogs and comments are always dearly appreciated <3

It must be the worst meet cute of all time. 

That is – if he’s using that phrase correctly. It keeps appearing in the god-awful English movies Bokuto and Miya keep playing during team movie nights that makes him want to tear his hair out. 

But yes, he meets her at Miya Shino’s seventh birthday party, the birthday girl the apple of Miya Atsumu’s eye, the princess of his castle, the most perfect angel in the entire heavens - the list of pet names growing longer and longer the more the obnoxious setter prattles on about his daughter. 

And apparently Miya Shino is a chip off the old block, and is as obsessed with volleyball as her father. Which means that he, one Sakusa Kiyoomi, is forced to turn up on a Saturday afternoon for a birthday party to teach a group of children roughly about the same height as his kneecaps how to play volleyball. 

There are plenty of other MSBY players that Miya Atsumu could have rounded up to fritter away a Saturday afternoon. Hinata, for instance - the sunny, fiery headed opposite hitter a perennial favourite with young fans. Or Inunaki - the liberio has an amiable personality that he certainly wouldn’t mind snot nosed children hanging off his arms like a walking, talking monkey bar. But no, Hinata is apparently busy on a weekend meditation retreat, and Inunaki is at his sister’s wedding party, so both of them managed to escape this travesty of a birthday party. 

That leaves him with Bokuto who’s practically a child himself, beaming, bumping balls at screaming children with one hand, the other hand lifting another child above his head. Meian’s here too but his own kid is somewhere in this gaggle of monsters anyway, so he’s here to carry out his parental duties – hopefully his presence might balance the sheer chaos he’s sure he’s about to face.   

‘Omi-omi you made it!’ Atsumu greets him with a slap to the back. 

Sakusa resists the urge to bare his teeth. Is this what hell is? Screeching gremlins underfoot, the nauseating smell of fried food permeating the air. 

And it’s probably because he’s still in a horrified daze at the situation he’s put himself in (which Atsumu is either too dense to pick up on or already immune due to the series of similar expressions he pulls at him on a daily basis), Atsumu manages to snap a party hat on his head, before he prances off in victory. 

Sakusa snarls, ripping off the red paper hat off his head. 

Why on earth did he agree to this again? 

‘Sakusa-san! Thank you so much for coming!’ 

His glare softens by a fraction. 

Miya Kaiyo, Atsumu’s long suffering wife approaches him, careful not to touch him, waving at him instead. He appreciates her thoughtfulness, so he thaws a little, giving her a slight nod in greeting. 

Right, she’s the reason why he’s here. 

He’s always been fond of her - competent, patient, intelligent, far too good for her idiot of a husband. Approximately a year ago, he sought her professional help with his accounts. He graduated with a business degree from Chuo University, so he can tell there is obviously something fishy that his manager is pulling with his finances, but the accounting courses he took weren’t in depth to pinpoint the problem. Miya Kaiyo, on the other hand, a trained forensic accountant with a nose like a bloodhound for fraudulent accounts, nailed down the problem within a week. So when she asked him after a game whether he’d be free to attend her daughter's birthday party, he hadn’t been able to turn her down. 

‘It was no problem’, he says stiffly, already itching to spray the whole place down with disinfectant. ‘I’m glad to be here.’ 

Kaiyo laughs at his obvious lie, tugging at his sleeve to seat him in a corner. ‘You don’t have to go play with the kids if you didn’t want to! I invited you so we could catch up, and besides, I did want to introduce you to someone.’ 

‘Hm.’ 

He doesn’t try to mask his reluctance this time. Kaiyo means well, he knows, but between her and his mother, he’s tired of having to fend off match making attempts. It’s not like he can’t get a date – he can and he has, it’s just difficult to find someone willing to put up with his prickly personality and busy schedule.

‘Well she’s not here yet, so you’ll have to wait. And while we’re waiting, tell me how’ve things been, Sakusa-san?’ 

Grateful that he’s not going to be forced into shepherding children into playing anything remotely resembling an actual volleyball match (he suspects he might have more luck teaching cats how to do the conga), he settles into his seat, mouth stretching into something resembling a smile. He lets her chatter about work, and they’re deep in a discussion about his plans post-volleyball (because he can feel the countdown on his career in his creaking bones, his aching sinews)  when Atsumu swoops in on him again, like a vulture seeking easy prey. 

‘What’cha doin’ with my wife, Omi-omi’, he slips a hand around Kaiyo’s waist mock possessively. 

She swats at him. He ducks, raising his hands in surrender. 

‘I enjoy talking to an actual adult sometimes, ‘Tsumu!’ 

‘Oh come on, I already have to share you with ‘Samu most of the time, now you’re leaving me for Omi-kun?!’

‘Dramatic ass.’ 

‘Please, you chose to marry me.’ He crows, flipping his hair. He looks ridiculous, he always does. Kaiyo seems to agree - 

‘And I wonder why sometimes.’ She retorts, Atsumu squawking indignantly at her response, hair ruffling like an offended chick. But Kaiyo ruins the effect of her words by laughing, leaning over to affectionately peck her husband on the cheek. 

Sakusa should be annoyed by this display of childishness, but for some inexplicable reason, a frisson of longing bubbles in his chest instead. It’s strange. Marriage or even serious relationships have never been something he’s actively sought. After all, it always seemed horrendously illogical to put all your eggs in one basket and hope nothing trips up – but his heart pays his mind no mind, and the strange sensation continues to trickle down his throat into his chest. 

He makes up an excuse to slip to the bathroom for a tactical retreat from this madness. 

Then he takes a breath. 

Rinse. Lather hands with soap. Rinse. Repeat again .

Familiar motions, bred out of a desire to do things right, transformed into an unbreakable habit. Cold water, washing away soap bubbles.

Right. Now he’s ready for another plunge off the deep end . 

He’s a foot past the threshold of the community hall where the party is being held when Miya Shino darts towards him. She’s very clearly her father’s daughter with his penchant for mischief because she dives between his legs, making him stumble in confusion. Then Meian Shugo’s eldest son Makoto barrels towards him, intent on reaching the ball held aloft in Shino’s hands. 

Athletic reflexes be damned in the face of a pair of hell-spawn. 

‘Shino!’. Kaiyo shouts. 

‘Makoto!’ Meian thunders. 

Sakusa flails, decidedly without grace, and in his attempt at not squashing the two little devils, he manages to do something even  worse . 

Much, much worse. 

He manages to trip over his feet and bump right into the woman Miya Kaiyo wanted to introduce him to (this, he finds out later). It’s a lost cause – he’s six foot two of pure muscle, dwarfing her by a mile, and she’s carrying a huge box in her hand. 

He ends up face planting directly into her chest. 

His brain short circuits at the feeling of plush softness and vanilla and – , 

‘Woah - Omi-omi, never thought I’d have to defend the honour of my cousin in law’, Atsumu laughs.  

The sudden flare of irritation at Atsumu’s words kickstarts his brain back into gear. Rearing back in alarm, he promptly topples over onto his butt. 

‘Uncle ‘kusa, I’m sorry’ Shino screeches, distraught. Makoto merely snivels. Kaiyo is evidently the only one with working brain cells, because she rushes over to help them up.  

The-woman-with-the-mysterious-box makes Kaiyo take the box first. It holds precious cargo - Shino’s birthday cake, he later finds out, but because she manages to cling on to it with admirable tenacity, it emerges more or less intact. Then she turns to him, still sprawled on the floor. He scoots away, still dazed. 

She offers him a steady hand. ‘Hello’, she says. ‘It seems we’ve gotten off to rather a bad start.’

There is a hint of mirth in her voice, but her eyes are kind.  

He takes her hand with a rare smile. 

Miya Kaiyo grins behind the cake box. It turns out her daughter is a better matchmaker than either her or (heaven forbid) her husband. 

It turns out that Miya Kaiyo wanted to introduce him to her cousin, newly moved to Osaka from Tokyo. She’s a sports journalist, used to cover volleyball even, but for some reason their paths never crossed. She too, is tired of her cousin’s well intentioned meddling, but asks him if he’d like to meet her for dinner one day ‘if only to get Kaiyo off her back, because she’s persistent’, and funnily enough, he agrees. 

He doesn’t mind making a new friend, he reasons. She seems decent enough. 

They go out for dinner on a Tuesday night. She doesn’t complain when he tells her that due to his diet planned by MSBY’s nutritionist, most restaurants are off limits. Instead, she asks intelligent questions about whether the sources of protein and fibre he’s relying on are varied enough, even suggesting alternatives like tempeh, a Southeast Asian soy product. 

He appreciates that. 

She doesn’t also fawn over the fact that he’s a professional athlete. That makes sense, considering she’s probably interviewed dozens, if not hundreds of individuals who are just like him. It’s nice - he’s tired of groupies who start dates off by staring at him starry eyed, but ending it with disappointment in their eyes when they discover that he’s just a guy who practices hitting balls enough to do it for a living. And best of all, she doesn’t mind that their conversation sometimes wanes into silence. She doesn’t seem to feel the need to fill empty spaces with inane drivel, nor expect him to entertain her like a circus animal. 

He likes that. 

So when the night ends, he asks her whether she’d like to have dinner with him again. ‘Just as friends’, he’s quick to clarify. 

‘Sure’, she nods, and they bid each other goodnight.  

They start having dinner every Tuesday night, subject to their erratic schedules. 

He enjoys her company. She’s thoughtful, bringing him home made baked goods like zucchini cake (low sugar, of course), sneaking him chocolate scones for his cheat days after she discovers his hidden sweet tooth. She’s considerate too, never blinking an eye at his compulsive need to make sure everything is just in order, even if the waitress stands behind them aghast when he insists on using disinfectant to wipe down their table. She doesn’t even call him paranoid when he passes her a bottle of sanitizer. 

Slowly, he finds himself confiding in her about things he’d maybe only tell his cousin, Motoya. Or at least, the things he would tell Motoya if the guy would only pick up his calls. 

‘Sorry’, Motoya texts back after a couple of missed calls. ‘ Practice has been brutal recently. 

In a remarkable display of restraint, Sakusa does not point out that EJP Raijin is below MSBY in this season’s rankings. 

So he tells her instead about how he’s contemplating retirement, how he’s trying to chart out his next steps career wise. She surprises him by listening to him gravely, pointing out that he can lean on his business degree to possibly land an office job in event management or with sports associations, putting him in touch with one overly excited Kuroo Tetsuro. He tucks her suggestions away carefully at the back of his mind.   

It’s nice to have a friend, he tells himself, his lips quirking ever so slightly when her hand grazes his as they walk down the street together. 

He invites her to the monthly gatherings that the MSBY players take turns to host for their family and friends, making the excuse that he needs a human shield in any event hosted by Miya Atsumu. She agrees easily, perking up at the chance to spend a Sunday afternoon with her cousin and niece - ‘ and Kaiyo’ll need help, especially since she’s pregnant’, bringing far too many cupcakes topped with the lightest, fluffiest cream cheese frosting he’s ever had the pleasure of tasting. Even Miya Osamu gives her a nod of respect after stuffing his face full of her cupcakes.  He, unlike his twin, has good taste.

Her brow furls into a concerned frown when he quietly sneaks himself a second cupcake. ‘You don’t have to force yourself to eat it just to be polite! I made it, so  I  know it has so much sugar and butter it would make your nutritionist weep. If you want, I snuck some zucchini cake in my handbag for you instead.’ 

He stubbornly shovels a large bite into his mouth. ‘I won’t tell if you don’t.’ 

She bursts into laughter, leaning forward to wipe away the smudge of frosting on the tip of his nose with her thumb. 

Miya Kaiyo shoots him a knowing look across the room, waggling her eyebrows in an eerie imitation of her husband. He fights to keep his face blank, refusing to feed her satisfaction, but fails, a hot flush rising in his cheeks. 

‘Traitor’ he mouths at her. Her smirk only deepens.

Fortunately, the gathering ends with no further mishaps, either to his physical well-being or his dignity. Makoto is packed off with Meian, the little boy whining for more time to play with Shino. Hinata and Bokuto prance off for some ridiculous buffet on the other side of town.

As for himself, he hangs back with her to help the Miyas put their house back in order, expelling an amused puff of a laugh from his nose when she forces the very pregnant Kaiyo to ‘stay still, for goodness sake!’  on the couch, dancing around the house with a mop, Shino trailing after her waving a feather duster with gusto. He refrains from telling the little girl that she’s more likely to spread  the dust than to actually clear it – at least she’s not causing more havoc this way. 

‘I can’t believe I could’ve ever taken this for granted, y’know’, Atsumu comments from behind him, mouth wide in a tender smile. ‘It’s the best feeling in the world to have a wife and kid who loves ya to the moon and back, welcoming ya home after a long day at work. They make everything worth it.’

He’s thrown for a loop at this rare display of emotional vulnerability from the usually obnoxious setter and for once, does not resort to hostility, choosing instead to acknowledge the blonde setter’s words with a tacticum nod. 

The Miyas’ apartment is far too chaotic for his tastes, with colourful toys scattered on the floor, mismatched picture frames of the little family on the walls, but laughter hangs in the air, and light spills from the windows, illuminating the warmth and love and fondness in every look and word the Miyas gift each other. 

His father gave him a compass when he was a child, as a present to celebrate his first match. His mother clucked her tongue because it’s a strange gift for a child - delicate, fiddly, its gold exterior tarnished with age. But his father chuckled and told him that he’s old enough to appreciate that the compass is his father’s, and his father’s father before that, an heirloom to remind their sons to work hard at everything they do, and to keep their hearts on course, pointing north. 

And Sakusa thinks he’s done that. He’s worked and worked and worked at perfecting his skills in his chosen sport. He’s accepted his solo course, so laser focused on carving out a career in professional sports leaves little time or space for intimate relationships. Not to mention the fact that watching the disaster of Atsumu’s early years of marriage from the sidelines, made him swear off similar heartbreak for himself. 

But there are times when he can’t help but feel a little lonely - when he has to struggle to find a date for MSBY events, when he has no one to celebrate the holidays with, when he goes home every day to his neat, cold apartment with space for only one occupant. 

The compass in his heart creaks. It starts to turn a few degrees just off-course. 

‘Do you ever wonder what it’d be like to get married?’ he asks her as he’s walking her home that night. 

‘I did, once upon a time’, she shrugs carelessly. He misses the sudden strain in her smile. ‘Why do you ask?’ 

He stays silent for a while, the length of the quiet street giving him time to properly ferment his response. He considers the effects of adding splashes of colour to his dull life, weighs it against his long cultivated instinct to avoid the potential chaos of any emotional entanglements. He finds himself suddenly craving the sweetness of cream cheese frosting, and wonders how it’d be like to come home to light, fluffy cakes baked by her hands. 

When they reach her apartment block, she tilts her head at him curiously, obviously awaiting his answer. He tugs his words together, strings his swirling thoughts into a decipherable sentence. 

‘Because Atsumu and Kaiyo seem happy together. And I wondered if we’d be happy together too.’ 

He watches her puzzle over his words, her brow furling into a confused frown. ‘And I wasn’t proposing, by the way’, he feels the need to clarify. 

She snorts. ‘I didn’t think so.’ With a directness that he very much appreciates, she looks at him squarely and asks - ‘Are you asking me out, Sakusa Kiyoomi?’ 

He meets her gaze. ‘Yes, I am. We’ve known each other for a decently long time for me to conclude our personalities are well matched, and we’re both mature adults who respect each other’s work schedules and commitments. And if you don’t mind that I can be overly blunt and quiet sometimes - ‘ 

‘ - which I don’t’, she interjects, with a chuckle. 

‘I think we might be happy together’, he concludes, with a small smile that’s becoming more common in her presence.

He allows her the space to turn his proposition over in her mind. 

‘Alright’, she finally says. ‘I guess we can give it a go’. 

So much for Atsumu accusing him of having a heart made out of tin. Flesh and muscle works overtime to pump blood into his cheeks as she slots her fingers between his and gives his hand a squeeze. 

Being in a relationship isn’t too different from what they had before. 

They still keep to their standing date to meet every Tuesday (schedules permitting, of course). But now he doesn’t have to make up excuses to ask her out on outings that aren’t food related. At first he tries his best to adhere to dating norms, arranging for romantic dates at candlelit restaurants, buying her massive bouquets that make her sneeze. 

‘It’s fine, Omi’, she tells him gently after they spend another uncomfortable evening in a dimly lit restaurant eating off plates too large for the laughably tiny food portions. ‘I’m happy just hanging out with you. You don’t have to go out of your way to impress me, I’m not holding on to any ridiculous expectations of you’. He stops after that, glad he doesn’t have to suffer another night trying to decipher which utensil to be used at which course, or having to put on starched formal wear to yet another stuffy restaurant. 

She’s noticeably happier when they accompany each other on trips to the supermarket, each holding a stack of coupons to take advantage of the latest deals. She shields him from any overly zealous obaa-sans with gusto, throwing elbows and using her grocery basket as a makeshift battering ram before they crowd close enough to him to trigger his anxiety. He helps her reach for things on the top shelf ‘to prevent her from scaling the grocery shelves like an overgrown teenager’ , he snarks. He’s worried his attempt at teasing lands wrong, but she snorts and thanks him good naturedly anyways. 

On the weekends, they develop a habit of meal prepping for the rest of the week at her apartment. His kitchen lacks the fancy mixers and blenders that she has, and in all honesty, his dark, spartan apartment lacks the sunlight and warmth that spills into her apartment from the windows, so it’s only logical that they should spend the bulk of their time there. It’s an oasis of calm for him, chopping vegetables and chicken into small cubes, sautéing them for the week ahead, while she bustles around whipping eggs and flour and milk together to form another delectable cake that they always end up sharing at the end of the day. 

He starts to dread matches away from home a little more than he used to. While hotel rooms are as spartan as his own apartment, he doesn’t have the option of heading over to her apartment to bask in her quiet warmth. His meals come in styrofoam boxes instead of the glass tupperware she stacks on her kitchen counter, and he turns up his nose at store bought cakes that his teammates offer him, only craving for those baked in her oven. He even starts looking up to the stands for a glimpse of her, only to remember that she can’t be there to cheer the team on. 

‘Cheer up, Omi-omi! We’ll have a home match next week’, Atsumu tells him jovially. 

‘It doesn’t matter either way to me’, he mutters resentfully, but the setter only grins.

‘Trust me, it matters a great deal to have the girl ya love cheering ya on, y’know?’ 

He stalks off to the changing room, ignoring the peals of laughter from the blonde annoyance he leaves in his wake.  

The tight coil of loneliness only loosens when he sees her waiting for him at the station when he returns. She ignores his protests to snag his suitcase away from him, the case looking comically large against her small frame, but she uses it effectively as a tank to force a path through the crowd, and drag him back to her apartment in no time. 

‘You need a home cooked dinner to make up for all those industrially prepared food you must’ve been eating this entire week’, she tells him, bustling around the kitchen, only stilling when he takes her shoulders in his hands. 

‘Are you happy?’ he asks, when he cups her face to carefully brush the dusting of flour on her cheek away.  

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ She laughs, the sound fond.

‘Just checking in’, he tells her, closing his eyes as she pulls him down towards her for a kiss. 

All in all, it’s a happy, uncomplicated relationship. He likes it that way.

If his heart were a compass, he’d suspect it’s broken because instead of pointing north, it starts to inch inexorably towards her. 

But there are strange quirks he notices about her that niggles at his brain. 

She refuses point blank to check out the planetarium when she attends an event held at the adjacent Art Museum as his date, professing to have an irrational dislike for stars. 

‘They’re just balls of burning gas and light ’ , he points out. ‘What could you possibly have against them?’ 

There’s a flicker of irritation in her eyes that he does not miss. ‘I know it’s stupid but just humour me, ok?’ Her tone verges on a snarl, before she storms away, ostensibly to the bathroom to freshen herself up. 

She returns later with an apology for her behaviour. Though he’s confused, he respects her privacy and does not push for an answer. 

He’s at her apartment preparing meals for the week ahead when the doorbell rings and an enormous bouquet of white lilies are deposited into her arms. She stares dumbly at the flowers, their sickly sweet scent permeating the air. 

His brow furls. ‘Today isn’t your birthday, is it?’

His words jolt her out of her trance. ‘No’, she answers, before inexplicably storming to the living room and dumping the bouquet with a vengeance on the coffee table. Pollen flutters to the floor, delicate white petals crushed in her hands. 

‘It’s nothing’, she tells him as he shoots her a questioning look. 

When she disappears to the washroom, he peeks at the card. There’s no name on it, just a simple message - ‘consider it, please?’

He doesn’t question her about it when she returns to the kitchen. She doesn’t offer him any answers either. 

He finds himself wondering about them. 

It was refreshing at first to have a relationship free of any expectations. She never asks for more than he’s willing to give, seems happy enough to slot herself into the pockets of time he offers, only attends his games when he gives her tickets, doesn’t get upset with him when he inevitably forgets to text. 

But therein lies the issue, doesn’t it?  

If she truly likes him, wants to pursue a relationship seriously with him, shouldn’t she be demanding more than the crumbs of affection and attention he shows her? They’re both past the age of thirty, shouldn’t she be looking to get married and settle down, maybe spawn a demon child or two? 

He’s tried raising it with her once, but she responded with confusion. 

‘I don’t have any expectations of you, Omi’, she’d replied. ‘We both have busy lives, so whatever you’re willing to give, I’m happy to take’. 

There’s technically nothing wrong about her answer. It’s wholly considerate and kind - very much her.  

Still, it makes him wonder - if her heart were a compass, would it point towards him? 

He manages to hold his tongue until she gets another delivery of flowers. 

This time he opens the door when the doorbell rings, assaulted by the heady scent of lillies, pollen smeared on his sleeves. This time, there’s a name on the card. 

Oikawa Tooru . 

It takes a couple of seconds for him to realise why the name is so familiar. It’s the same name Hinata and Kageyama used to buzz about every Olympics - the famous Argentinian setter who started his career as a schoolboy from Miyagi, a prodigious setter who never made it to Nationals in high school, refused to give up and forged his way to success in a whole new land, continents away.

‘How do you know Oikawa’? He asks her. ‘And why does he keep sending your flowers?’ 

‘He’s just an old acquaintance,’ she admits. ‘He’s just sending the flowers to persuade me to attend his wedding.’

His forehead crinkles in confusion, and he tries his best not to leap to conclusions, but since she doesn’t seem to be forthcoming with further clarification, he presses her further. 

‘And why won’t you attend his wedding?’ 

Her shoulders slouch in obvious reluctance as she turns away, focusing her attention on the mixing bowl. But Kiyoomi isn’t easily deterred, so he firmly takes the mixing bowl from her and sets it on the countertop. He raises an eyebrow at her, clearly seeking an answer. 

She huffs a sigh through her nose. ‘Because he’s getting married to my ex-boyfriend, ok?’   

He blinks. That was unexpected. 

‘It happened half a decade ago. Ancient history. I’m over it.’ She mutters to the floor. 

‘Why didn’t you tell me about it?’ 

‘Because it’s none of your business’, she snaps, grabbing the mixing bowl again, beating the batter with a vengeance. 

‘You’re going to ruin the texture if you whisk it too hard’, he tugs the bowl away from her again. She refuses to relinquish her grip.

‘Leave me alone!’ she snarls, yanking the bowl back. Confused by her sudden fury, he lets go of the bowl, only for her to stumble back, eyes wide as she loses her balance, knocking her head against the countertop.

He drops down onto his knees, not even noticing the batter soaking into his pants, combing through her hair, scouring the back of her neck for any sign of injury. It’s only when he’s satisfied that her fall has resulted in nothing more than a bruise that should go away by tomorrow that he notices her tears soaking the front of his shirt. 

‘Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?’ he asks, wiping her tears away with a batter splattered thumb. 

She hangs her head, body still shaking from her sobs. ‘I’ve already made such a mess of things – don’t want you to have to listen to my nonsense – am just bein’ stupid, that’s all - ’. 

He patiently waits until her sobs dissolves into mere sniffles before speaking. ‘I want you to tell me what’s wrong. If you’re up to it.’ 

So through more broken sobs and hiccups, he listens to the tale of Iwaizumi Hajime, a boy who was her world, who only realised he was always in love with Oikawa Tooru, a fortnight before she and he were to wed. Her voice wavers as she tells him the full story of the white lilies, explains that her irrational dislike for stars stems from the reminder that she chose to give her world up to a boy-king burning brighter than the stars in the night sky combined. 

He waits until her words run out, and she’s leaning against him, broken and pliant in a way that makes his heart ache. 

‘I wish you told me about it earlier’, he tells her, tucking the loose strands of hair behind her ear. ‘That you would trust me enough to tell me about the things that hurt you in the past. And I wonder about the state of our relationship if you don’t even trust me enough for that’. 

‘That’s unfair. You never asked - ‘ 

‘How could I ask about something I didn’t even know about?’ He takes hold of her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. Hurt and anger and shock simmer in her eyes, each swirl of emotion fighting for dominance. 

‘I didn’t want to expect anything more from this relationship than you were willing to give’, she admits after a pause. 

She’s scared of being hurt again. He doesn’t miss the subtext.  

‘Shall I tell you what I want from you then? I have a list, if you’re willing to hear me out’ he asks, with a smile that’s growing more common the more time he spends around her. 

She nods, but keeps her gaze stubbornly on the ground. 

He takes his time to choose his words. He’s never been verbose - not like Atsumu or Bokuto or even easygoing Motoya, choosing to only say what is strictly necessary, using the precise amount of words, nothing more, nothing less. But this is a situation that requires more emotion rather than precision, so he inhales a shaky breath, letting it fuel the sentiment in his heart as he exhales. 

‘First. I want you to trust that I’ll never hurt you like he did’, he says, and with a self-deprecating smile he adds - ‘I don’t have any childhood friends to be secretly in love with besides Motoya, and I’m hardly going to be pining after my flake of a cousin’. 

That triggers the corners of her lips to tilt upwards, and encouraged, he carries on.    

‘Second. I want you to be open with me about what you want - your dreams, your expectations of me. I want to hear them all because  you’re important to me.’

That makes her flush pink, and she sneaks a glance up towards him. 

‘Third. I want to wake up each morning with you by my side and come home to you every night. I want to watch you fight cranky old ladies in the supermarket in my honour, be the first person to taste test all your baking experiments - even the failed ones that are only fit to feed Atsumu. I want us to be happy together. Forever, if possible.’

He lifts her bodily into his lap, brushes his nose against her cheek. ‘Now that I’ve told you what I’m willing to give, is that too much for you to take?’ he murmurs against her lips. 

Her blush blossoms into a deep scarlet, but her eyes are iridescent pools of startled delight. She doesn’t speak, sealing her answer instead with her lips. 

His heart’s compass is irretrievably broken, the needle melted into place. It doesn’t point north any longer, no  – it’s always going to point towards her. 

They move in together after that. 

He gives up his apartment, professing to prefer the warmth and light of hers. The Miyas help him move in even when he tries to refuse their help, Atsumu helping him to lug cardboard boxes up the stairs, Kaiyo helping him sort out his belongings, sorting them into his allocated cupboards. 

When they’re done, they order pizza and she bakes a cake to celebrate. ‘An impromptu housewarming’ she says, toasting Miya Kaiyo with a slice of pepperoni pizza with a laugh.

Kiyoomi shares a slice of chocolate cake with Atsumu in complete defiance of their nutritionist’s advice, jostling forks over the very last bite. She and Kaiyo scold them teasingly, telling them to behave like they’re actually thirty and not teenagers on the cusp of adulthood. Atsumu pulls at Kaiyo’s ponytail in retaliation. He refuses to engage in similar tomfoolery, reddening instead when she reaches over to ruffle his curls.

‘This is nice’, he remarks to Atsumu later, when their significant others are out of earshot, gossiping and giggling about something or other.  

‘It is, isn’t it’, Atsumu replies, a dopey smile on his face as he stares at his wife. 

It truly is , Kiyoomi thinks, staring at her.  

He takes over most of the cleaning, it clears his mind, he tells her. So to split the chores evenly, she insists on doing their laundry and cooking, and he doesn’t even nag her too much when she forgets to split the white and coloured clothes and stains some of his shirts once in a while. 

Wedding invites printed on expensive cream paper and bouquets of white lilies start to litter their doorstep every day. He tries his best to dispose of them before they reach her sight, but every so often, he comes home too late, catches her wilt as she brushes white petals from their doorstep. 

‘I don’t blame either of them’, she tells him, after he asks if she’d like him to call Iwaizumi and tell him to drown himself in a vat of batter, thank you very much. 

‘You’re too kind to both of them’ he says plainly, as they share a pot of tea, his head pillowed in her lap. ‘I would’ve just set them both on fire and left them to rot.’

‘Hajime loved Tooru for almost all his life - I just wanted to see him happy in the end. Argh  - I sound so stupid and sentimental like an old grandma, just laugh at me already’ she complains, hiding her burning cheeks in her hands.  

‘You aren’t stupid for being kind.’ He hums, quiet and low. ‘It’s why I love you so.’ 

He relishes the soft light dawning in her eyes, captures her whispered affection with careful fingers, spins them into gold. 

He has to turn off the stove to answer the door when some rude lout bangs on their front door far too early on a Sunday morning. 

With his coldest sneer and thinking resentfully about his breakfast, Kiyoomi swings the door open, fully intent on looming over the disturbance with his full height, but takes a step back instead when he finds one Iwaizumi Hajime hanging off the door knob. 

‘Hello’, Iwaizumi looks up at him confusedly. 

‘Hi’, he nods a greeting back at his old Olympic team trainer. They stare at each other. 

‘Eh - I think I’ve got the wrong house’, Iwaizumi scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. ‘Sorry about that, Sakusa-san.’

He’s about to close the door in Iwaizumi’s face when her voice chimes in, clear as a bell. 

‘Who’s at the door, Omi?’ 

The shorter man shoots him a look of barely contained rage as he uses his bulk to push his way through the doorway towards her. Kiyoomi tries to stop him, protesting that he can’t barge into someone’s private property without an invitation like that, but it’s as futile an endeavour as trying to block the path of a raging storm.

Iwaizumi reaches her first, raising a hand as if to cup her face by instinct, before letting it fall back limply by his side. ‘You weren’t answering any of my messages or calls’, he says. ‘I was worried about you.’

She stares at him blankly for a moment. Then fire sparks in her eyes. 

‘Well, as you can see, I’m completely fine’, she replies, jaw and fists clenched. ‘You don’t need to do a welfare check on me, we’re not involved anymore.’

The scorching pain in Iwaizumi’s eyes is evident, even from a distance away. ‘Yeah. Well. I thought we were friends. You didn’t even tell me you were dating again’. He shoves his hands in his pockets, tossing another heated glance in Kiyoomi’s way. 

‘I didn’t think I needed to update my ex-fiance about my love life, especially not when he’s trying to drag me to attend his wedding that I already said I’m not going to attend’, she bites back. 

Iwaizumi opens his mouth, then closes it with a resounding snap. ‘I’m sorry’, he says, with heartbreaking honesty. ‘I told Tooru that you probably didn’t want to hear from us, but he insisted and I got worried when I didn’t hear from you for months’. 

Kiyoomi can see her glare soften into molten sympathy. The tension in the air crackles with electricity. He’s neither blind nor stupid – he can sense the years of longing and love not quite lost between them. 

He thinks she loves him, Sakusa Kiyoomi – weird habits, cold disposition and all, but the doubt clogging up his arteries and veins is enough to make his heart seize – and if she’s going to break his heart, he’d much rather she not do it in front of Iwaizumi.  

‘Hajime - ‘ she begins to say, and at this point he jumps in - 

‘I’ll excuse myself so you both have the chance to catch up’, he says, waving aside her protests as he slips on his shoes. Even in his haste to leave the house, he clicks his tongue at the mess Iwaizumi left behind at their  genkan , kneeling down to arrange their shoes, only standing up when he’s satisfied they’re neatly arranged back in place. 

‘Omi, you don’t have to leave’, she says, holding the door open. 

He shrugs his shoulders at her, nose and mouth already obscured by his usual face mask. ‘Let me know when you’d like me to come back’. 

If she’d like him to come back. She doesn’t chase after him, after all.  

It’s a beautiful Sunday morning, but the golden sunshine feels more like a taunt rather than a balm to his mood. His stomach growls, making him long for the scrambled eggs he was in the middle of frying before he was so rudely interrupted, but his growing sense of nausea keeps him from seeking out an alternative meal. 

Instead, he makes his way to the park, sits on a relatively clean bench. There are couples a-plenty, strolling around hand in hand, families picnicking merrily around him, compounding the growing chasm of loneliness in his chest. He tries to count the seconds by his breaths, tries not to let the minutes expand the insecurities crawling, inch by inch up his throat. 

He sits alone. Poised, yet short of breath. 

He wonders if Iwaizumi Hajime has finally figured out that stars, for all their brilliance, cannot compensate for their lack of human kindness. And if so, he wonders which direction her heart would point towards if it were a compass - whether it’s as broken as his, and whether it points towards Iwaizumi or him.   

He waits. 

Then his phone buzzes. 

Ah. 

She’s asking him to come home. He does not dare to overthink the meaning of that single word. But he does not hide that his steps back  home are lighter than when he left, though the key in his hand shakes so hard it takes him three tries to fit it into the keyhole. He does not try to suffocate the seed of hope budding in the soft earth of his heart when he realises Iwaizumi’s shoes have vanished without a trace.  

“Omi?” 

She’s waiting for him, slipping warm arms around his waist, tangling her fingers in his curls, ignoring his complaints about letting himself wash his hands first. 

‘Am I silly for missing you, even though it’s only been an hour?’

He refuses to be distracted by the affection in her voice.

‘But what about Iwaizumi?’ he frowns, hesitation still poisoning the well of thoughts in his mind. 

Perhaps it’s a testament to how well they’ve grown to know each other that she doesn’t need to read the silent subtext of his statement. She smiles, bringing his palm flat against her chest, does not answer until his pulse matches the steady beat of her heart.  

‘I love you , Omi’, she tells him. Her heartbeat does not quicken, her smile does not waver. ‘You told me not to long ago to always be upfront with you about what  I  want so I’m going to be honest with you now - Iwaizumi is only ever going to be my past, and I want you from now on’. 

If her heart were a compass, the steady beat of her heart tells him, it would point only towards him.  

‘That is – if you’ll have me’, she adds, a shadow of doubt suddenly appearing on her face. 

‘Don’t be ridiculous’, he scoffs, burying his nose to breathe in the familiar scent of vanilla in her hair. ‘Who else would I rather have than you?’ 

Who else would he be lucky enough to call his home – a woman with a heart large enough to fit a whole ocean within its depths, with kindness in her eyes and mirth in her smiles. 

She laughs in spite of the salt in her throat and water in her eyes, leaning on her toes in a vain attempt to reach his face. He lifts her into her arms, laughs when she squeals indignantly as her feet only find air, toppling them both onto the couch where he can seat her between his legs, press kisses to her cheeks.  

She’ll tell him later that Iwaizumi came looking for her because he’s never outgrown his overprotective streak, and he’s truly happy for her - for them, because they’ve both moved on with their separate lives. And she ended up agreeing to attend his and Oikawa’s wedding on one condition – that an invitation is extended to him, Sakusa Kiyoomi, to attend with her as his date. 

He’ll tell her later that he’s happy to attend the wedding with her, just not to expect him to smile in any wedding pictures. And more importantly, he’ll tell her in his plain way that the list of expectations he has of their relationship has expanded yet again. 

He’ll lay out his dreams of a pair of matching golden rings to bind them to lifelong companionship, of hellspawn of their own and a dog, maybe two. 

He’ll ask her if it’s too much for him to ask of her.  

She’ll tell him that she’s willing to give him everything he asks for and more. 

It’s Miya Shino’s ninth birthday party. 

He’s retired from volleyball proper, and is thankful he insisted on getting a business degree from Chuo University before going pro, because it comes in handy working alongside Kuroo Tetsuro at the volleyball association. 

Miya Atsumu insists on inviting him to the party, though he supposes he’s invited not by virtue of being a former teammate, but because he’s also Shino’s uncle by marriage now. The thought that he’s related to Miya Atsumu, however distant and most definitely not by blood, still fills him with dread. 

The birthday girl is a little less imbued with her father’s chaotic energy this time, though she still squeals when her birthday cake is unveiled – though to be fair it’s less a cake, more a tower of cupcakes with cream cheese frosting spelling out her name. 

‘Thank you Auntie!’ Shino cries, flinging her arms around her. Kiyoomi flinches at the sight of anyone, even his nine year old niece, coming in close contact with his extremely pregnant wife, but a sharp glare from her subdues any complaint he dares to make. 

He fusses over her the minute he has the chance to corral her away from the clutches of Miya Shino. ‘Are your feet hurting? What about your back? I don’t know why you insist on walking so much when you know the doctor said you should be on bed rest soon’. 

‘Stop fussing, Omi! The baby and I will be fine’, she replies, exasperated. ‘This is the last social event scheduled before I pop and I’m determined to enjoy it while I can.’ Then she scuttles off faster than he imagines her frame allows, leaving him floundering in her wake. 

‘Just let her be’, Miya Atsumu laughs, slapping his back. Kiyoomi is on the verge of pointing out -  pot, meet kettle, reminding Atsumu that the last time Kaiyo was pregnant, Atsumu didn’t stop fretting until she went into labour and delivered a healthy baby boy. But then he remembers the grief etched into Atsumu’s face when Kaiyo miscarried in the stands during a game, so he holds his tongue and rolls his eyes instead. 

‘I’m just worried she’s pushing herself too hard’, he admits in a rare bout of vulnerability. 

Atsumu smiles, genuine for once. ‘Those crazy women, eh? They’re always gonna drive us up the wall, but they’re worth every minute of it.’ 

He looks at her, belly swollen with their first child, peach blossoms blooming in her cheeks. His past self would never imagine that he’d find this much joy and contentment in being a husband and a father, but then again his past self was satisfied coming home alone day after day to a cold apartment. He knows better now - life is so better when he has her, sharing stories of their day of over steaming mugs of tea at their kitchen countertop, listening to her hum as she bakes treats for the weekend, warmth and laughter and love abound in their cosy apartment for two, soon to be three.   

So feeling vaguely drunk though he hasn’t had a drop of alcohol in the months since she whispered during their anniversary dinner that they were expecting, Kiyoomi laughs aloud. 

Atsumu lifts his eyebrows in surprise.

‘She really, really is’, Kiyoomi says, breaking into an unguarded smile.  

If you wanna know more about the backstory of the reader - check out The Astrophile, and if you wanna know more about Miya Atsumu’s relationship with his wife, check out Storm Chaser. 

As always, reblogs and/or comments are so very appreciated <3

Taglist: 

@snoozless @softsakusa @moondaius​ (yeon i’ll be shameless and tag you cos I know you’re an Omi stan!)

#haikyuu #hq #haikyuu!! #haikyuu writing #hq writing #haikyuu imagines #hq imagines #haikyuu angst #haikyuu romance #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu fic rec #sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa kiyoomi x y/n #sakusa kiyoomi x you #sakusa x reader #sakusa x y/n #sakusa x you #kiyoomi x you #kiyoomi x y/n #kiyoomi x reader

[lady-of-the-lotus]

Drink, No Drink

xuexiao - M for violence - 4.9k - AO3!

In which Xiao Xingchen drunkely flirts with an oblivious Xue Yang ____________________________

They come by once a month on average, sometimes twice. Once, about eleven months after Xue Yang came to Yi City, three come at once, but that's a group and Xue Yang, always fair, counts them as one.

Still three times the fun to kill, of course.

The men step into the Coffin House courtyard at noon, just ten minutes after Xiao Xingchen and A-Qing had left to buy groceries.

Xue Yang is busy dumping fresh dirt into a raised bed. He and Xiao Xingchen have built raised beds throughout the courtyard to plant vegetables in. Xiao Xingchen had wanted flowers, but Xue Yang had vetoed the idea, flowers being useless, and the daozhang isn’t one to argue.

He looks up as the men step into the courtyard. “Who are you?”

The leader of the group, a tall, brutish-looking man with a cauliflower ear and broken nose, seems almost angry at the question. “Where is he?”

Xue Yang dusts his hands off. And here he thought he’d be bored until the daozhang returned. “Who is this ‘he’?”

“The blind cultivator in white! Xiao Xingchen! We know he lives here!”

Xue Yang taps his chin. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

The musclebound man on the right steps forward, seconds away from grabbing Xue Yang by the collar and losing a hand. “We were told there’s a blind cultivator living here!”

“Ohhh, I thought you meant the other blind cultivator in white. I lose track. What do you want from him?”

“To take a strip out of his hide!”

Xue Yang rolls his eyes. “Let me guess, you committed some crime once upon a time, and he got you in trouble for it, and now that he’s blind you want your revenge.”

“How did—”

“It’s all very original.” Xue Yang’s knife is in his hand. He tosses in the air, catching it deftly. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

The skinny little man on the left shrugs. “Not reall—”

He never finishes his sentence. A flash of silver blade, and Xue Yang’s knife is sprouting from his eye. Shrieking, he falls backwards into a vegetable bed, yanking the knife out of his face.

Xue Yang shakes his head. “Don’t you know not to pull a knife out of a wound? Trust me on that one, I should know. Look, now you’re bleeding all over the place.” He produces a second knife and turns to face the other two men, who stand gaping at him in slack-jawed shock. “How about you two? Up for some first aid practice?”

“You—you—”

“Got any weapons? Get them out. It’s more fun that way.”

Still looking confused, the leader draws his own knife out and stands there, blinking, while the other man drops to his knees beside his companion, who’s writhing in the dirt and shrieking like a wounded fox.

Xue Yang makes a face. “Can you shut him up? He’s going to give me a headache at this rate.”

“He—he—”

Xue Yang floats over and slices the man’s tongue out with a practiced twist of his blade, but the man continues to emit bone-chilling scream from deep inside his throat.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake—” Another twist of the blade, and the man falls silent. Permanently. “You’d think he’d never been stabbed in the eyeball before.”

“You killed him—”

“Like you were going to do to the daozhang?” Xue Yang flies back over near the leader. “And for what, arresting you? You clearly escaped whatever the charges are. Grow up and let it go.”

The leader’s hand tightens on his knife. “The magistrate beat me so badly I couldn’t get honest work again as a porter—”

“Your back, your arms, your legs, what was the problem?”

“My left leg was broken so badly it—”

Xue Yang jams his heel into the man’s left kneecap, shattering it. Howling, the man collapses, knife falling from his spasming fingers. “Like I want your life’s story?” He hauls the man up by his collar and flies him over to one of the raised beds, dumping him in the dirt. Dislocates the man’s shoulder, just to be safe, and nicks the side of the man’s throat so that he bleed out into the soil.

Best kind of fertilizer, or so he’d been given to believe.

Then he turns to the third man, who’s cowering on his knees, forehead pressed to the dirt. “How about you? Going to put up more of a fight, I hope? I mean, what were you three arrested for, anyway? Couldn’t have been anything requiring actual fighting skills. Tax fraud?”

“Forgive me—forgive me—I won’t harm Xiao Xingchen! I swear I’ll leave here, I’ll never speak of this—”

“A bit late for that, I’d think.” Xue Yang tilts his head down at him. He likes seeing the man grovel. Kowtow, really. A trembling heap of peasant clothes and greasy hair, not half as good as if it had been the daozhang or one of the self-righteous cultivators who’d dogged him half his life, but it still fills him with heady tingling pleasure. “You should never have come here.”

“It wasn’t my idea—I swear it wasn’t!”

“Great, a spineless lackey. Even better. Now, the question is how to kill you.” He crouches before the man, patting his trembling cheek with his knife while he thinks. “I usually go for something more creative, but we need to wrap this up before the daozhang gets home, and more than two beds needs fertilizing, so here we go.”

The man makes a feeble effort to resist, taking an easily-dodged swing at Xue Yang's jaw. A flick of his hand, and Xue Yang’s knife is suddenly plunged deep into the man’s throat. Grabbing him by the hair, he hauls the man into the neighboring vegetable bed and gives the knife an experimental jiggle, then wiggles it a bit farther up his throat. A delicate balance, this—he needs the man alive to pump out as much blood as possible, but can't resist playing with him a bit. Of course Xue Yang could always rip out his intestines and bury them in the dirt, but that would be messy, and Xue Yang hasn't time to clean up.

A sigh, and the man bleeding out from his eye socket expires.

Xue Yang hesitates, then removes his outer robes and flies the man over the back wall of the courtyard, dumping him in the forest outside the city.

The second man has died by the time he returns. Xue Yang flies him out, then the third man when he too dies.

He stands beneath the trees, eying his handiwork.

Not a bad day’s work.

If only the daozhang knew that Xue Yang, his worst enemy, had been saving his life for the past eleven months. Knew how deeply indebted he is to the delinquent from Kuizhou.

But the daozhang can’t know.

Not just yet.

He’d probably make me stop, Xue Yang thinks, no matter what the personal risk. He’d insist on arresting all these opportunistic degenerates and bringing them to justice, as if such a thing exists.

The idiot. Xue Yang finds himself smiling at the thought. The sanctimonious idiot, blind in more ways than one. For all Xue Yang knows, he might even hear the men out—“Oh, your leg was broken? The scoundrels!” and embark on a journey to track down the magistrate who’d wronged the criminal degenerates—

A vulture approaches, drawn by the scent of blood, startling Xue Yang out of his thoughts.

“Wait your turn,” he tells the bird. “It’s first come, first serve around here.” Chuckles to himself—too bad the daozhang is completely unsuited for the day’s activities. He knows Xiao Xingchen would have appreciated the afternoon’s humor—maybe even relished the irony of watching Xue Yang, the man who was going to one day kill the daozhang, protect him—

Well, perhaps not that. But he could have gotten a few laughs, at least.

Xue Yang cuts a lock of hair from each of the men, just as he has for the last thirteen criminals who’d come after Xiao Xingchen, removes their tongues, and flies back over the wall.

He can take care of the bodies later, if the vultures don’t handle them for him.

He places the tongues in jars he sets inside a coffin painted with preservation sigils. Then, grabbing a rake, he begins mixing the blood-soaked earth, evenly dividing it among the dozen raised beds that take up half the courtyard and patting the soil down in preparation for tomorrow’s sowing. He’s just finishing up when Xiao Xingchen and A-Qing return.

The first thing out of the daozhang’s mouth is, “What’s that smell?”

“What smell?”

“Smells like blood,” says A-Qing, who can always be counted on to say the wrong thing.

Xue Yang fights the urge to tell the daozhang the truth, see the look on his face. “I got bored without you, and went for a walk in the woods, and found a fierce corpse.”

Xiao Xingchen’s face softens at the words without you. Xue Yang is still at a loss to explain how readily Xiao Xingchen displays his feelings. Surely letting another person know that you value their companionship is a dangerous show of weakness?

Xue Yang has learned to reveal nothing that can be used against him in the future.

What Chengmei says to the daozhang is different. His esteem for the blind white fool is all an act, and there is no way a lie might harm him.

“I have the beds all ready for planting,” he tells Xiao Xingchen.

Xiao Xingchen moves towards him as A-Qing runs inside with the groceries. “Were you wounded?”

“By what, tripping and falling on the rake?”

“The blood smells fresh. Did the fierce corpse manage to hurt you? That’s unlike you, Chengmei.” He lays a hand on Xue Yang’s chest, eyebrows rising slightly at the feel of Xue Yang’s thin, silky inner robe beneath his hand instead of his textured outer robes. “I know you, Chengmei. You wouldn’t tell me you were hurt, even if you were.” Slowly, he runs his hands over Xue Yang’s chest, pats his arms, feels his waist.

Xue Yang swallows hard, freezing.

From the touching, he tells himself. Not from the display of concern. It’s hard not to tense up when touched, given how often past touch has been something bad.

Truly it means nothing, the daozhang’s concern. Xue Yang knows this. Has always known it.

What good is the compassion of a man who only cares because he doesn’t know the truth?

Xiao Xingchen rests his hand briefly on his hip, but seems unwilling to go any lower and check Xue Yang’s legs. “You’d tell me if you were hurt, right?”

Xue Yang’s heart is pounding. “….I wouldn’t lie to you…”

“I know you wouldn’t.” Seeming to realize how close they're standing, Xiao Xingchen moves away. “I’ll go help A-Qing make dinner. We'll keep the seeds from tonight’s vegetables, we can plant tomorrow…”

Xue Yang slips his outer robes back on but doesn’t head back into the house. He’s cursing himself for having lost his composure for even a second, especially in front of Xiao Xingchen, of all people.

It’s not like he noticed. You sounded normal, and he’s blind, for fuck’s sake.

The reddish gold sun has sunk beneath the courtyard walls when Xiao Xingchen comes out onto the porch. He looks blue in the twilight, slender and beautiful and somehow soft despite the boniness of his long slim body.

“Chengmei? Dinner’s ready.”

Hesitating, though he’s not sure why, Xue Yang heads inside. Xiao Xingchen hands out the bowls and chopsticks while A-Qing serves.

Xue Yang is silent during dinner, mechanically shoveling rice into his mouth.

Xiao Xingchen does most of the talking, as if sensing Xue Yang is in a strange mood. He talks about the past, places he’s seen, people he’s met. He’s a poor storyteller, with a laughable memory of details, but his tendency to ramble from one story to the next without finishing any of them is amusing in its own way, and A-Qing's interjections of her own more colorful experiences keep any heavy silence at bay.

After the meal, Xue Yang removes Xiao Xingchen’s horsetail whisk from where he keeps it on a shelf in the corner.

“Just combing it,” he says when A-Qing, who has even better hearing than the daozhang and an uncanny knack for getting in his way, asks him what the hell he thinks he’s doing. “It’s getting tangled.”

“Tangled. Right.”

Normally Xue Yang would bicker back, but he doesn’t have the energy tonight. He sits on the steps, the horsetail whisk in his lap, while A-Qing lies on a blanket, staring up at the dazzling carpet of stars as if she can see, and Xiao Xingchen polishes his sword beside him.

Xue Yang knots the locks of hair he’d taken from the three convicts into the flowing mane of the whisk, streaks of black staining the pure white.

A little ritual he’d developed after the first would-be murderer had come to Yi City. Watching the daozhang parade around with a murder trophy tucked under thin white arm was endlessly entertaining.

Now…

It’s still a good joke, Xue Yang tells himself. Still good fun to see the streaks of black against the white. But it’s become a symbol of something else, now, too.

Of what, Xue Yang isn’t entirely sure.

But of something.

The eggplant is starting to sprout when, five weeks later, another convict comes to the Coffin House searching for Xiao Xingchen.

Xiao Xingchen is inside the house making dinner with A-Qing. Xue Yang had just stepped outside to fetch more water when he sees a shadow detach itself from behind a coffin and slither across the courtyard, a flash of silver in its hand.

Jiangzai is out before Xue Yang can even think.

Footsteps.

Xue Yang flies across the courtyard and grabs the shadow by the throat. “Who are you and what do you want?”

“Xiao Xing—”

Xue Yang cuts his throat before the man can finish, flying him over the wall before so much as a drop of blood can splash onto the stones of the courtyard.

A shame to waste the fertilizer on the trees of the forest, but Xiao Xingchen is expecting him back any second now.

He’ll fetch the tongue later.

“Thank you, Chengmei,” Xiao Xingchen says when he returns, accepting the bucket of water. “Do you mind chopping the potatoes? The oil should be hot enough any minute now.”

“Fried potato? Not boiled? Do my ears deceive me?” His pulse is reverberating through his skull, so that’s very possible. The quickness of the kill had done nothing to diminish the euphoria that always accompanies it. If anything, it had heightened it, a half-hour’s torture compressed into an intense dose of power and pleasure and blood.

“I figured I would fry it, as a treat. It’s been a year since…well, it’s been a year since we all came to the Coffin House.” Xiao Xingchen turns to the stove, blushing slightly, as if almost ashamed to have kept track of the anniversary, as if he doesn’t think it's as important to Xue Yang as it is to him.

Xue Yang doesn’t speak. A-Qing is glancing at the floor, looking uncharacteristically solemn.

“I know it’s foolish—” Xiao Xingchen begins again, but Xue Yang shakes his head, forgetting for a moment that he can’t see him.

“It’s never foolish to fry potatoes,” he says emphatically. “That boiled stuff is for the dogs. Anything else?”

Xiao Xingchen smiles. “I bought nian gao at the market today.”

“Now you have my attention.” He slices the potatoes swiftly, hand shaking slightly. Lingering euphoria from his recent kill, most likely. “The sweet cake kind, right? Not that vegetable stuff.”

Xiao Xingchen affects chagrin. “Do you take me for an amateur?”

Xue Yang discovers that he’s grinning.

Still from the murder, no doubt. It’s been a while since he’d killed anything larger than the rats that sneak into the Coffin House.

It’s not that he needs to kill. Enjoys it, yes. Who wouldn’t enjoy holding complete and utter power over another human being? Being the most important thing in their world, if only for those final moments? The pleasant exercise of the fight, the witty banter, the desperation in the victim’s eyes as they bleed out?

But, if he’s being entirely honest, he hasn’t thought about it much these past few weeks.

A-Qing turns in early that night, having eaten too much fried food and nian gao, leaving Xiao Xingchen and Xue Yang alone on the porch. Xue Yang plays with the dead man’s hair in the horsetail whisk while Xiao Xingchen sits beside him, just a little too close, knee almost touching his, having misjudged the distance. It’s odd, how the daozhang can spin through the forest to sever a fierce corpse’s throat without disturbing a single leaf or blade of grass, but he’s rather clumsy around Xue Yang, stumbling into him at times, brushing his hand with his while handing him something, mistakenly letting his shoulder touch his as he passes.

“I have a surprise,” says Xiao Xingchen.

“We’re getting a puppy.”

“We can, if you want."

“Just joking.” Briefly, Xue Yang wonders what a dog would make of the corpses popping up around the Coffin House.

Well, it would be one way to dispose of the bodies, and save on buying dog food.

He grins to himself at the idea. It's a real shame he can’t share some of his best thoughts with Xiao Xingchen.

Who’s tilting his head at him expectantly. “Chengmei?”

“You’re buying us a new house. A-Qing found a husband. We have an invitation to Jinlintai.”

Xiao Xingchen smiles. “I feel quite inadequate, now. I bought some of this.” He draws two wine jars from his sleeve. “Or rather, traded some protection talismans for it with the local weaver.”

“Is the daozhang a secret wino?” Xue Yang accepts the small white jar. He’s not one for drinking, but he can’t turn Xiao Xingchen down. “Is that what you’re really doing during your private meditation sessions?”

Instead of being offended, Xiao Xingchen smiles. “Given how many great poets were drunks—going by their poetry—I could do well to follow their example.

‘Life in the world is but a big dream;

I will not spoil it by any labor or care.

So saying, I was drunk all the day,

Lying helpless at the porch in front of my door—’ ”

“A tripping hazard for A-Qing.”

“ ‘When I awoke, I blinked at the garden-lawn;

A lonely bird was singing amid the flowers.

I asked myself,

Had the day been wet or fine? ’ ”

Xue Yang struggles to keep a straight face despite the fact that Xaio Xingcheng can’t see him. “Baoshan Sanren teaches cultivating by way of winemaking? No wonder she has to hide on her mountain. Every cultivator for miles around would be trying to sign on with her.”

Xiao Xingchen laughs. “Given how many classic poems are about drinking wine, I wouldn’t be surprised if such a thing existed...at least the poems in Shifu’s collection. She didn’t focus much on classical poetry.” He pulls the stopper from his jar, sniffing it. “So…I just…drink it? Is there some kind of…I don’t know…”

“A wine-drinking ritual? Like you walk in a circle three times, flapping your arms—”

“…do you think we can forgo it, just this once?”

Xue Yang is the one to laugh this time, though he’s not sure if Xiao Xingchen is joking. “You just drink, from what I’ve seen.”

“From what you’ve seen?”

“I don’t drink.” He instantly regrets his words at the look on Xiao Xingchen’s face. “I mean…”

“It’s fine. I wouldn’t want to make—”

“I mean—” And suddenly he hears himself saying, “I could never afford to be…impaired in any way. For…my own safety, I mean. I was just never…look, it’s…” And then, just as suddenly, he’s uncorking his jar and taking a deep draft.

It burns unpleasantly in his throat, but it’s worth it for the smile on Xiao Xingchen’s face at the silent admission that he feels safe here.

That Chengemi does, at any rate.

“How does it taste?”

“Good, I think,”Xue Yang lies.

Xiao Xingchen sips delicately at his jar, then wrinkles his nose. “The poems made me think it would be a lot more like drinking moonbeams and lotus blossoms.”

“More poems about passing out on the lawn?” Xue Yang asks. Poetry is just as useless as he’s always imagined it to be, but it sounds nice coming from Xiao Xingchen. Melodic. Kind of like singing...

...Must be the wine, that idiotic thought.

" 'A cup of wine, under the flowering trees;

I drink alone, for no friend is near.

Raising my cup I beckon the bright moon,

For he, with my shadow, will make three men.’ ”

Xue Yang frowns slightly. “I’m sitting right here, daozhang.”

Xiao Xingchen smiles. “So you are.”

Xue Yang shakes his momentary pique away. “Four men, then. Five, counting my shadow. You know, I don’t think those poets knew what the hell they were talking about, like with anything.”

“That’s not true…well, not entirely…there are some very pretty poems about nature…”

“How about a drinking game: I say something untrue, and if you correctly guess that it’s a lie, then I have to drink.”

“Alright.” By Xiao Xingchen’s amused smile, it’s clear he doesn’t think Xue Yang can successfully lie to him.

“I’m ugly. Hideous. Ladies pull their skirts away from me in the street and I frighten children and old people.”

Xiao Xingchen laughs, misjudging the distance between them again and touching his arm by mistake. “Not going by what I’ve heard.”

Smirking, Xue Yang takes a drink. “Your turn.”

“I…I have two heads.”

Xue Yang rolls his eyes. “That the best you can do?”

“I’m not accustomed to falsehoods!”

The pretentious way he put that should have made Xue Yang roll his eyes again, but the strong wine has mellowed him. “Drink. I hate candy.”

“Drink!”

“See, it’s not fun if it’s something too obvious.”

“Fine. I want that puppy you mentioned.”

“…drink?”

Xiao Xingchen raises his jar. “No drink! I wouldn't mind a puppy."

“You seem more like a cat person.”

“I like all animals. Would you rather a cat? You seem like a cat person. Like…” Xiao Xingchen hesitates. “Takes a while to warm up, independent, but loyal once you know you can tru…” He trails off, as if sensing he’s gone too far.

Biting his lip, Xue Yang looks out over the beds of budding vegetables, silver in the starlight. He’s never imagined anyone examining him in any way other than to evaluate him as a threat. Certainly not to comment on any traits in a tone Xue Yang tells himself is definitely not one of fondness, no matter how much it sounds that way. “Well, I have always liked cats better.”

“My favorite food is congee.”

“No drink, for reasons I’ll never understand.”

“You can add anything to it, and you have a nice warm meal!”

Xue Yang shakes his head. “I killed a man today for trespassing.”

“Oh, that’s terrible, Chengmei! Drink….”

It’s late when Xiao Xingchen's wine jars are empty. He'd had another two tucked away in his long white sleeve, and grown melancholy as the night wore on.

“I did everything I could to ruin my friend’s life,” he says, raising the last of his wine to the moon.

Xue Yang glances at him sharply. He’s kept his head better than Xiao Xingchen, only pretending to drink most of the time. “You what?”

“Song Lan. Zichen. The destruction of his temple was all my fault…” Head drooping, he slides sideways, cheek resting on Xue Yang’s shoulder. “All my fault, his eyes, all me…”

Xue Yang sits very still. Xiao Xingchen is warm against him, his breath soft on his neck. Then, very delicately, he pries Xiao Xingchen’s fingers from the wine jar and sets it beside them on the step.

“That was not your fault,” he says, and feels a thrill at his own words, because of course it was Xiao Xingchen’s fault, it was all his fault, and one day Xue Yang will get to throw it all in his face—

But not tonight.

“You did more than most would,” he says instead. “You gave him your eyes.” And he took them, the fucker! he wants to add. You do-gooding moron, mutilating yourself in service of that plodding lump of self-righteousness—

“My fault, my fault…”

“For what, doing your duty?” Xue Yang’s throat is beginning to tighten. He’s not sure why Xiao Xingchen would be telling him something so personal. For all his friendly, open nature, Xiao Xingchen is guarded when it comes to anything too revealing, to the point that Xue Yang sometimes feels as if he only half knows him. “You’re not responsible for that madman’s actions.”

Xiao Xingchen moves slightly, eyelashes brushing Xue Yang’s throat. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” says Xue Yang, and then, mentally, Drink!

And suddenly Xiao Xingchen is all smiles again, straightening up. “You always know just what to say to cheer me up. You—you wouldn’t leave me like Zichen did, would you? Not even if…I…” He hiccups. “I’d…I’d miss you too much…”

“Drink,” Xue Yang says automatically.

“No drink.”

Xue Yang glances away. Xiao Xingchen chooses this moment to pitch forward, to be caught by Xue Yang moments before he sprawls forward onto the stairs.

“I might be a little tipsy,” he mumbles into the hollow of Xue Yang’s throat.

Xue Yang tightens his grip. It feels…it feels wrong to be holding a person that isn’t a corpse.

A warm, living person, who seems to want to be in his arms.

Not hate being there, at least.

Or so he thinks. Xue Yang has never embraced another person before and isn’t quite sure how people are supposed to behave. Surely Xiao Xingchen would have pushed him away if he found his touch detestable—?

“You really can’t hold your liquor, can you,” he says before he can think into it too much. Gently, he scoops up Xiao Xingchen and half-carries him into the house. He weighs almost nothing, and Xue Yang thinks, I should get him to eat more, then chases the ridiculous thought away and bleaches the spot it had rested.

Xiao Xingchen grips the front of his robe as Xue Yang lays him down on the Coffin House's single bed. “Stay with me. Talk to me.”

Xue Yang hesitates, glancing over at his coffin in the corner of the room. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Xiao Xingchen almost pouts. Drunk daozhang is a petulant daozhang, it seems. “Just for a little while.”

The feeling of wrongness increases as Xue Yang crawls into bed beside Xiao Xingchen, keeping on top of the covers.

It shouldn’t be like this.

It’s not as if he hasn’t pictured sharing a bed with the daozhang. Who wouldn’t, if they had only a claustrophobic coffin to sleep in? But he’s never imagined an inebriated Xiao Xingchen curling into him, picking up his good hand, playing with it. Tracing the scars, running his fingertip between his fingers, brushing the palm with his thumb.

Soft, harmless touch that makes Xue Yang freeze, every nerve in his body screaming at him to snatch up Jiangzai.

“You have nice hands,” says Xiao Xingchen, voice thick with alcohol, almost giddy, and Xue Yang, focusing on the familiar voice, feels himself relaxing.

He’s safe, here. Safe with the daozhang.

The daozhang would never hurt Chengmei. And Xue Yang is Chengmei, for now.

The daozhang cares about Chengmei.

And in turn—

And in turn, the daozhang belongs to him.

Xiao Xingchen, the man who despises Xue Yang more than anyone else, now owes him more than he can ever repay in a single lifetime. He has saved Xiao Xingchen’s life a dozen times over without him having so much as suspected his life was ever in danger.

True, Chengmei could have killed the unsuspecting daozhang hundreds of times over the past year.

But this is different somehow.

Better.

Xue Yang is the guardian of the man he hates most in this world. Has held his life in the palm of his hand and chosen not only to let him live, but to actively destroy his enemies.

A delicious perversion of what he knows will come on the day he tears off his mask and reveals everything to Xiao Xingchen.

Finally takes his life, after preserving it for so long.

Xiao Xingchen rolls over, soft black hair in Xue Yang’s face, still holding Xue Yang’s hand in his.

Xue Yang wonders what Xiao Xingchen will say in the morning. If he’ll be embarrassed or realize that this was all simply the wine. If Xue Yang should pretend to have been too drunk to remember, or if he should say something, maybe crawl under the covers tomorrow night before Xiao Xingchen gets into bed, see what happens…

The bed is far more comfortable than the coffin, after all.

Will be warmer in winter, too…

He winces at the thought. He should go back to his coffin, stop whatever this is.

"You don't really want me here," he says.

“Drink,” Xiao Xingchen mumbles, and drops off into slumber.

Xue Yang takes a deep breath. He wants to free his hand but is afraid of waking the daozhang. As if sensing this even in sleep, Xiao Xingchen tightens his grip on his hand.

Xue Yang stares up at the ceiling, mind settling, the last of his tension fading.

He thinks he’ll go into town tomorrow and buy some flower seeds.

_______________________

thanks for reading! Spare a reblog? AO3

#mdzsnet #theuntameddaily #fytheuntamed #drink no drink #xuexiao #xue yang #xiao xingchen #a-qing #yi city #lotus writes #aside for the violence this is basically G rated

[detectivereyes]

Even If You Stumble A Step, You’re Still Moving Forward

Summary: TK and Carlos move into their new home post-finale and TK doesn't exactly make the best first impression on their new neighbors...

Notes: this was like a fever dream i had a few months ago and then i stopped writing but decided to revive it last night so... here we are. also title creds (and emotional support creds) to jillian @marjansmarwani​ because this fic wouldn’t exist without her. and also s/o to brit @moviegeek03​ for being extra supportive of yet another fic where [spoiler] tk falls down the stairs again :/

read on ao3

TK shuffles through the maze of boxes stacked several feet high throughout their new home. The scene shouldn’t surprise him considering it was only a few months ago he was moving his own boxes into their old home. However it feels different knowing that most of this stuff isn’t actually theirs.

Well, it is theirs now he figures. But the fact remains that most of the stuff filling the space was either given to them by various members of the extended 126 family, or was recently purchased by TK or Carlos on one of their many trips to Bed Bath and Beyond. 

They had taken their time searching for a new place to live. Owen had made it clear that they were both welcome to stay with him (and Mateo) for as long as they needed, but TK had known it was time.

So when a townhome popped up on Zillow that met all their criteria, they wasted no time booking an appointment with the realtor. They both had instantly fallen in love with the open floor plan and deck out back. Plus they knew the extra bedrooms upstairs may come in handy someday.

While they knew the vertical layout of the home itself wasn’t the best, having more stairs than either of them were used to, it checked every other box and was right in their price range so they had wasted no time signing the lease.

A few days had passed since settlement and now most of their days were spent trying to unpack and make this new house into a home. It would never replace the one they had lost, but it had been exciting to build this new home together.

Though on this particular day, TK found himself alone in trying to get settled in since Carlos had a shift. With the 126 still out of commission, possibly forever, and the department not having any openings for paramedics, most of the unpacking was left for TK.

After getting a good chunk of the living room done, he checks the time and decides to go out and see if the mail has come yet. Not that he’s expecting anything with their address still being so new, and not getting much physical mail anyway to begin with. But it still provided a good excuse to take a break.

TK opens the front door and starts to make his way down the set of stairs leading down. 

He makes it about halfway before his attention is caught by one of his new next door neighbors, Mr. Martin- if he remembers correctly, exiting at the same time. Mr. Martin gives a friendly wave and TK goes to return the gesture.

Except, he’s not paying attention when he takes the next step, and he misses, his heel just barely hitting the edge of the step before he starts to go down. He tumbles until he comes to a hard stop at the bottom, with most of his weight coming down on his right knee, sending shooting pains up and down his leg.

The rest of his body is sore, and by the time his ears stop ringing, he can just barely make out a new female voice asking “Sir, are you okay?”

He opens his eyes, which he had not even realized he had squeezed shut at some point, to see his neighbor, Mrs. Bailey- his brain supplies, from across the street making her way over to check on him, worried lines painting across her forehead.

“Yes, ma’am. I’m fine,” he grimaces while pushing himself up to a seated position. He tries to hide the blush forming on his cheeks. Not the best way to make a good first impression on his neighbors.

“Are you sure, son? We can call for help if you need it. Someone you know, or 9-1-1?” Mr. Martin joins in the conversation.

“No!” TK interjects too quickly, startling both neighbors. He panics for a moment when the weight of the predicament settles in. He meets the gaze of both figures still staring at him, clearly concerned and waiting for him to say something. “I mean, I’m a paramedic. I’m fine. Or I will be fine. Thank you,” he flashes them both a quick smile before pushing himself up off the ground, ignoring the sharp pains that radiate from his knee when he tries to put any weight on it.

Getting back up the stairs is no easy feat, and he doesn’t have to turn around to know that both Mr. Martin and Mrs. Bailey are still watching him, concerned. Fortunately, they don’t know him well enough to try and follow or help. He’s not sure he would feel comfortable enough receiving help from some strangers. Half the time he doesn’t even feel comfortable receiving help from the people he does know.

He leans heavily on the railing, refusing to turn around out of fear of further mortification. Once he’s inside the home, he collapses right inside the hall, unable to go any further since his knee decided to stop cooperating.

A few tears pool in his eyes, and he’s unsure if that’s due to the pain or embarrassment. Not knowing what else to do, he takes out his phone and shoots a quick text to Carlos.

TK: we have to move

It doesn’t take more than a few seconds for the three dots to pop up before being replaced by Carlos’ response.

Carlos: ???

TK sighs and rubs his face, trying to figure out the best way to explain the situation.

TK: i feel down the stairs out front and all the neighbors saw

Carlos: Holy shit, are you okay??

He lets out a puff of air at that.

TK: you mean besides my bruised ego?

TK: no, i hurt my knee but i’m fine. that’s not the issue here.

Carlos: Okay, I’ll be home in an hour and you can let me be the judge of that. If I see any swelling, we’re going to the doctor.”

He rolls his eyes at Carlos’ worry. At worst, it’s a bad sprain, nothing that can’t be fixed with some icing and wrapping. But there are other things they need to worry about.

TK: you’re missing the point, carlos. the entire neighborhood thinks i’m an idiot. we can’t live here anymore.

TK knows he’s being dramatic, but the more he thinks about it, the more embarrassed he gets. The idea that these are people he’s going to have to continue to face everyday for the foreseeable future. And that now all they’ll be able to think about when they do see him. Now he’ll just be known as the guy who can’t walk down stairs.

Carlos: Relax, TK. I’ll be home soon.

TK: you mean our temporary place of residence which we will soon be moving out of

He doesn’t get a response after that. 

His mind continues to spiral while he waits for Carlos to arrive. He knows the other man is likely climbing the walls trying to leave his shift early but it would still be awhile before he could be allowed to leave.

Left alone with his thoughts, his mind keeps playing out the series of events that happened minutes ago. He can't help but beat himself up over embarrassing himself like that. Ironically enough, it’s not even the first time he’s fallen down stairs, having taken a tumble down the stairs in Carlos’ place a few months back. And of course he would manage to injure himself that time, and this time as well.

He should at least try to get up so he can find an ice pack to lessen the swelling. Sitting on the floor up against the wall can’t be doing his knee any favors. Yet he can’t bring himself to move, instead resting his head back against the wall and sighing.

TK pulls out his phone again, cycling through the apps until he hears the tell-tale keys jingling in the already unlocked door.

As soon as Carlos steps through the door, he nearly trips over TK in the doorway. “Woah, hey! TK, are you okay?” he crouches down to TK’s level.

TK shrugs. Now that he’s face to face with Carlos, he can’t help but feel suffocated by another person judging him, even if Carlos’ worry comes from a place of concern.

“Can I take a look at your knee?”

TK nods, allowing Carlos to gently inspect his swollen joint. He winces as Carlos traces his hand around his kneecap.

“This doesn’t look good, babe. I think we need to go to the hospital.”

“No, it’s fine,” he quickly shakes his head. The worried look in Carlos’ eyes only makes his heart ache, and he can only try to find ways to make it go away. “Just help me up and we can ice it. It will look better once the swelling goes down a bit.”

Carlos gives him a look that screams I don’t believe you but sighs. “Fine, but if it doesn’t…”

“I know, I know. You’ll drag my ass to the emergency room,” TK gives him a reassuring smile.

Carlos returns the smile, and extends a hand to help TK up. TK accepts, and allows Carlos to take on most of his weight once he’s standing. They slowly make their way over to the living room, with Carlos softly depositing TK onto the sofa. He then disappears into the kitchen before returning with an ice pack in hand.

“Thanks,” TK smiles, trying to mask the wince as Carlos places the pack onto his knee.

“Do you want to watch an episode of The Office?” Carlos asks, picking up the remote and settling in the spot next to TK.

TK shrugs, knowing that Carlos is just trying to appeal to him by offering to put on his favorite show. The other man doesn’t even like the show that much, often finding the humor dry and tasteless, but TK thinks he just doesn’t get it.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?”

There it is.

“I just can’t believe I did that in front of our new neighbors. They probably think I’m an idiot.”

“I’m sure no one thinks you’re an idiot, TK,” Carlos gently reassures him.

“Yeah all the neighbors saw me make an idiot of myself,” TK sighs exasperatedly. “God, how am I supposed to face these people everyday now?”

“Hate to break it to you babe, but this is not a valid reason for us to move.”

“I know,” he sighs again.

“Besides,” Carlos continues. “If your track record has proven anything, it’s that this won’t be the last medical emergency at our new home. It’s good that the neighbors are getting used to it now.”

TK gives him a pointed look.

“I’m pretty sure this is the second time you’ve fallen down the stairs since we’ve started dating,” Carlos says with a light chuckle.

“Whatever,” TK scoffs. “At least the other time it wasn’t in front of total strangers.”

Carlos softens. “That’s true. But I’m sure the neighbors just care about you. I don’t think this is that big of a deal, TK.”

“You weren’t there though. It was mortifying.”

“What did they say, exactly?”

TK nervously looks down. “They asked if I was okay. And if I needed any help.”

Carlos raises his eyebrow, waiting to see if TK continues. 

“They offered to call for help but I said no and went back inside.”

“See? They just care about you TK. I haven’t really talked to anyone yet but they seem like nice people.”

“I guess,” TK shrugs.

“I know, you’re still embarrassed. But if nothing else, they’ll probably forget about it by the next time we see them.”

“You don’t think I’ll be known as the ‘clumsy neighbor who can’t walk down stairs’?”

“Maybe the ‘cute clumsy neighbor that can’t walk down stairs,’” Carlos says with a smirk. “But we could always change that.”

TK cocks his head to the side. 

“You think our new neighbors might enjoy some peach scones when we go over and have a proper introduction?”

“You really plan to charm our new neighbors with your baking?” 

“You think it will work?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then yes, I do,” Carlos grins proudly. He then leans over and gently removes the ice pack from TK’s knee, grimacing at what he sees. “This still looks pretty swollen, babe. I think we need to go to the hospital.”

TK gives him a pained smile. “You sure I can’t talk my way out of this?”

“Nope,” Carlos says, popping the p. He stands up before extending his hand to help TK do the same.

TK accepts, shifting his weight and leaning into Carlos once he’s fully upright. 

“You know, I think you may have a paramedic blindspot when it comes to your own health.”

TK lets out a light laugh. “Yeah, I’ve been told.”

A week later, Carlos softly knocks on the door of Mrs. Bailey’s home across the street with one hand and a plate of peach scones in the other. TK had offered to hold the scones but when they went over to Mr. Martin's home earlier in the day, it was quickly discovered it was too difficult for him to manage getting up the stairs and holding the plate.

So he settles for letting Carlos do most of the work while he awkwardly limps up the stairs, leaning heavily on the railing to keep some pressure off his knee.

After their quick trip to the emergency room, it had been determined that TK’s initial assessment was right and it was just a bad sprain. He was given a brace to help reduce the pain and a pair of crutches, which (much to Carlos’ dismay) he abandoned after only two days, citing that they only made it harder to get around their home which he can now say for certain has too many damn stairs.

A problem which seems to follow him as he also has to get up the stairs to greet his neighbors.

“Maybe we should have moved to a neighborhood of single level homes,” he states with a wince as he joins Carlos at the front door.

Carlos snorts. “We can take it into consideration if we ever have to move again.”

“God, please don’t say that. I don’t want to think about moving ever again.”

“Good,” Carlos gives him a soft smile. “Because I’m planning on staying here for the long run.”

“Me too,” TK returns the smile just as Mrs. Bailey opens the door.

“What a lovely surprise!” she exclaims taking in the sight of the two men. 

“Hello ma’am,” Carlos says with a polite smile.

“We brought you some scones,” TK adds, gesturing to the plate in Carlos’ hands.

“Oh how thoughtful of you. Please come in. How are you doing?” she asks, turning to TK. “I’ve been worried.”

He exchanges a look with Carlos, the other man's face clearly saying I told you she cares, before turning back to Mrs. Bailey.

“I’m fine, ma’am. Thank you for asking. It’s just a bad sprain. But I do appreciate your concern, especially the other week.”

“Oh, of course dear,” she says with a warm smile. “Now, you boys aren’t going to make me eat these scones all by myself are you?”

They both let out a light chuckle and exchange another glance before following their new neighbor, and friend inside.

#i've posted too much today #but i need share before i end up deleting it #but actually if it flops i may just delete anyway #whatever at this point #911 lone star #911lonestarfic #tarlosfic #my fic #usersaaya #userbones #reyeslonestartag #pragmaticoptimist34 #tuserpaige

[willsimpforazula]

Sokkla Month Day 3: FMA:B AU

A/N: NGL i did toy with making sokka as mustang and azula as hawkeye but it be like it do. It was either this or Fate/Stay Night AU where someone needs a mana transfer (if you didn't know what a mana transfer is, good. pls stay pure) Anyways, without further ado-

Tunnels

Fifth Laboratory

Central City

As soon as Envy started to brag about how Ty Lee couldn't bring herself to shoot her wife in the face and the look of shock on her face, Sokka knew by the way her entire body was tensing up that this was not going to end well for both sides. While Envy was still oblivious, Sokka braced himself for the screams that were sure to follow the smug laughs.

"Congratu-fucking-lations Envy, you've just played yourself." Azula coldly smirked, her face in a sort of grin that reminded Sokka way too much of Kimblee that it sent a chill down his spine. Pocketing her gloves to reveal a transmutation circle etched into the top of her hand, she turned to look Envy in the eye before snapping her fingers.

Instantly, the room was filled with the agonizing screams of the homunculus as its tongue was set ablaze in a flash of turquoise. Glaring at Azula, she merely remarked "Remarkable, isn't it? After all, the human tongue has a rather high percentage of fat, which makes it oh so easy to burn."

Turning to the rest of the assembled group, Azula barked "Go find this Father guy, me and the lieutenant will deal with this sack of shit."

"You heard the man, let's go."

"But-"

"That's an order." Sokka barked to Aang.

"Look kid, we don't got much time." one of the Chimeras urged. Reluctantly, they started to move deeper and deeper into the tunnels. Before Envy could even move to block, it found itself on the receiving end of another sapphire barrage, scorching it from head to toe.

"So, you're the one who burnt Lust to a crisp." it huffed and puffed, as it spent the lives the Philosopher's stone contained to regenerate its health.

"Then you know just what kind of fate awaits you."

Enraged, it abandoned its human disguise and took on it's true form, a massive green hulking beast that had a host of faces stretching against it's very skin, their death masks an unnerving sight.

"I was just going easy on you, but now I'll make sure you and your pretty little boytoy there is going to- AHHH!FUCK!"

"You truly are a special kind of dumbfuck aren't you? First you openly brag about killing my closest friend, now you give me a bigger target to hit?" she laughed, before zapping him with rapid strikes that soon filled the air with smoke, soot and the ever familiar smell of burning flash that for a brief moment, transported Sokka back to that hot, blood-soaked sands of Ishval.

Sensing that it probably wasn't the best idea to hang around in the place where Lust got fried by her, it chose the only sensible option and ran on all fours into the labyrinth.

"Sokka, stay here. This one's mine to settle."

"She was my friend too!"

" Lieutenant Sokka Hawkeye , this is a direct order from your superior to stand down."

"Fine."

Turning to face the tunnels, she strode in with a singular purpose and aim. To avenge the death of Ty Lee.

-----

"Scar?"

"What is it?"

"I need to talk to you?"

"It's about the Colonel, isn't it?."

A nod. "I figured as much.", he sighed, "That face, the rage, I used to be like that long ago. The way I see it, she'll burn herself up long before she'll even get a chance to recover."

As if to emphasize his point, the sounds of Envy's tortured screams as it was relentlessly pursued echoed through the corridors. "Come, we need to keep moving." Reluctantly, Aang nodded and grit his teeth, steeling his heart to the blood curdling screams of someone getting burnt repeatedly.

-----

"Show yourself, you freak! Weren't you all high and mighty, boasting about your exploits, hmm? Too scared to pick on someone your own size?" she taunted, eyes peeled for any sign of movement.

"Come out come out wherever you are...or else I'll burn off your skin, bit by teensy bit, you worthless piece of crap." she continued, her voice raising by several octaves and taking on an almost sadistic tone.. Hearing the echoing cries and the almost  sing song taunts, Sokka could stand it no longer and headed down the tunnels, his pistol at the low ready.

------

Turning a corner, Azula heard an all too familiar voice call out "Hey there, Colonel." Snapping around, she saw Ty Lee standing in her uniform leaning nonchalantly against the wall, before she lunged at her. She won't dare to touch her, not if the-

Her thoughts were cut short as Azula's face, twisted with rage, blasted the lookalike with an unceasing torrent. For good measure, she even charred the cartilage in its left knee and burnt out the soles on the right foot in addition to singing its eyes.

"If you think I'm afraid of calling in fires danger close, need I give you a lesson in who I am?" her lips curling in a feral grin before blasting her once more. At this point, Envy knew better than to try and reason with her and ran. "So much for homunculi being the superior being."  she tutted, her face stained with traces of soot and ash that left black streaks on her  creamy white skin.

Taking respite in a mass of pipes, it spotted Sokka, who was looking for her, hoping against hope that she didn't completely lose herself. Even injured, it formed up a devious plan as it stalked him from the shadows.

"Fuck, this place is like a maze." he uttered, wandering through the tunnels. Hearing the sound of boots, he clung to the shadows. When the noise drew level, he aimed it at her face at the same time Azula pointed her fingers at him. For a brief moment, neither side let their guard down, before exhaling.

"Didn't I tell you to stay back?"

"I couldn't Colonel. Besides, someone needs to make sure you don't do something stupid."

"You're probably right. An extra set of eyes would be helpful."

Traveling a short distance, Sokka suddenly paused and leveled his gun at the back of her head.

"Do you know who your gun is pointed at?"

"Who? Don't make me laugh, when it's just us, the Colonel calls me by my first name." Turning to face her, Envy (who was disguised as Azula) smirked. "So you two really are that close huh." Letting out a small breath, Sokka executed a double tap to the chest and one to the head before replying "I lied."

Shrugging off his shots, Envy got back up and tried to rush him, but Sokka calmly slammed two rounds into the kneecaps, making it kneel on the ground as he leisurely holstered his dry gun and drew two more from his back, knocking out its arms and wrists before finally unslinging the rifle and giving the homunculus a dose of high speed lead poisoning.

Thoroughly pissed off, Envy lashed out and stabbed his shoulder, making him drop the rifle before it wrapped an appendage around him and smacked him upside the head. Before it could paint the walls with his grey matter, the real Colonel Azula arrived and toasted Envy, rendering its grip on him a pile of soot and ash.

"You truly are a glutton for punishment aren't you? First you kill my friend and boast about it, now you hurt my lieutenant? I swear I will burn you until you're nothing but a pile of ash and dust. And I've got all the time in the world, you miserable rat." Even as she spoke, her fingers snapped like a machine gun setting it ablaze over and over again.

"How many lives you've got left? Six? Sixty? Six hundred? No matter, it's all the same to me. Tell me, how does it feel to get your ass roasted by the very same person who killed Lust in the very same way?"

"Why you-GAH!!!"

"Stop, please!"

"What, not hot enough? I'll gladly crank up the heat. Stay back lieutenant, it's going to get a little toasty in here." Like a well oiled machine, her snap came almost naturally and any humanoid form of Envy was finally turned into cinders, whilst the tip of her gloves were starting to char and smoke. From the ashes, a green six legged slug-esque creature crawled away, it's squeaking voice lamenting at having been reduced to this form once again.

Without hesitation, Azula applied pressure on the offending creature, before commenting "So this is your true form. What a pathetic little being."

"P-Please-don't kill me!" it begged.

"Envy means jealousy, does it not? Well then, you won't have anything to be jealous of very shortly."

"Nooo please I don't want to die, not like this!!" it screeched.

Before Azula could turn the hapless homunculus into the next life, a sound of a hammer being cocked gave her paused.

"And just what do you think you're doing?"

"That's far enough. I'll handle it"

"What does it matter if it's me or you that deals the final blow? The fucker is going to die regardless, so lower your weapon."

"No. I cannot obey that."

"I will not ask again."

"Put your damn hands in the air, now!"

A burst of alchemically created earth wave soon took the decision making away from them as it launched it right into Aang's hand, who kept a vice like grip on it.

"Nice of you to drop by. Now hand it over."

"No."

"This is a direct order by a superior officer, hand it over."

"No."

"Are you asking for a fight and a court martial?"

"Bring it on by all means. But take a good look at yourself and ask, is this the face you want to lead Amestris with?!"

"Kill it if you wish, what right do I have as someone who has done the same. But I shudder to think what kind of world such a person held prisoner by their desire for vengeance would create." Scar added.

"Colonel, I have no intention of letting that slimeball live to see the next sunrise but please, this is not your fight anymore."

"No, you don't understand! I finally ran the bastard down, the bastard who killed Ty Lee! I-"

"But still, I cannot let you do something so reckless! Justice is what she needed, not this blind hatred for her killer. If this is how you act if one person wrongs you, what then will you do if a region or hell, another nation crosses you? Will you turn it into another Ishval? No, I will not let you."

"Please, let it go. I know you're better than that, Azula. I'm begging you, please!" "Go on, do what you need to. Then what?"

"Then it'll be the second last shot I'll ever take. After that, what else is there to live for?"

"No, that won't happen. That can never happen." Summoning her rage, she loosed off an intense jet that blackened the walls of a nearby tunnel, it's heat making everyone sweat like a hot August day.

Looking at the people around her, she remarked "Ironic, isn't it? Scolded by a child, lectured by a man who has all the right to seek vengeance against me for the crimes against his people and you, you-"

"-I've done it again." she ended mournfully. Clasping the hand that was still pointing at her, she gently lowered it down, saying "I've hurt you. Please, forgive me.", before kneeling at his feet, covering her face as the waterworks were out in full force. Holstering his derringer, he too dropped to his knees, and held her in his arms as she cried into his shoulders.

"Azula, I forgive you." he whispered in her ear, all caution and decorum thrown right out of the window as he rubbed her back in small circles.

"Really?" she looked up with red rimmed golden eyes.

"Really."

"Thank you, Sokka. For pulling me back from the abyss. I love you."

"I love you too, my little firecracker."

"Goddamnit Lieutenant, I can't believe you lied to me!" Envy squeaked.

"Shut up you pipsqueak, who gave you the right to speak!" Aang scolded, making it shrink back in fear.

"Hey Azula?"

"Yes?"

"We still got a transmutation circle to stop."

"Right."

"The usual place, 8 pm tomorrow evening?"

"As long as you're the one footing the bill."

"Deal. Now let's go."

#sokkla month #au #sokkla #sokka x azula #i could have had them eat each other's face out in the tunnels but it stopping daddy from making a philo stone was more important #not sure where to insert a secret tunnel pun #day 3: AU

[mcfreakin-bxtch]

A Moment of Peace

Pairing: The Mandalorian x Reader

Warnings: NSFW, oral (m & f), daddy kink, thigh riding, dom/sub, grinding, fluff, and some angst (I’m sorry it just happened I swear)

Word Count: 5.8k

A/N: So I like to think I’m getting better at writing smut. We shall see. I also didn’t mean for some angst to seep through but I’m fucking terrible when it comes to that so I apologize in advance. The next chapter is a little filler one before the last two before hiatus. As always, requests, prompts, and taglist are open!

The Mandalorian’s Love Series

The Mandalorian could hear laughter. They were pure, chimed in a natural sense. Not completely sure on which planet he was on, Din inspected the green land laid out before him. Behind him was a cottage, beautifully decorated on the outside; he smelt hints of smoke in the air from the direction of it. There were fields and fields for miles, soft colors of flowers coloring patches around the fields. The air was fresh, and the distinct smell of rain was tanged in the sweetness of it, though the sun burned bright and heavy; his skin, beautifully tan, basked in the glow of it. This was a different kind of warmth, one Din had not felt in years; not as free now. He could feel it on his face too, and the simple feel of the rays terrified him at first. Din was shocked to see skin when he looked down at his hands. There were no gloves – considered to be second skin by nature – no helmet, no beskar armor or a weapon’s belt.

Before he could get over his shock, he heard his name being called out from afar.

“Go get him!”

It was Y/N. Even as disoriented and confused as he was now, the sound of her voice was enough to make him snap back.

He couldn’t get a good look of her though when two small figures abruptly tackled him with a giant hug. They giggled as he ‘oofed’ and nearly fell back.

“Hi daddy!” They said in unison.

Daddy. They called him dad.

“Hey, go easy on the old man!”

Din snapped his head up towards the tease. Y/N stood there, smiling that beautiful toothy smile that made him smile in return without fail; she was wearing a light blue dress, stopping just barely above her kneecaps. Her Y/C/H pulled in a half bun, Y/C/E still holding that gleam that Din could only describe as being solely hers; mesmerizing, unwavering.

The two moving kids still in his arms brought his attention back to them. On his right side was a girl, about near eleven years old, who resembled Y/N so much that it was scary; but there was no denying Din was there too, with the same pouty lips and small dimples. To his left, a boy, who looked to be six or seven; he definitely got his looks from his father, hair and eyes just as dark as Din’s, but somehow, he had Y/N’s smile.

“What’s wrong dad?” The boy asked.

They both pulled away to look at him, and Din found that he already missed their little arms wrapped around him.

“Uh,” he had to clear his throat. “N-nothing. Just… feeling a little off is all.”

Y/N pursed her lips, obviously seeing through the lie. Not that it was a complete one anyway.

“Go run around a little, kids, we’ll join you guys in a minute.”

They both screamed with excitement and ran down the small hill leading to the field. Y/N strolled to Din’s side, wrapping her arms around his neck. It was natural instinct to lay his hands on her hips to bring her closer.

“What’s wrong?” She whispered gently.

Din should’ve shuttered at the constant feel of her skin against his like this, under the warmth of the sun and the feel of wind breezing between them; unfiltered and no defining barrier between them. He never felt this kind of stimulation before all at once, the sensory overload being nearly too much and yet he was so calm, so used to the feel of it at the same time. It was like switching back and forth between this Din Djarin and the old Din.

He wanted to say that they didn’t have this. That there was no possible way they could have this, at least not now. That maybe this was too good to be ever be real, because Y/N always deserved much more than what he could give her, and yet she still stayed, and she was still in love with him. That, he would never be able to really understand how or why, maybe not until Din was absolutely sure this is a reality for them.

Instead he said, “Nothing I’m just… I’m just happy.”

And that was true. His doubts, fears, and any insecurities they haven’t battled yet could all say that this was impossible for someone like him, but this moment of peace and content is enough to say that he can have a peaceful and happy life, so long as Y/N was still a part of the picture. He always prided himself on his independence, but he wanted to depend on Y/N, or more specifically their love; no matter how tragic or bitter, though he never wanted to think about it, their relationship could ever end, he would still want her love because it would always be a part of his happiness for him. It would always hold the part of him that finally felt worthy of the peace he longed to capture, that was capable of good and change.

Y/N grinned at him, pecking his lips softly. Din chased her lips, going in for a more slow kiss, mapping out her mouth as if this was the first; missed her taste.

She broke it with a soft giggle, placing a hand on his chest; his heart thudded softly against her palm.

“Now Djarin,” she drawled with a poke to his nose. “Save that for later,”

Din laughed and gave the tip of her nose a sloppy kiss, grinning even more at her squished expression.

“Yes, my lovely wife.”

They both turned to watch the boy and girl run around the meadow, giggling and screaming. Din smiled softly at the sight and hugged Y/N closer.

Din gasped. The first thing he felt was the soft scratchiness of his blanket against his face. The room was pitch black. The bed was cold, empty without Y/N. The hatch door was closed, but he could still hear the faint sounds of her voice, no doubt talking to the Child. He slowly sat up, feeling around blindly for his helmet as sleep was still evading his mind. When his knuckles brushed up against it he hesitated to put it on, remembering the dream and how free he felt. It shook him to the core, the hesitation; how far he was willing to go to get what he desperately desired.

He didn’t bother putting on his boots as he trudged off the cot, rolling and stretching his muscles; they were usually tense from the armor and the stiffness of the cot, and it seemed to be getting worst with age.

“Hey!” He heard the soft coo of her voice.

Walking towards the fresher, his heart stopped at the sight before him. Y/N was on her knees, hair pulled back in a bun and a bucket of water next to her, gently splashing water onto the giggly Child. The Child bent down to try and splash the water back and Y/N had to grab him before he could flop on his face. He found himself smiling at them, leaning against the doorway.

His wide brown eyes found him first. He raised his little green hand towards him, cooing at him. Y/N turned her head around, smile bright and whole.

“Hey,” she greeted. “There’s some food for you by the cockpit. Eat while I finish up here.”

Y/N wished she could see the smile that she didn’t doubt for a second crossed across his cheeks in that moment. She naturally leaned into his touch as he caressed her cheek, hands bare for now. He gave a gentle swipe across her cheekbone and bent down – she bit down her giggle at the creaks of his bones as he did, the soft, quiet grunt that quickly followed – to give the baby’s ear a soft caress of his own.

“Alright big guy,” Y/N exclaimed. “Let’s actually clean you up.”

The Child babbled back, plopping down on his little butt and going back to splashing. Y/N didn’t mind the water that spilled over her clothes. She washed the little gray hairs on his head gently, making sure none of the soap got into his eyes. After he was clean she let him play for a few more minutes in the water; he needed this, just as much as Y/N and Din needed this small but perfect moment of peace.

They were on a backwoods planet, nearly no habitants on the small, gray planet. It wasn’t the most ideal, but it would take at least a day or two before their signal was traceable again. There were on day two of their stay and would have to start moving as soon as night fell.

This was the first time since she started travelling with him where they could actually sit and relax, even for a little bit, without the threat of every bounty hunter known in the galaxy hovering over them. Y/N had to force Din to sleep the night before, because she was one-hundred percent positive that there were definitive dark circles under his eyes; the sluggish way in which he started to move and talk proved right.

He refused to sleep until she was next to him, wrapped up in her arms. She held him to her chest, gently messaging and scratching his back. His soft groans and sighs of content made her heart tighten, in such a good way, though it felt as if it was going to implode; she knew it was never going to go away. Din no doubt could hear it but chose not to say anything about it much to her relief. He needed to rest, and this was probably the only time he would be able to like this for a while.

It made her feel angry, and even more defensive and protective of him. He was on his own for so long before her and the Child came into the picture, and Y/N strived to make sure that he knew that no matter what, she was here now; that he could relax a little, could rely on someone else without the fear of them leaving.

The Child, now cleaned and clothed, snuggled into his pod, snuggling into his makeshift blanket. Din and Y/N only found out recently that the baby slept better with the scent of them pressed against him, so an old, tattered sweater of hers laid out underneath him as padding and one of his shirts laid atop the Child’s blue blanket.

Y/N gave him a small kiss on the forehead, smiling as his beady eyes shut. The kid was going to be out for a while, Y/N and Din having tired him out by playing various little games with him until his eyes started to droop.

Y/N saw a side to Din that was new to her as they played with the Child. She always knew he loved the green creature, despite how much he could get annoyed with him. There was never a time where Din wasn’t gentle with him, and, though he could have a temper, never ever raised his voice at him when the Child would mess with the switches or spill something on the ship or in a cantina. Din was patient with him, and during the games nothing by playful – it came out awkward at first, testing the waters – but eventually he couldn’t hide the small laughter that mixed with the Child’s own giggles. Y/N fell even more in love with him if that was possible.

But now, as Y/N sat on the edge of the bunk, she couldn’t help the feeling of dread that washed over her. They had to get rid of the imp responsible for the bounty over the Child’s head. Otherwise, they would never stop coming for him. She knew that this was logical, but the eeriness of the situation was starting to plague her now more than ever. Tomorrow they would travel back to Sorgan in need of Cara Dune’s aid and Y/N was happy to be seeing Cara again. She just wished that she could shake this feeling off.

Unbeknownst to her, Din was feeling the same way. He knew how dangerous and risky this plan was, but it was for the Child, and possibly the only chance they’ll ever get at ending this whole thing. Whoever was after him was persistent, dangerous all on its own. Y/N was already stressed enough, so he didn’t tell her that he was completely unsure on if he was going to make it through this. Not to say he’s never felt this before; in almost every single job he took, he kept in the back of his head that this day could very well be his last. It didn’t bother him as much when he was alone. But now the thought of leaving Y/N and the Child stirred fear deep into his core. He was aware that Y/N could take care of herself and the baby without him, and that alone always made him feel better when there were blaster shots grazing him or knives being thrown at him. Because he wouldn’t be leaving them behind underprepared and no defenses.  

And the dream? It certainly didn’t help the situation. Never once did he ever imagine himself as a father until then, until Y/N. Truth be told, Din liked the fights. Maybe it’s because he was raised into it, but he often found himself hesitating when it came to family. He chalked it up to fear, which wasn’t a lie on its own.

He didn’t remember finishing up the last of his still warm meal. Didn’t remember making his way to the bunk, mindlessly searching for his love.

“I’m sorry,” Din apologized, sitting down next to her, shoulders pressed tightly against each other. “For sleeping for so long.” He added at her frown. The moon was already almost up.  

Y/N shook her head, placing a hand on his knee. “Nothing to apologize for. You needed it.” She gave his knee a soft squeeze.

Din could only nod. She felt the way his muscles relaxed at her touch and the way his shoulders sagged. Times like these were where Y/N could really see just how exhausted and aged he was. When he didn’t have the strength to hold himself back, his true colors shown brightly; most times they were sad, lonely. Only the comfort of her warm hugs and melodic voice could soothe them away, make them disappear like the sun does with the clouds.

“You do too,” he finally whispered back.

Y/N gave him a stern glare. “You let me sleep all the time.”

The look in her eyes told him not to argue. He decided that it was best he didn’t. Their time seemed precious now, and he didn’t want to waste it with arguing. Instead he wanted it all. He wanted her to see him in the light, allowing her to feel him without the use of the dark, hands searching blindly. He wanted to spend what could be their last peace inside her, around her, just everything that you can do to be as humanly tied; tethered by a strong, unbreakable thread, two souls embracing with the stars above them. He could no longer deny her the sight of him.

But the Creed. It was a constant reminder of the oath he was sworn into, the people that took him in and raised him when they didn’t have to. He thought back to the dream, the clear, alluring atmosphere that surrounded them. Din wanted it more than anything in the world. It’s just the timing was all wrong. He needed it to be perfect, for when they were both ready to settle down and out of danger. He realized as this being slightly selfish, and that Y/N had just as much as a right as he did. But he owed the Mandalorians that much.

“I – I want to try something new.”

Y/N raised her eyebrows. She saw that he was deep in thought and that something was bothering him, but she knew better than to push. He’d tell her when he was ready, always.

“Close your eyes.”

His voice was gruff, heavy even behind the decoder. Y/N didn’t hesitate to close them, breath even as she heard the shuffle of him getting up and closing the Child’s pod. She heard the hiss of the helmet being taken off, the rustle of his clothes being pulled off. Din couldn’t help but swoop in for a kiss, then a small peck before placing the helmet back on.

“Open them.”

She wasn’t sure what she was expecting when she opened her eyes. Her lips parted at his body, shed of all clothing. She always felt the soft muscles on his arms and back, the soft fat of his stomach – still holding strength and just as beautiful to her – but to actually see him bare to her like this. It made her want to cry, because this was a big deal for the Mandalorian. Because he trusted her, loved her, wanted her.

He was nervous at first but seeing the way her eyes shined with awe and then lust, exploring every inch of him, not only relaxed him, but it made him incredibly hard. Y/N trailed down his stomach, soft patches of curls that lead down to his sprung dick, which she had to smirk at. She stood up, hands reaching up to lay on his shoulder and chest. She wanted to kiss him, but she knew the only way to do that was to either blindfold herself or complete darkness, and she was too intoxicated at seeing what she was only aloud to feel.

“You’re fucking beautiful,” Y/N found herself whispering. Din sighed, outlining her lips with the tip of his finger. He really, really wanted to kiss her.

Y/N’s leg brushed up against him as she pulled her shirt over her head, making him let out a hiss through his teeth. She smiled in apology, wrapping her hand around his length and giving it a slow but firm pump.

“Lay down,” she whispered by his ear. It made him shiver, and he did as he was told. His hands laid on his sides, itching to touch himself.

Y/N was starting to breathe heavily as she shimmed her pants down her legs, kicking them off as if they were an insult. She was just as naked as he was when she crawled over him, straddling his right thigh. They both sighed as her wet pussy rubbed against the meat of his leg. Her hands trailed down his arms, down his chest. He tensed his thigh when her fingers brushed playfully against his nipples, grunting. The sound made her whine, hips rolling on their own accord. The hairs of his leg felt divine on her bundle of nerves, tickling her in a delicious way.

She smiled devilishly and ducked down. Her lips met his collarbone, biting down and sucking until there was a purple mark. Din moaned softly and rolled his leg up in time with her hips, making her nip at his chest, just above his left nipple. She kissed it before enveloping it in her mouth. He cursed and bucked his hips up against her stomach. She let go with a pop, trailing more kisses down his stomach until she settled herself between his legs. Y/N groaned at the loss of his leg under her, but she had to taste him.

Din looked down just in time to see her envelop his entire dick in the cave of her mouth, gagging as the tip of him hit the back of her throat. He moaned loudly, cursing and clutching a handful of her hair. His hips stuttered up, and she had to tap his hip to let him know to take it easy. Her hand gripped what her mouth couldn’t fit, sucking lightly at the head of his cock. His grip on her hair loosened only a little, the other holding the hand that was now on his thigh.

Y/N pulled up for air, a trail of saliva trailing from his dick and her mouth. She kissed up the length of his girth as she continued to pump him slowly. He almost came when she sucked lightly at the skin of his balls. He pulled her before she could continue, taking in her shiny lips and watery eyes. It was a sight he would fully commit to memory. He wanted to kiss her, to feel her lips moving against his in perfect symphony, needed to have her taste lingering in his mouth and –

“Ow!”

Din did not estimate just how close she was before going in for a Mandalorian’s kiss, banging his helmet against her forehead.

“Shit I’m so sorry!” Din fretted, petting her head back to check for any forming bumps or bruises.

Y/N laughed on top of him, shaking off his concern and going in slowly for what he failed to attempt. They both closed their eyes at the contact, though Din could not feel it. She stared into his eyes through the T of his helmet, kissing where his lips would be.

Din lightly trailed his nails down her spine, making her arch her back, her own hands caressing the skin of his stomach; they tickled down his sides, making him squirm.

They both took their times exploring each other. Y/N lost herself in the language of their caresses, untainted and honest. Din couldn’t get enough of it, the feeling of her against him, the way he felt the goosebumps rise on her arms. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get quite used to it.

He used the grip on her hips to line her dripping entrance over his dick, watching intently as she lined herself up and sunk down ever so slowly until his length until he was fully sheathed inside her. They moaned loudly at the feel of each other; the stretch of him left her pulsing around him, velvet slick walls begging to be used and filled up.

Y/N finally gave an experimental roll, moaning at the curls that scratched her pulsing clit. Din moved in sync with her, rolling his hips up as hers came down, hitting her as deep as possible; she wouldn’t be surprised if you could feel him in her stomach.

He was hitting the soft, spongey spot inside her repeatedly with every thrust, leaving her moaning and whining any chance she drew breath. Their pace was hard but slow, dragging out their pleasure. He clenched his teeth, wanting to go faster but needing to fuck her slowly.

“I want to kiss you,” you pleaded softly. “Please, Din, baby.”

Din moaned and eventually nodded, waiting for her to close her eyes tightly before he tugged the helmet off and yanked her down; their teeth clashed, and it did hurt but they didn’t pull away.

“Shit -.” He broke the kiss with a groan when she swiveled her hips. “F-fuck keep doing that, beautiful. Just like that.”

Y/N did, the friction against her folds a little painful and utterly amazing. Her teeth scraped against his neck, just under his jaw. He bared himself to her, inviting her.

She wondered how she survived the fire that burned in lower stomach, how she could ever live without the feel of Din’s cock hitting her g-spot to near perfection every time he was inside her. It was too much and not enough.

“You’re fucking perfect,” Din continued to moan. He palmed her breast, gripping it tightly. “These tits? They’re mine,” he snarled.

It was hard to keep her eyes shut at the dirty talk. It was making her wetter, and Din already almost slipped out of her pulsing cunt once from the sheer slickness of it.  

He abruptly flipped her onto her back, covering her eyes quickly with his hand before she accidentally opened them in surprise. His thrusts remained slow and powerful, propping one leg around his waist and the other on his shoulder.

“This pussy? This beautiful, dripping cunt is mine,” he growled.

Y/N cried out – almost pornographically – and gave a weeping cry when he pulled out of her.

His hand was still over her eyes, and she could hear him breathing heavily; his hand gripped her thigh painfully hard, but she said nothing.

“I -.” He gulped, running a hand over his face. “I wanted to take this slow. But - ”

“Fuck me,” Y/N interrupted. “Please daddy, fuck me.”

His eyes widened, and hers would’ve as well. This was a kink never discovered or discussed until now, and she held her breath as she waited for his reaction. Without so much as a warning he plunged deep into her, making her body shift upwards and her mouth open in a silent cry. His pace was hard and unforgiving, her tits bouncing furiously and hands gripping onto his biceps; her nails dug in sharply enough to draw blood, but he didn’t mind. The pain only increased the pleasure, both going hand in hand with the drag of his rigid cock across her sensitive walls.

He thought back to the dream. The thought of her belly round with their growing children was enough to make his hips stutter, for some primal urge to overtake him. With her hips in his grip again, he bounced her on his cock, grunting at the nonsense babble that was dribbling out of her mouth.

Din started to mumble what she could only describe as praises above her in Mando’a. He had started to teach her the language of his people only recently, so she was still fairly new to the language. She would have to ask him what he said later.

“Gods Din,” she moaned wantonly. “I’m gonna –‘

He jackhammered his hips into hers, and Y/N was sure that this was it, this was going to fucking destroy her and she’d let him over and over and over again. Her mind was a fog as the pool in her stomach started to coil, walls clenching furiously around him.

“Your pleasure is mine,” Din grunted. “Maker, you can feel it too, can’t you?”

Y/N could. She knew just how much Din loved her and the Child. Knew how much he hated the thought of them in any type of danger. And the longing. Yes she felt that as well, for a life akin to peace and normality. It was new for Din, awkward even, as it was for Y/N. It was a tread they would have to cross carefully.

“Yes,” she gasped. “Oh yes Din! F-fuck I love you. I love you so fucking much.”

His mind zapped to when she got shot, how scared – no petrified – no. There is no word to properly describe how he was feeling that night. He could’ve lost her if the shot was just a few inches to the right, and he wanted to say everything his heart wouldn’t let him spill, and it fucking hurt him.

“I love you too!” Din gasped. He tasted salt on his lips; he didn’t even notice he was crying. “Damn it, how could I not?”

Y/N dug her nails into his skin as her orgasm was fast approaching, his admission only making her wail. They were music to her ears, and she was so fucking happy she heard them before blood started rushing into her ears.

“Shit princess I feel you,” he growled. “I’m gonna cum in that t-tight little pussy. Fill you up so good that you’ll feel me for days.”

The thumb on her clit triggered her release. Y/N croaked out a mix of a moan and a scream, her pussy tight and throbbing around his dick, still thrusting. He fucked her through her orgasm, and when he felt the familiar pool he kissed her sloppily, tongue twirling with hers in an erotic dance.

“I’m fucking cumming,” he growled.

Y/N fisted his hair, licking around his earlobe before biting down on it.

Din let out a deep, loud grunt mixed with a snarl that was downright sin and gave one hard final thrust before she felt the warmth of his cum deep into her cervix. He was right, she would feel him for days, seeping out of her.

He gently placed her leg down and propped himself up on top of her, careful not to crush her. Their hairs were a fucking mess, tangled and mused. He found it to be gorgeous on her.

“Is it… is it okay if I stay? I just… I just want to feel you.”

Y/N nodded, not trusting her voice, and kissed his head sweetly, eyes still closed. Din kissed her once, twice, then three before burying his head in her chest, arms wrapped under her.

He said it he said it he fucking said it.

She didn’t question the taste of salt on her lips from when he kissed her, or the way his cheek was cracked and dry from the tears. She knew him well enough to know the meaning behind them.

“I think you should call me daddy every day,” Din mumbled into her skin, pushing her away from her thoughts.

Y/N laughed and could feel the grumble of his. “Okay, daddy,” she teased with a sultry voice.

Din groaned and lightly slapped the side of her ass. “Damn fucking right.”

She hummed and scratched his scalp, relishing in the afterglow. After a few moments Din shifted, causing them both to squirm from the short burst of pleasure. She was still very sensitive, and when he pulled out of her slowly she couldn’t help but hiss and whine at the loss.

He started to pepper kisses down the slope of her stomach, nipping at her hip bone before kneeling down at the edge of the cot. His hot breath hovered over her quaking pussy, her juices and his cum leaking out of her.

“Oh Din, I don’t – fuck!”

Din licked a broad stripe up her cunt, moaning at the combined taste of their cum. Y/N’s thighs immediately started to shake and quiver around his head, whining and moaning pathetically. She thrashed when he attached his lips to her clit, giving it a powerful suck.

“Fuck Din I’m – I’m gonna cum again!” It was breathless, high pitched, and fucking music to his ears.

He groaned into her, lapping up every ounce of her release before crawling back up to catch her lips with his. He tasted sweet, tangy and salty.

“You have one more in you, princess?” He whispered hoarsely into her open mouth.

Y/N nodded desperately. She could see white flashes behind her eyelids, dancing through the pleasure.

She felt him line himself up at her now definitely swollen lips, only letting the tip of his cock into her, teasing her.

She gave him the best glare she could give considering her state, which made Din chuckle darkly.

“What is it sweetness?”

That motherfucker. She tried rolling her hips, but he held down with a firm palm on her belly. Y/N huffed.

“Please daddy, please fuck me. I want your big dick inside me, daddy. Please,” she begged.

She was awarded with a slow thrust into her gaping heat. All the air seemed to leave her body, chocking on what little of it she had left before he pulled all the way out to the tip before thrusting back in. She felt the cot dip as he covered her body with his, grinding into her.

This was soft, slower than what had just taken place before. He caressed her eyebrows, cheeks, lips as his own lips sucked a mark onto her pulse point. Each shift of his hips brought a new sense of euphoria to the both of them, the chorus of soft moans filling the air.

“I really do love you,” he whispered, forehead resting against hers. “More than life itself. And I’m so fucking sorry that I don’t tell you enough, th –.“ He paused when she clenched around him, cursing under his breath as his hips sped up. “That I’m holding you back. Nothing could ever compare to your love, my sweet, sweet Y/N.”

Y/N hated it, but she started to cry. “You’re not holding me back,” she whimpered. She tugged his hair back to give him a sloppy kiss, their orgasm’s near.

“You could never do that to me, Din. And you don’t have to tell me with words. Fuck you s-show me every day. When you let me sleep in, listen to my stupid stories, the way you pay attention to me. You fucking bought me that pin at that stupid market we stopped at twice because you remembered that it reminded me of my mother.”

They both let out small chuckles at that, breathless and so so close. His pubic bone was shifting just right against her clit. Din’s hands slivered over the sides of her breasts, palming her ass and lifting her up to meet his thrusts.

“Gods daddy, make me cum,” Y/N cried.

“Daddy is gonna take care of you,” Din promised. “Always gonna.”

It was amazing, the whiplash between something so honest and heartfelt to something so fucking filthy. But hey, it worked for them.

“Ca -  can I cum on your tits?” Din suddenly asked. It came out nervously, slow. She’d let him do anything to her and thank him afterwards.

“Of course, daddy,” she purred.

“Then play with your pretty pussy.”

He didn’t need to tell her twice. She reached down between them and with a few flicks of her finger she came hard around him. He pulled out with a growl, pumping himself vigorously before grunting loudly, thick ropes of cum spraying across her chest.

“Shit you - .”

They both giggled. Y/N gathered up some of the cum onto her finger and hummed at the taste of him. If only she could see the way his dark eyes lit up.

He reached around, grabbing an old used cloth to clean her chest before collapsing next to her.

“Just give me a minute,” he grunted before she could open her mouth to speak.

Y/N could only nod, her throat becoming sore from the screams. She felt satisfied, her body spent. Din eventually got to his feet, dressing himself slowly as he helped Y/N do the same, giving her a kiss before placing the helmet over his head. It felt heavier now. She checked on the Child as he climbed up the ladder to the cockpit. Bringing the sleeping child up with her, she laid him down in his makeshift seat as Din started the ship.

“Hey,” she whispered, placing her hands on his shoulders, now covered in beskar. “We’ll be okay.”

He remembered he said the same thing to her before she got shot. But this time, this time he believed it, because she did. Because he had to, for all of their sakes.

“I know.”

   Tags: @scarlett-berserker​, @justlovetoreadfics​, @lil-baby27​, @mando-vibes​, @beepbeepyabitch, @that-void-witch​, @im-the-music-whore​, @certifiedhunter​, @outlawers​, @hejahockey​, @okaydacre​, @lemongrove​, @appreciating-chase-brody​, @iwontforgettheapplepie, @mybabyboytony​, @olyamoriarty, @pcrushinnerd​, @elusive-ivory​, @dizzydazed​, @bluejeancntrygrl​, @our-mrlangdon, @parody-the-emi​, @evalynanne​, @purplewaterbird​, @angel-hunter-winchester​, @tedpicklez​, @momc95​, @sailorflowermoon​, @creatingjana​, @stories0fhope​, @pascalisthepunkest​, @coffeeandtodd​

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin #din djarin x reader #pedro pascal #the mandalorian imagines #the mandalorian smut #star wars #the mandalorian's love series #the child

[detectivejigsawpines]

ORN-Part 15 (Taking a STANd)

I’m not gonna lie to you people: you’re probably really not gonna like the ending of this next chapter.  Just trust me on this.

Stan barely had time to let out an anguished scream that seemed to come from the very depths of his soul, and jump back to his feet from where he’d fallen, before this thing that was clearly not Dan Corduroy grabbed Ford by his hair, jerking his head back; he yanked the knife out of Ford’s shoulder (not good not good not good Stan had been stabbed there before, and while it was better than a gut wound he knew there were still some important veins and arteries and things in shoulders Ford needed a doctor right now) and placed it against Ford’s throat.

“How’s about you come on in with us, Stanley?” he asked, still grinning.  And now Stan recognized Bill’s voice, even though he had no idea how it was possible, but it was so hard to think about it one way or another when every thought in his head was busy shrieking FORD FORD FORD FORD’S HURT HELP FORD-

Slowly he followed Bill and Ford into the cabin, relieved that the wound wasn’t spraying or leaking extensively, so at least no arteries had been punctured.  Once they were all the way inside Bill kicked the door shut with his boot, and then dragged Ford, who was getting paler by the second and starting to loll his head backwards, towards a large wooden chair set up next to the table.  He didn’t take the knife from his throat until he’d sat Ford down, and even then it was just to grab a few coils of rope off the table and tie him to the chair (which Stan thought was more than a little ridiculous-there was no way his brother was going anywhere on his own right now).

Stan stepped towards them; instantly the knife was on his brother’s throat again.

“He needs to have that looked at!” Stan protested.  “Please!  I can’t-”

He swallowed a little, despite his determination not to show weakness in front of this freak.

It should have been me.  It’s my fault.  I need to fix it.

Bill sighed, rolling his eyes.  “Stupid fragile flesh sticks, can’t handle losing a little blood,” he muttered, twirling the knife in irritation.  But eventually he conceded, “There’s a med kit over there,” pointing to a corner where indeed, Stan saw a very large kit.  He snatched it, and occupied himself when he returned with cleaning and bandaging Ford’s shoulder.

He ignored Bill breathing down his neck, lightly slapping his brother’s cheek a few times after he’d finally pasted together the mess as best he could.

“Ford?  Stanford?  Hey, don’t go away now, you gotta stay with me.  We’ve got a bit of a problem, and you’re the brains here, Poindexter, so you gotta stay awake and figure out how ta fix it, ya hear me?”

Ford’s eyes, glazed with pain behind their glasses, tried their best to focus.  They settled on him for a moment, then glanced over his shoulder, and widened with fear.

Stan peered in the same direction; Bill instantly lowered his borrowed hands and stuck his tongue back in his mouth, grinning innocently at him.

“Done now?”

Stan gave a tiny shrug.  “I’ve done all I know how ta do.”

“Good.”  Bill yanked up another chair and flung himself into it.  “Then let’s talk business, shall we?”

****

“I mighta known you were the one I’d need ta deal with,” Bill said, crossing one leg over the other knee and using the knife blade to start cleaning his nails.  “Cuz Fordsy, he’s got his head stuck in his mysteries, so he’d believe anything I said as long as I told him how smart he was; he doesn’t remember the outside world even exists mosta the time.  But you-you’re a man of the world, Stanley, and I respect you for that-”

“What did you do ta Corduroy?”  Stan wasn’t in the mood for this freak’s flattery BS.

“Oh, you mean my meat puppet?”  Bill smoothed his fingers over the flannel shirt in a way that made Stan distinctly uncomfortable.  “Turns out you give a guy a nice enough dream about his girlfriend, she can ask him to do a-ny-thing you want.  Am I right?”  He cackled, and winked like he was inviting Stan to get in on the joke.

Stan gave him a glare of disgust.

“Oh, get your mind out of the gutter, they were just on a picnic in the woods!  And she asked him ta help her out with a favor, and he said he’d do anything for her, so she said-” he made his voice even more high and twittering- “‘Thank you, Dan, I know I can count on you, you big strong man!’  And then she held out her hand for him to help her up, and-”

“Get ta the point.”

“The point?  The point is, I wanna hire you!”

Stan blinked, more than a little nonplussed.

Bill groaned.  “Didn’t you ever watch It’s a Wonderful Life?  You’d relate to it, the main guy’s kinda like you.  Thinks the world would be better off if he’d never been born.  But you’re right, I digress.”  He leaned forward.  “I need Ford to do a job for me, and you’re gonna be the incentive for him to do it.”

“What kind of job?”  Stan put a protective hand on Ford’s non-stabbed shoulder.

“I want him to build something!  Just a neat little project that’ll let me into your world with a physical body of my very own, so I don’t have to keep borrowing other people’s!”  Bill spread his hands with yet another wide grin.  Then, just as abruptly, he glared.  “I was going to pull him into this gradually, get him invested in the idea through a process, but then you butted in with all your questions and just spoiled everything like always, and that means we gotta do it like this.  So here’s the deal-” he reached out and flicked Ford’s kneecap.  “Is everyone paying attention?”

Ford groaned, and shifted away.  To Stan’s relief, though he still looked dazed, he appeared to be a little more awake now.

“Good.  As I was saying, here’s the deal: he does what I say, and I’ll let you live, since in this dimension he still cares about you.”

Dimension?  What’s he talking about?

“You do what I say, and I’ll let him keep all his limbs.  I’ll even spare you both after Weirdmageddon happens, and you can go sail around the world like you’ve always dreamed of!  How’s that sound?”

Stan had a few choice words to describe how that sounded, even if he had no idea what ‘Weirdma-what-now’ was.  He refrained, however, instead reaching into his coat pocket for the other thing he’d taken out of his duffel earlier: his gun.  Which he pointed right at Bill.

Bill blinked-and then cackled scornfully.

“Oh, good try, Stanley, really cute-but no dice.  You try using that, you’re just gonna kill the meat puppet, you won’t get rid of me.  And I wonder how the locals are gonna feel about you murdering one of their own-you really that eager to go back to prison?”  He stood up and actually pressed his chest right up against the barrel of the gun, waggling his eyebrows in challenge.

Stan’s hand trembled with rage...before he lowered the gun.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.  Put it away like a good boy so I can get you settled in.”  And he picked up another coil of rope, obviously intending to tie him up too.

But Stan stood still, mind racing.

“Stan-ley, I’m not playing games here!”  Bill’s voice became sharp with impatience.  “Well, okay, I am playing games, but they’re gonna get a whole lot less fun for you if you keep trying to defy me!”

“I just wanna get something straight.”  Stan’s voice, by contrast, was quite soft (by his standards anyway).  “You wanna use me as a hostage so Ford’ll do what you want?”

“You need me to draw a diagram?” Bill demanded.  “Chop chop, h-wait, what?!”

Because Stan raised his arm again-and pointed the gun at his own temple.

****

...I warned you.

#Gravity Falls #flipside AU #stan pines #ford pines #bill cipher #bill cipher is a jerk #stan vs bill

[mrneighbourlove]

Fall of a Dynasty: Ch 2. Friends in High Places

"... fuck. Fucking shit, damn it all to hell, why. I want to know why." Zizi seldom had a reason to curse. Usually if she did swear, it was for one of three reasons. The first was she was mad and wanted to emphasize her point. The second is if she cut herself using the tolls on the plantation. The third, however, was most rare, was due to Zannah. So, this time, yes, it was due to Zannah, but more importantly, due to the fact that the empress was riding right. To. Her. Stall. And she was covered in soot, blood, and dirt. "Why. Me." The Zemlja wondered if it was too late to pray to Zemlja to make her invisible at will.

Rinku, who was at the house to acquire some vegetable supplies, as well as additionally stay for dinner as it stormed outside, looked up from her steak dinner. “Heeeeey now. There be little ones around. What’s got the mother bear angry?”

Zannah, however, didn’t know or care less who’s house this was. She got off her horse, dragging herself to the front door, all the while collapsing to her knees in the mud once in a while to reach it.

"I sensed the mega-bitch." Zizi replied with an irritated sigh. Now, the ruler of the Empire was banging on her door. All eyes looked to Zizi and she ran a hand down her face. Might as well get it over with quickly. "Stay here. I'll deal with this. Or either I'll get lucky and the ground will hold me hostage."

Rinku frowned, cluing in swearing might be common around the household. “What mega bitch?”

Kahli scowled, moving to secure his younger children away from the door, hell, the first floor.

The Emperor herself, pounded on the door, waiting for whatever peasant lived her to open the damn door.

Yanking open the door, Zizi stood there, not even batting an eye.

"... what?"

Zannah froze like a dear in head lights. This was the last person she wanted to see. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

"I was actually asking my deity why, out of all people, that you have to show up on my doorstep." Zizi said dryly. "So once again, I ask... what? What do you want?"

Fine. No need to stand on ceremony or waste additional time. “Lead me to your sister and brother in law. Right now. I’ve suffered an assassination attempt.”

"Down the street, third left, then go down to your second right, and the castle is right there. Bye." Zizi started to shut the door in Zannah's face, but Manaco stopped her.

"Mom, you know you can't do that."

"I can do whatever the hell I want, you know what that woman did to your father, our family."

"I know that, but... it looks like she needs help."

"She can go kiss Vul'kar's ass for all I care."

"Mom!"

"Look, I'm not being a part of this." Zizi threw her hands up. "Each time she comes around, more shit is stirred up. You want to help her? Then you can. I'm out."

"Mom!" Manaco groaned, exasperatedly, watching his mother stomp off into the kitchen.

“Run off you spineless little—?!” Zannah paused, a part of her trying to recognize the blonde woman step into  view. There was a barrier of time from doing so instantly. “Do I know you?”

Rinku was drying her hands from washing her own dish. Looking at Zannah again she was filled with a lonely sense of nostalgia. “Been a long time Princess.”

That title certainly jogged a memory. “Link? Princess Rinku?”

"Yeah, this is Rinku." Manaco did not wait for permission, he simply swooped Zannah off her feet. "Come on. Let's at least get you tended to before going to see my aunt and uncle. Zarazu would freak if you came into her castle that way."

“What? Young man, what are you-ah! Watch it!”

"Now this I got to see." Urboro started to stand, but Grivy pulled her back down by her shoulder. "Hey! I'm not going to choke her or anything, I just want to see what my brother is going to do."

"He's probably going to play knight in shining armor, like he does for all the ladies." Miku rolled her eyes. "And if you're not going to eat your potatoes, I am."

Grievous was, in a sense, shaking. The Emperor being here, in any state, made her extremely anxious for the near future of her family. “She’s trouble.”

Rinku meanwhile pulled up a chair, and sat comfortably into it as Manaco

set Zannah down. “What happened to you?”

“My Theron agents tried to kill me. They set up an ambush in the Ruto mountain path.”

Rinku nodded to herself, as if trying to recall the memory. “I think I remember. Elite, scary black armoured death squads of your brother. Takes me back to fighting in the war.”

"Therons got you good." Manaco placed the empress on a blanket and looked over Zannah, noticing the blood. "Forgive this, but it has to be done." He took his hands and ripped her dress around her legs, and near her back. "We have to get the material away from the wounds or you would risk infection."

“It’s just a dress Manaco.” Zannah couldn’t feel her leg anymore. Not a good sign.

"... this looks worse than I thought." Manaco observing the gushing blood. "Okay, I think you're going to require some energy transference just to keep you stable. Hold up your hands."

“I can’t do that...” Zannah didn’t shy away, but she spoke in a somber monotone.

"... why not?" Manaco asked, puzzled. "My siblings and I do it all the time if one of them is sick."

“It’s because you’re all Waku. I’m an Ocho. Not all Hasai are alike Manaco. In the same way a Vatra has different abilities than a Munja, I do not have the unique ability your father and his line hold. I can’t absorb fire to heal my wounds.” Zannah sighed, her adrenaline starting to petter out.

Rinku nodded, reading the room. “Anyone here know traditional first aid?”

"Mom... does..." Manaco had to grimace out the words. "I think Dad does too. Let me go check, I think the most qualified for this is Urboro. She's the best with the medicinal plants so she probably knows a bit of healing. I'll be right back."

It didn't take long for Manaco to go and ask his sister.

Which was met by a loud...

"WHAT?! ME?!"

Grievous shook stood between her older half siblings, having become aggressively protective of Urboro in a short time. “No. She doesn’t go near her.”

"Look, I don't like this anymore than you do, Grivy, but someone has to help her or else, Zarazu will not be pleased." Manaco felt like he was stuck in-between a rock and a hard place. "I know my aunt doesn't necessary like Zannah that much either after what she did to Mom, but we have to think of the diplomatic relationships. We don't want to start another war."

"... fine." Urboro relented, having a grouchy expression. "... but Grivy comes with me."

“Gladly.”

As they started to head to the Emperor, Rinku already had one hand on the bolt stuck in her kneecap. “When I pull this out, you might feel some momentary discomfort.” Seeing Urboro come in, the elder woman smiled. “You ready to perform kid?”

"... not at all." Urboro looked a little pale but took a deep breath. "All right. This is... this will be easy. Piece of cake." She slowly bent down and hand her hands ready, Manaco knelt down as well to cauterize the wound. "You stop the bleeding, I'm going to wrap it with aloe."

“I know a thing or two about war wounds. You’ll all do fine. Hey Zannah.”

“What?”

“Look at the bunny.”

Rinku flashed a peace sign, completely throwing Zannah off. It was at that moment she tore the metal bolt cleanly out. The Emperor had a delayed scream as the others got to work.

Manaco used his fire to stop the bleeding as his sister instructed. Then Urboro exhaled slowly and breathed life into small aloe seeds, the plant sprouting from her hand and wrapping around Zannah's leg. It was not the work of a Dusa, but it would have to do until Zannah was at the castle's medical bay.

"... since my magic is green, and she is green, maybe I can share some of my energy. Zemljas have a lot more than Vatras do, anyway."

"Says you."

"Uh-huh, says me."

"They do not.

"Do too!"

"Do not!"

“SHUT UP!” Zannah wretched, her pain at an all time high compared to the last few decades of her life. “God! Your voices are infuriating!”

Rinku cut Zannah’s voice off with a hard tie of bandages around her kneecap. “Now Zannah. I know commoners have never been your cup of tea, but be nicer to the kids who helped patch you together.”

Zannah actually blushed from embarrassment, if ever so lightly. “Oh yes. You’re too kind.”

“Say, I don’t think you’re allowed to blush in front of commoners. Or drip sarcasm with the same toxicity as a viper. Does anyone want to here the first time the Emperor here lost her composure?”

The Emperor hissed between her teeth. “Absolutely not.”

"Look who's talking, you're the one who fucked over our family royally, yes bad pun intended, and we're trying to help your ungrateful ass out." Urboro scoffed, putting her hands on her hips. "Sure, Rinku, let her lose all composure, faint in front of us 'commoners' and have a bitch fit. Go ahead, I'm waiting."

"Urboro..." Manaco groaned. "Will you please be nice for once?"

"Nice is for pushovers. Except for when it comes to Grivy," Urboro fist bumped her half-sister. "She's baby."

“Well. It was during the War of Fire. Zannah was conducting the distraction to allow her killer robot to capture my baby sister Kanisa. Well, we were two teenagers, and I sprung into action to engage her in sword combat.” Rinku methodically nodded, recalling the details and slowly speaking them allowed. “Back then, she was an uptight princess instead of an uptight Emperor. And she was a pretty good fighter too. Keep in mind this was our second duel, and she didn’t have a concept of what innuendos and throwing singles meant.”

“Please don’t...” Zannah hated not being able to go anywhere, or have the right to stop this.

“So here was, pushing me towards a ring of fire, having this aura of seductive power. In my haste, I leaned in to kiss her.”

“You what?!” Grievous couldn’t believe that a warrior would do such a thing. Zannah herself blushed more at the memory.

“That’s right. And in a switch, her energy went from dominate to a flustered and shy school girl. Turns out that at age 16 or 15 I think, she hadn’t had her first kiss.”

Urboro made a retching noise for emphasis that she did not like the idea of kissing Zannah. "I feel sorry for your lips, you must have been washing them so hard, they chapped. I think you had a better match in that hottie you were dancing with the other night. She had huge knockers."

"Urboro, we talked about this."

"You talked about it; doesn't mean I'm going to listen."

“Well, we have our histories. Don’t we Zannah.”

“I suppose we do, Link.”

Both the woman’s eyes locked with each other. In Zannah’s was a monotone angry. In Rinku’s, a regretful pity at the experiences they shared. The family suddenly heard the death cry of a horse outside. Rinku was the first to stand up, calmly walking to the rake, placing her boots on. “You kids stay inside.”

"Trouble already? Damn, they're fast." Manaco once again took Zannah into his arms and then said, "Sis, I'm going to need your help. We have to sneak her through the tunnels so they don't see her."

"Really? I really got to do this? URGH." Urboro crossed her arms with a huff. "And I just did my nails... fine... tell her if she has claustrophobia, she's going to have to suck it up."

"No need. This will be over quickly. One way or another. Just stay here and keep them out if any manage to pass my eye." Rinku patted Manaco and took her sword, throwing a green tunic on.

Rinku stepped outside, ready for action. The storm raged outside, with rain and thunder pounding the senses. Despite this, the Arbiter of the Goddess was aware of her surroundings. It was the flashes of lightning against the shine of their armour that gave them away in the rainy dark. When one launched an arrow, the warrior princess ducked low. There went diplomacy.  

Theron were surrounding the house, drawing closer. They'd kill everyone inside if they could. What they weren't expecting was a green clothed woman to step out. Too bad that there would be no witnesses. One stepped from behind a tree to fire a shot into her head. What he didn't expect was for how fast she'd move.

After ducking, Rinku drew her sword from her sheath, instantly decapitating the first solider with a clean cut. As his body fell down, another drew a shimmering guardian blade. Drops of water sizzled against the blade. Others in turn drew their own weapons. The princess cracked her neck, staring them down as rain trickled down her hood. "Last chance to leave."

With a violent swing, the Theron closest to Rinku tried to cut her in two. Instead, Rinku rolled around him in the mud, and leap into the air, slicing his backside open with a swing. Her blood cut straight through his armour, cutting his spinal cord apart. With a quick motion, she finished the man off by driving the tip of her blade through the back of his neck, piercing his throat. Taking a stance, Rinku held both hands on the hilt of her blade, waiting for the rest of the Theron to draw close. This cold night they faced the Hero of Hyrule.

Manaco managed to grab a blanket to toss over Zannah and followed Urboro out the back door.

"I'll be back soon, Grivy, got to take the package to the castle." She opened up the earth, rivaling a system of tunnels under the earth. "Can't believe I have to use these to transport her of all people."

"Look, we're doing this for Aunt Zarazu, because we don't want war."

"I know, but that doesn't mean I have to like it." Then, she jumped in the hole, and Manaco followed.

Grievous grabbed Urboro by the arm, shaking her head. Where they stupid or just wanting a death wish? "No! You can't go out-LOOK OUT!"

Sure enough, a Theron was waiting. With a launch of an explosive arrow, Grievous had to intercept it with a fire bolt, but the explosion threw her flying backwards. The Theron had the two young adults and Zannah insight, ready to kill them with another arrow, when his visor exploded with glass and blood. His body fell backwards, and Rinku was on the other side, already having another arrow drawn if she needed it. Her breath was a bit raspy, having finished the last of the attackers. The battle was a haze to her regarding time. Short engagements with tough opponents usually were. "Hey. Get back in the damn house."

Not arguing for once, the siblings went back inside the house and waited.

"She told you to wait. You are always in such a hurry." Zizi was not too bothered by the fact that there were Kikai soldiers outside. Their family had been so much, this did not surprise her too much. She sat there with her youngest one, Zaltana, and watched her draw. "Just let Rinku do her thing, then go."

"Don't look at me, it was his idea."

"Was not!"

"Was too!"

Rinku kicked the door open, helping an injured Grievous onto the couch. She had a fresh head wound now from being thrown by the explosion. When Manaco got close, his half siblings punched him in the arm. “Ass! She said to stay inside! I saved your life! All of you actually.”

Rinku shot a quip as she went back outside to check the perimeter further, “She’s not wrong you know.”

"Ow! Hey! Don't make me drop the cargo here!"

"Sorry, Grivy..." Urboro felt sort of guilty when she saw the cut on Grivy's head. "I just really don't like the idea of being anywhere near her."

“There’s trained killers outside. You didn’t even think!”

Zannah chuckled, her head woozy from blood loss. “Your schooling taught you well.”

"Okay, okay, I was dumb and I rushed into getting mega-bitch like Mom said out of our house, I'm sorry, do you forgive me?" Urboro didn't like Grievous being mad at her.

“Shut up." Manaco grumbled under his breath at Zannah. "Or I will drop you."

Grievous took a deep breath in and out to calm her nerves. “Just... think. For me. I don’t want you dead.”

Zannah herself reached up and flicked Manaco in the nose. “You don’t tell your elders to shut up.”

It wouldn't be soon after that Rinku came back in. “Zizi! Kahli!”

The father came down, nodding. “Yes?”

“Dead horse. Eight dead Hasai. No more in the near vicinity. You, kids. With me as back up, you now have my permission to leave. I’m getting on my horse, and you travel under me. I’ll escort from above to the castle.” Rinku immediately took command of the situation. This was survival. “And we’re leaving before more show up. Let’s move out people.”

~

Inside the castle, Leere had lost at chess... again. Ralnor was not going to just 'let' his sister win especially when she wanted such a ridiculous deal. He ran his hand down his face as Leere listed off reasons that it would be beneficial to have... that damn snake so close.

"Leere, I frankly don't care what reason you give me," Ralnor told his sister. "Or even if the deities themselves would kiss me for it, that bastard is not getting a room in the castle."

“Ralnor. He’s not going to have a place to at my wife’s ranch. Why the hell cant he have one here? It’s easier access for him, more luxurious, and he’d blend in with all the monsters that guard the castle in Father’s and Covarog’s service. Yes. He’s a pain. Yes. He can act like an ass. But he’s a friend and a partner. We work with Echidnan kind. We have to give them an ambassadors place in the castle.”

"He can stay in the damn wine cellar for all I care, he's drank half of my collection already." Ralnor was not budging on this issue. "You and I both know that if someone else saw Bonegrinder before it was time to act upon the future plans, something could fall apart. There are others out there who want him dead. And the maids here gossip like it's going out of style. The answer is no. He's safer at the ranch, regardless of whether he stays in the barn, under your bed, or slinks around underneath the floorboard." The prince grumbled. "Besides, the damn monster can teleport, why the hell does he need his own room?"

“Wait. That’s pretty good. We can transform your wine cellar into a pent house for him. Because him trying to eat my cows it more costly to my wife than wine you horde to yourself.” Leere flicked her King piece over. “He’s still an organic being Ralnor. He likes to rest, sleep, snugg- forget that last one.” They both knew Bonegrinder’s snuggles could turn rather pushy. “Ah. Here’s my check. Sunny is carrying a baby. There’s no way he’s going to stay at the ranch and possibly startle her into losing my baby.”

"I was joking, there's no way he can fit into the wine cellar, his ass... coils... body---fuck, whatever you call it, is too big." Ralnor scoffed. "And he would not try to startle your pregnant wife. He's arrogant, a prick, and crazy, but he's not going to purposely frighten a pregnant woman. Bonegrinder is an ass, but he's not that much of one."

“He’s not coming to the ranch. It’s too small. The castle is massive. We could stick him in one of the dozens of towers we have.”

"Sure, sure, we'll room him with Vaati, just so he'll get on the wizard's nerves." Ralnor said sarcastically. "And for the record, I don't want him around my kids either, but we both know that if Ukuri is talking about a snake man singing her bedtime lullabies, that isn't happening. So just wait, I guarantee you, Bonegrinder will be telling your little one all kinds of stories too."

“Your kids are fully grown adult strapping Gerudo women. Your first issue to the stop treating him like the boogie man. He gets a tower here, or he’ll be overwhelmingly annoying to us.”

"He stays at your ranch." Ralnor was not budging. "We're not going to discuss this again, I'm not having a 57 foot snake running around the castle---"

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

The prince was interrupted by loud, intense knocking. On the secret tunnel door behind his bookshelf. Irritated, Ralnor hit the switch to move the piece of furniture. "I swear to Hylia, you damn old snake, if that is you listening in on our conversation, I'm going to scale you and make you into a---...?!?! Manaco?! Urboro?! Rinku and---?! ... what the fuck, Zannah?! What are you doing here?!"

"It's uh... long story, Uncle, but can we like, talk later? Mega-bit---Zannah needs medical care."

Leere blinked, surprised by the Emperor’s presence. She was bleeding heavily from her leg, amongst other smaller injuries. It was Rinku, who’s blood covered tunic that worried her, however. “Sis?”

“Leere. Didn’t expect to see you here. But no time for catch up. Ralnor. We can’t seem to find Doctor Boo Boo. And given the high value of our guest, I think our brother should be notified.” Rinku threw her bloody sword onto Ralnor’s floor, becoming too tired to stay up in the middle of the night fighting for her life. And she felt for certain this night was going to become quite the ordeal. If not the near future.

________________________________________________________________

Previous Ch. https://mrneighbourlove.tumblr.com/post/613698270411243520/fall-of-a-dynasty-ch-1-no-negotiations-this-time

Next Ch. https://mrneighbourlove.tumblr.com/post/614058125382844416/fall-of-a-dynasty-ch-3-signing-the-fine-print

Crossover with @ridersoftheapocalypse

#comments appriciated #Crossover #ridersoftheapocalypse #Zannah #Rinku #Leere #Ralnor #Zizi #hasai #Hyrule #Action

[pengychan]

[Coco] Mind the Gap, Pt. 16

Title: Mind the Gap Summary: Modern Day AU. Tired of Ernesto’s snide remarks, Imelda decides to put him in his place and her husband is more than happy to help. It was supposed to be a one-night deal. Things quickly get out of hand. [OT3, mostly porn and humor. Plenty of instances of Ernesto being Dramatic, Imelda getting Sick Of His Shit, and Héctor trying to be the peacekeeper. Don’t expect anything serious.] Pairings: Ernesto/Héctor/Imelda Rating: Explicit.

Art by Dara.

[All chapters are tagged as ‘mind the gap’ on my blog.]

A/N: Here's the funny thing about second chances: you've got to earn them. 

***

Santa Cecilia has barely changed.

Ernesto can see that before the train even stops at the station. As it slows down it’s the same houses, the same trees, the same store fronts. Probably the same pebbles and dirt he walked on the day he left, a few pesos in his pockets and best friend in tow, determined to never set foot in that stupid town again. And now he's back, with plenty more money but without his best friend. 

And a letter in his pocket, put back together with tape. 

We are both so sorry and so proud. We miss you so very much.

Well, at least someone does, Ernesto thinks bitterly as he steps off the train. Is Héctor missing him at all? Is Imelda? Probably not. Why would they? They wanted a family, and they have it now. He’s no longer in it, no longer allowed anywhere close.

I fucked up.

It’s a grim thought, and it does nothing to improve his mood as he gets out of the station - the only idiot to get off at that stop - and into the semi-deserted street. He knows there must probably be far more activity closer to the plaza, but he has no intention to head that way: last thing he needs is someone recognizing him. They turned into small local celebrities, at least according to Héctor, and he really doesn’t want to deal with anyone stopping him and asking how he’s doing, how Héctor is doing, what were they up to. 

If that happens, Ernesto will probably scream. But it doesn’t: keeping to smaller roads - small, small, suffocating, Christ has nothing at all changed in that damn town? Is it some kind of curse? - he is, soon enough, nearly at his destination. 

At the end of the street, there is his childhood home.

Ernesto stops in his tracks, one thought and one thought only - nope, nope, nope, nope - hammering in his brain. Maybe she should have written back or called instead of just hopping on the first available train with no thought whatsoever of what he would say. What is he even going to say? The letter was written months ago at least; what if they changed their mind? What if he walks in there to be met with scorn?

What if they don't want me back either?

"Don't show your face here ever again!"

Stay away from my family.

The knot in his stomach, which just began to loosen, tightens again and painfully so. Any second now, the door could open and--

This is a mistake. Bad idea. Bad. Turn around and run.

He does turn around and starts to walk fast, not quite running but close enough, not entirely sure where to. Mexico City has been his home, but now he's lost most of what had made it home, and maybe there is no point going back there either. He doesn't want to face that mess, or confront what toll a split with Héctor will mean for his career, which was only just properly getting started. The contract was for both of them and now… now...

If I move first, if I tell Armando it's me or Héctor, they will choose to keep me. They must, I'm the main star. We can find another songwriter. I'm the real asset, not him.

That’s easy to tell himself, comforting, but he can’t bring himself to believe it. Héctor is more than a songwriter, he’s the songwriter and surely, good songs are harder to come by than good performers.

What if they decide to keep Héctor and let him go? What if he returns to Mexico City to find they already have, and that he’s been left with nothing? No, no, he can’t bear the thought. Maybe he should get on the first passing train and go wherever it takes him, anywhere but there, anywhere but here, as far away as possible from--

He turns the corner, now half-running, and bumps into someone. There is a yelp of surprise, grocery bags falling on the ground, and Ernesto stops in his tracks.

"Lo... lo siento," he finds himself mumbling without looking up, crouching down to grab the bags before the woman he's bumped into did. "I don't think anything is damaged, but just in case--"

"... Tito?"

Ah. Great.

Ernesto can feel his heart dropping down somewhere in the vicinity of his kneecaps. Barely holding back the temptation to stand, throw the bag in her face for distraction and run, he slowly looks up. It is his mother all right - just a bit fatter than she has been, with more gray in her hair than he remembered, eyes wide and both hands over her mouth.

Say something. Say something.

"... You let yourself go, huh?"

For fuck's sake.

"I--" Ernesto starts again, but doesn’t get to add anything: one moment later his mother kneels down with him and throws her arms around his neck, causing him to drop the bag in his surprise. Before he can try to think of something to utter he feels her tremble, hears her crying, and his mind goes blank.

"Oh, Ernestito, we've missed you so much! I'm sorry!"

"Mamá..."

Her grip on his tightens as though she’s terrified he will push her away. "Please, I'm so sorry."

The faint memory of his own childish voice - 'mamá, you're embarrassing me!' - resurfaces from some long-forgotten corner of his mind, and suddenly Ernesto really, really feels like crying. He almost moves to hold her back, but his arms remain motionless by his sides. "I know," he chokes out instead. "Got your letter."

"We're both so sorry. Your papá said so many things he didn't mean, but he misses you.”

Héctor, please, I didn’t mean it, I--

Bit too late, isn’t it?

“That’s… hard to believe.”

“I know, but he does. He really wanted you to come home," Adela sniffles, and pulls back cradle his face in her hands. She smiles through tears. "We both wanted you to come home. My handsome boy."

"... All right, now you're embarrassing me. We should get up and- why is the pavement wet?"

His mother blinks, and they look down. They’re kneeling in a puddle coming out of one of the paper bags. "I think we spilled the milk."

"And now we're crying over it?"

"Looks like it," she says, and laughs suddenly, throwing her arms around him again. “Stay for a while,” she pleads, almost desperately. “Please.”

And finally, slowly, Ernesto reaches to hold her back. 

“I got no other plans.”

***

“You can’t seriously be planning this madness now.”

“It’s not madness. It is a sound business move I have been planning for over a year.”

Imelda’s voice is calm and flat, the kind of calm flatness that, on her, signals that she’s three more words away from attempting to silence the other party by taking off a shoe and shoving it into their mouth.

Unfortunately, her mother was never very good at reading her. Imelda rather regrets not joining Héctor, her brothers and her father in their trip to buy a crib, which they all seemed equally enthusiastic to get, as though they were embarking for some quest. 

Actually, she kind of regrets not coming up with an excuse, any excuse, to get her parents not to visit them at all. Her father is overall bearable, but her mother began muttering how they really shouldn’t have a dog and a cat roaming around when the baby comes as soon as she stepped in, and barely stopped nagging since.

“But in your state, certainly you need to focus on the baby.”

“I’m pregnant, not dying. The baby is perfectly fine and I am not taking up competitive weight lifting. I’m looking for a suitable place to open a store, that is all.”

“But why? I thought sales are going well working from home and selling on that-- devil machine.”

Imelda takes a mental note to ask Héctor to just end her the moment she begins calling that any piece of technology she doesn’t know how to use before answering, her voice still calm. Before her, there is a list of materials she needs to get, with the budget at the side. 

“Online sales are going very well, which is why I have the security I need to expand. Get an actual shop, hire a couple of people--”

“Can’t your husband do it?”

“He already helps.” And he’s not very good, she thinks. It’s something Héctor has no problem admitting himself, but Imelda will nail her tongue to the workbench before she says anything along those lines about her husband in front of her mother. She’s good enough at questioning all of her choices without the need of getting more ammunition. “He has his own career, too.”

“Not a very secure one, that of a musician.”

“But it’s going very well.” Imelda doesn’t quite snap, but her voice is dry. She finds she really doesn’t want to discuss that with her mother, or… anyone. Truth is that she doesn’t know, right now, where Héctor’s career may be heading. The first album is bound to come out soon, but with what happened with Ernesto… Imelda doesn’t know if their friendship can possibly be the same ever again, let alone their artistic partnership. And it is such a shame, after so many years, so much work from them both. 

My fault. I should have expected things to get out of hand. I should have never let it happen again after the first night. There should have been no first night. I shouldn’t have thrown that stupid challenge in his stupid face. 

And where is he, anyway? Imelda has been listening, and not a single sound has come from Ernesto’s apartment, even through the window below theirs; not a noise, no singing, no sound of a guitar, no yapping from his dogs. The apartment is empty, she is sure. 

He must have left… but where to? What is he doing? Is he all right?

“Mija?” Imelda recoils, and looks up. Her mother is looking at her, frowning a little, and then does something she hasn’t done in years: she reaches to tuck Imelda’s hair behind her ear, as she did when she was a little girl. “Are you all right?”

“... I’m fine, mamá.”

“You looked--”

“A bit worried, maybe, first child and all, but--”

“Sad.”

Ah. Imelda lets out a long breath before she shakes her head, making an effort to smile. “I’m not. Only a little tired, maybe I will do rest once I’m done here, if you don’t mind--”

“You know your father and I will always help, right?”

She blinks. “Qué?”

“Héctor is… a dear boy, but a baby can be a strain on a marriage, there is no shame in that.”

“... Wait a moment--”

“So if you find you have any doubts, in case of a crisis - any problems you cannot work out - you must not feel trapped. Solutions can be worked out, and if you need us we’ll always be there--”

“Mamá,” Imelda cuts her off, her voice sharp. In other circumstances, she may appreciate the sentiment… if not for the fact that she knows her parents too well. They would try not to be judgmental, but in the end they just could never resist letting her know that ‘we told you so’. Which is not going to happen, anyway. Ever.  “Héctor and I are not in any kind of crisis.”

Milagros blinks. “Oh,” she says, and has the good grace to blush a little. “Lo siento, you just seemed… very sad, all of a sudden.”

Where is that idiota? How is he doing? We never meant to hurt him, how can he not see that?

“Ah, it’s nothing. I was just thinking it’s sad that--” we’ll have to find her another godfather “... she’ll never know her paternal grandparents, you know. Héctor thinks about that a lot,” she adds, and well, it isn’t even a lie. He does, Imelda can tell; how could he not?

The concerned expression on her mother’s face turns to sadness as well. “Ah, of course he does. He lost his parents so early. It must be hard, going out into the world without a family.”

He had Ernesto, Imelda thinks. And now she has me, and my family is his own, and soon the baby. But Ernesto is no longer here and ah, it doesn’t feel right. Where is he?

“... He had enough talent to make it,” Imelda finally says, and her mother smiles a little. 

“Fair enough,” she says. “So - where were you thinking to open the shop?”

She is clearly still not that keen on the idea, but she’s trying to pretend otherwise to get Imelda’s mind off her own thoughts and she… appreciates it. She really does. “Not too far, I was thinking it would be nice if I could get there on foot.”

“Maybe your brothers could come help you.”

“...What?”

“You could teach them a trade, can’t hurt them. They’re always tinkering with odd things, none of them useful and most of them dangerous. I can’t imagine even them making something dangerous out of shoes.”

“Always underestimating your children, aren’t you?” Imelda says, mostly joking but not quite, and that actually gets a chuckle out of her mother. For the rest of the afternoon, when her father and brother and Héctor come back with a crib the size of a small boat, Imelda does her best not to think of Ernesto again. But it’s always there, in the back of her mind.

Another day, she tells herself. Another day, and she’ll call him. He’ll probably yell some insults, but so be it. She can take that. 

And at least she’ll know he’s okay.

***

There is no alcohol in the cabinet at the far end of the room.

It’s one of the first things Ernesto notices when he steps in the living room. When he left, that would have been unthinkable. They may be tight on money from time to time, may have to cut on expenses like clothing and car insurance or even food, but by God that cabinet would always be full of bottles his father would empty and replace at a remarkable speed.

Now it is… not empty, but the shelves are filled with small decorations, a few pictures of saints – Saint Jude, patron of desperate cases and lost causes, seems especially fitting – and, most of all, a picture of Ernesto that he remembers vaguely posting on Instagram. So his mother did hound his account. He’s not sure what is harder to imagine, his mother using a computer or his father actually going dry.

He stared a little too long, probably, because his mother notices. “I told you he’s quit, didn’t I? It’s… oh, almost three years now.”

“I see,” Ernesto says, still struggling to picture it. His father is not home, and it is a relief. He’s… still not sure he wants to face him at all. At least now he has a little extra time to prepare. “Must have been a pain to deal with.”

“It… wasn’t easy,” she admits, putting down the grocery bags, one of which is still sodden with spilled milk. She would normally go to the kitchen to set those down, but Ernesto suspects she’s not inclined to let him out of her line of sight anytime soon. “But he… you know how stubborn he is, he did it. He went and got some help for his temper, too.”

“What did they do to help with that? Shot sedating darts?”

He sure wishes he had some of those at hand right now, really. Sober or not, Estéban de la Cruz is not someone anyone would look forward to dealing with. Especially when the last words exchanged happened to be along the lines of ‘show your face again and I’ll break it’ and ‘I’ll only be back to dance on your grave’.

Unaware of his thoughts, his mother chuckles. “Well, they… did give him some medication.”

“What for? Cabrón Syndrome?”

“Language,” she chides him, some sternness making it in her voice. “Your papá, he… he worked really hard on himself.”

“Good for him,” Ernesto says dryly, picks up the grocery bags – more to keep himself busy than out of genuine desire to help. “These go in the kitchen, no?”

“Ah-- yes. I was about to make molé,” she says, following him to the kitchen. Following closely, like she fears he might just hop out of the window. “You’re staying for dinner, no?”

“… If your husband has no objections.”

“He won’t,” she says quickly. “He’ll be happy to see you.”

Ernesto tries to imagine his father happy. He cannot. “If you say so,” he mutters, putting the bags down on the kitchen table before he sits. It turns out to be a mistake, because his mother is now able to cup his face and tilt it up, the happiness of seeing him momentarily replaced by a critical look he knows well.

“Por Dios, you’re thin, mijo.”

“I don’t think I’m that--”

“You lost weight!”

“Maybe a little, but--”

“You need to eat!”

“Mamá--”

“Don’t ‘mamá’ me, you did lose weight.”

“Which was entirely on purpose.”

“I’ll make you some lunch. Here, have some horciata. I’ll cook something quick.”

Ernesto takes the glass, and rolls his eyes a little. He remembers Adela García de la Cruz’s idea of ‘cooking something quick’ all too well; when he was a boy it usually resulted in two hours of cooking, two servings of three different dishes, and a need to loosen one’s belt by the end of it. “Thanks, but I already had lun--”

“You need to eat more,” she insists, only to pause suddenly, staring at him. Her expression goes from intent to terrified so quickly Ernesto barely has enough time to process it. “Oh God-- you’re not ill, are you?”

He blinks. “Ill?”

“You look so tired!”

Oh. That. “I’m… not sleeping too well lately, but--”

“It’s not… you know…” she lowers her voice, clearly forcing out the word as though only naming it might make it real. “AIDS?”

Oh, Jesus Christ. “What-- No, mamá, why would I--” he groans a little, pinching the bridge of his nose. Of course, what was he expecting? Whatever idea she’s got of it all, it’s probably stuck somewhere in the Eighties. “I’m perfectly healthy. You don’t have to worry.”

She breathes out a long, relieved sigh. “Oh, good. I- I don’t mind you being gay.”

Ernesto briefly considers trying to explain her the concept of bisexuality, but it would probably take a few hours of repeating the same concept over and over, and he decides that’s not the hill he wants to die on. Not today.

“I know, mamá.”

“I just- you know, as long as you’re safe and healthy and it’s not dangerous… and you are...” she lowers her voice again. “Taking precautions, yes?”

All right, fine. One more such question, and Ernesto will probably get up, go outside, grab a spade and dig himself a grave to sink into. This comes rather close to being the single most awkward he’s been talking to someone. “Everything is fine, I-- I know what I’m-- doing,” he stammers a little.

Please stop asking. Please stop asking.

His mother opens her mouth again, forcing Ernesto to do some quick thinking. He’s just about to exclaim that you know what, he is really starving and would love some food just about now – but before he can say a word there is the sound of an engine, a car stopping right in front of the house.

Ah, mierda. There he is.

Ernesto turns to the door, tensing, and his mother reaches to put a hand on his shoulder. “Let me go talk to him,” she says, giving his shoulder a squeeze. Before Ernesto can point out that her talking to his father about him is historically a pretty bad idea she’s out of the kitchen – just as the front door opens and then closes.

Maybe he still is in time to get out of the window, he thinks, but he doesn’t move. He stays still, straining to hear what’s going on in the living room. He hears his mother calling out - “Estéban!” - and then little more. She must be keeping his voice low, they both are, and Ernesto’s stomach clenches. What is going on? What are they saying? Is his father really sorry, or was that his mother’s wishful thinking? Maybe it was, and he’ll get in there to scream again, looking at him like he’s something disgusting that got stuck on the sole of his shoe.

Well, if he does he’ll be ready. He only got older, and Ernesto got stronger. If he so much raises his voice, let alone try to raise a hand, he’ll make him regret it dearly and… and…

There are steps, hurried as they can be with his father’s bad leg – surgeons worked a miracle on it after his accident in the mine, but he was left with a limp – and there is no more time to think up scenario, much less to enact his first plan to get out of the window and run. Ernesto looks up and there he is, standing in the doorway, broad enough to block it almost entirely.

He has… changed. There is gray in his once inky black hair and beard, and he has clearly put on weight, even if the muscular frame is still beneath. His face, however, is what strikes him the most; no longer the ruddy red it used to be. There are some broken blood vessels across his nose – too much drinking, too long – but he looks so lucid, his eyes clear and alert.

And fixed on him like he can’t believe he’s actually there.

No screams. No sneer. No insults. He just stands there like he just witnessed him multiplying bread and fish, and maybe turn water to wine while he was at it. Slowly, Ernesto stands. His heart is hammering somewhere in his throat; he knows his mother must be there, too, hidden by his sheer mass. “Papá,” he says, his tone careful.

Estéban de la Cruz blinks, as though he just heard an apparition speaking. He has to work his jaw before he speaks as well. “Ernesto,” he says. His voice is a little less raspy than it used to be, clearer, no trace of slurring. “You’re-- home.”

Ernesto nods, swallowing. “Just visiting. A day or two. Or-- I don’t know. It depends.”

Do you want me here?

Estéban nods back. “Your old room is ready.”

Ernesto, who planned to stay at a hotel if he stayed at all, blinks. “My- ah. Turned it into a guest room?”

“We never touched it. In case you came back.”

Ah. Something is tightening his Ernesto’s throat, prickling at his eyes, but he refuses to let it turn into tears. It would only get him mockery, when he was a boy and cried over a bad grade, or a skinned knee.

“What, are you going to cry now? Huh? Like it solves anything? Go ahead and have a cry. It’s all you’re good for.”

“You said you didn’t want me to ever come back. That if I showed my face again, you’d--”

“I was drunk.”

“You said--”

“A lot of shit I shouldn’t have, is what I said.” A pause, and Estéban de la Cruz lowers his gaze. “I thought you were going to come back home the next day. Or the one after that.”

“I wasn’t going to come crawling back when you made it so clear you didn’t want me under your roof,” Ernesto replies, his voice just a little colder. The memory still hurts – the hateful looks and words, the blows, how he’d walked out with a bloody nose and bruised face, how dark that evening and how long the walk to Héctor’s place.

And of course, there was the detour he’d taken to the ravine at the edge of town. That, he’d never forget. How close he was to taking that one extra step, if not for the knowledge that Héctor would be there to take him in – that they still had so much to do, he still had so much to do, so much to prove to his parents and himself and the world, to make them regret ever rejecting him.

It hurts to remember Héctor’s help, too – how things had been before, when they were ready to take on the world, so sure nothing would ever come between them – but right now he focuses on his father’s grunt, the way he avoids his gaze,

“Of course you wouldn’t. You’re stubborn as a mule.”

“I wonder who I got that from.” Ernesto mutters, and his father’s lips curl up a little beneath the beard.

“Clearly your mother,” he says, the closest he’s ever heard to a joke from him in… a very, very long time.

“… She told me you quit drinking,” he says. He almost brings up the therapy or anger management or whatever it is, but he promised his mother he would pretend not to know that part, so he doesn’t.

“I did,” his father says. “It got out of hand. I did and said things I-- rather regret.”

That… wasn’t the most direct of apologies, but Ernesto supposes it can do. For now. “Right. I-- might stay for a couple of days. Got a lot to catch up with, I guess.”

“True.” A faint smile, and his father steps forward. He hesitates, then he holds out his hand. “It’s good to see you again.”

Ernesto doesn’t say anything to that, but he does reach out to shake that hand and it doesn’t escape him how, in the doorway, his mother is quietly wiping her eyes.

***

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#pixar coco #ernesto de la cruz #imelda rivera #hector rivera #coco #mind the gap

[mrslittletall]

Title: A Storm is coming (Chapter 16) Fandom: Dark Souls Characters: Chosen Undead/Dragon Slayer Ornstein, Word Count: 8.544 AO3-Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16603610/chapters/49814498 Previous chapter: https://mrslittletall.tumblr.com/post/187554662479/title-a-storm-is-coming-chapter-15-fandom-dark

Summary: Ornstein and Tempest delve into the catacombs.

(Author's note: So, wow, this chapter got long and it took me ages and why? Let me explain...

I was unsatisfied just picking out the wiki and then made shit up while I wrote and checked the locations, so I literally started the game, played through the area (in NG+ also) and used my experiences in it for this chapter. So yeah, this turned out a lot more detailed than the archives and it was huge inspiration, so I probably continue doing it.)

Ornstein took his sweet time as he casually strolled down the path into the catacombs, squinting a bit because this place was darker than he remembered. He still could see well enough and soon caught up to Tempest who was locked in a fight with a few skeletons, his sword gliding off the solid smooth bones far too often.

“How do you fight something that doesn't bleed?!”, he screeched as his sword once again recoiled and he himself was attacked by the scimitar of the second skeleton, which made him grunt in pain.

“By finding the weak spots in the bones.”, Ornstein said, having enough from watching and casually thrusting his spear into one of the skeletons which made it fall apart, bones clattering onto the ground.

“How did you do that?”, Tempest asked with glinting eyes.

“I just told you, by finding the weak spots in their bones.”, Ornstein repeated. “Until now, you could count on that if it bleeds, that it would die eventually. But now you face an enemy that has been long dead and not like you Undeads.”, Ornstein gestured to Tempest. “This is quite literally a skeleton, the remnants of some poor soul having been buried here, brought back to life. You need to find the weak spots in the bones and strike at them.”

Tempest had listened to Ornstein's explanation while dodging and parrying the strikes of the skeleton warrior and now wanted to try out his words. He focused on the skeleton in front of him and used his swords to strike against both kneecaps with the blunt side, shattering them in the process, which made the skeleton fall down on the ground but not completely falling apart like the one Ornstein had killed did.

“Good.”, Ornstein said with a nod. “You are a quick learner. Now don't get careless. It is still able to reassemble itself like this. Put pressure onto your target and don't give it the time it is needing for this.”

Tempest didn't need to hear this advice a second time and lunged forward, aiming at the neck of the skeleton. The hit was hard enough to send the skull flying. “Success!”, he cheered, looking at Ornstein but the dragon slayer simply shook his head.

As Tempest turned his head back to the skeleton he saw that it not only had reassembled its legs but also that it picked its head up to put back on its neck, even making sure that it was properly reattached.

“Not fair.”, he complained.

“And you think you coming back after having died is fair?”, Ornstein scoffed from his position as a observer.

“That's completely different.”, Tempest complained as he rolled away from the next strike of the skeleton.

Ornstein casually joined the fight and said: “Just watch.” as he thrust his spear into the skeleton and it fell apart like the first one. “I am not going to show this again.”, he said, his head turned upwards. “The next skeleton you get down on your own.”

“Yes sir, understood sir.”, Tempest said and Ornstein wouldn't have wondered if the tiny warrior would have saluted at him. Instead he added a “Thanks.”

“Don't mention it.”, Ornstein said, taking a closer look at the room they were in now that there weren't any skeletons to distract them anymore.

“You changed your weapon.”, Tempest said, pointing at the silver knight spear.

“Of course. And I would have told you to do the same if you wouldn't have rushed forward AGAIN and if you wouldn't conveniently already had used a silver knight word.”, Ornstein replied.

“...”, Tempest somehow managed to make his silence audible before he rummaged around and pulled out a crumpled-up piece of paper. He straightened it and looked really hard at it before he spoke again: “...when you told me about the lords you said we would need holy weapons. ...I have this written down here, I just... didn't think about it before I went in here.”

“And that's why you are a little storm.”, Ornstein scoffed once again but had to smile at Tempest at the same time. He hadn't expected for him to actually write down the stuff he had vomited out back then, when he still had been forced into bed at the Dark Moon Tomb, just wishing that the Undead would disappear when he stared hard enough.

“Where to now?”, Ornstein asked, noticing they were standing on a ledge and staring at the room below them. It was too dark to see anything.

“There is a ladder there.”, Tempest said, pointing to it before descending it. “But down there are more skeletons.”

“You know how to deal with them now.”, Ornstein replied and descended the ladder too for a change. He didn't want to jump into literal darkness with the prospect of skeletons. Tempest made a small noise of surprise at his actions which Ornstein ignored.

As they made it to the bottom of the ladder, the skeletons rose and the both of them dispatched them quickly. As Ornstein scanned the room and saw a passageway that probably led deeper into the catacombs, he headed for it but was stopped by Tempest.

“Wait, there is a bonfire in there.”, Tempest pointed at an alcove. “I want to stop there first.”

Ornstein followed Tempest who sat down at the bonfire, rummaging around in his belongings. He produced a humanity sprite, stared at it for a good while before crushing it and adding it right back to the bonfire to make it burn brighter.

“This place isn't smelling very good.”, Ornstein said, wrinkling his nose. As the bonfire started to burn brighter, Ornstein saw the reason for it. “Oh, seems like you already have taken care of the necromancer for this area.” He kicked the decaying corpse.

“Well, I needed to pull a lever to open up the way and they were in the way.”, Tempest said, staring at the corpse. “...I thought they were Undead, like me? Shouldn't they come back to live?”

Ornstein shrugged, unsure about how the Undead actually worked. He had another thing on his mind.

“...Wait, when you told me how you got the ring of the Dark Moon, you said that you were waking up at Fire Link Shrine. Why didn't you sit at the bonfire here?”

Tempest smiled sheepishly: “You know... I was so sure I would die in there and already planned to go elsewhere should I die in there that I wanted to avoid having to go back through the horde of skeletons...”

“But haven't you touched the bonfire?”, Ornstein asked, being sure that the bonfire had been lit as they entered the room.

“For some strange reason, just lighting it doesn't count as touching?”, Tempest said. “I don't have a clue how this works. Anyway, now I touched it and will be linked to it, so wait for me here should I die, alright?”

“I don't plan on letting you die.”, Ornstein said, shuddering. “This place is giving me the creeps. I don't want to stay longer here than necessary.”

“Seems like I got used to all this death and decay a lot more now.”, Tempest stood up from the bonfire, grabbed his sword and headed for the exit.

“...You also haven't spend the last hundred years in an abandoned town.”, Ornstein said as he followed the little storm.

Once they crossed the passageway the duo came out into a far more open area were a waterfall was splashing into a pond. The area also was better illuminated and made Ornstein able to see his surroundings a lot better.

“So, this is where I started to run and scream.”, Tempest said just before he was hit with a fireball. He quickly pat out the flames that were threatening to engulf his black leather vest as he said: “And this was why.”

Ornstein could spot the necromancer on the other side of the room, a large gap between them. Ornstein may have been able to cross it by jumping, but even he would need a bit of a start-up and the ledge they were one was rather narrow. Instead...

“Let me take care of it.”, he said and switched out the silver knight spear for the dragon slayer spear, charging up the lightning attack as Tempest gasped, not because of Ornstein's actions but because of the skeletons that had noticed them.

“Oh no, you won't.”, he said and stormed off as Ornstein's attack aimed as the necromancer and once fired, perfectly hit the dumbfounded thing which dropped dead in an instant.

“This one won't bother us anymore.”, Ornstein said and turned around only to see Tempest being locked in a struggle with some more skeletons, bleeding from an attack while one of the skeletons was reassembling itself.

Ornstein quietly sighed to himself but also a smile formed under his helmet. The little storm was getting dependable. He joined the battle and soon the two skeletons didn't rose anymore. Tempest was taking a sip from his Estus to heal the wound.

“I envy you about this.”, Ornstein said. “For me wounds have to heal the classical way. We aren't having unlimited use of Princess Gwynevere's powers or blessings anymore.”

“Oh, believe me, being Undead is nothing to be envious about.”, Tempest said as the two continued their trek, fending off more skeletons. “Dying hurts horribly every single time and being able to heal wounds instantly doesn't make the pain of receiving them go away.”

“But at least you skip the long healing process.”, Ornstein said as he crushed a skeleton's skull with his dragon slayer spear. Now that the necromancer for this area was gone he had felt secure to keep his usual weapon for now. “That is kind of useful.”

“That's one way of seeing it.”, Tempest sighed. “I still wished this curse has never hit me.” He was silent for a while and then murmured something that Ornstein couldn't hear. Upon asking to repeat himself, Tempest just shook his head and said: “Nevermind.”

The both of them continued down the path, fending off more skeletons until they entered a room that could be described as more typical for catacombs, with large stone biers edged into the walls, more skeletons onto them, but at least these ones weren't moving.

Unfortunately they were still loads of skeleton left moving and so Ornstein and Tempest soon were locked in battle once again, fending off the horde of skeletons which now also had taken up bows and shot arrows at them from raised positions. With Ornstein's height it was no trouble to take care of them and so the two of them managed to dispatch of the horde quickly and took a look around.

“There is a way outside.”, Ornstein said, pointing to a door frame, where a bridge could be spotted, though it was covered in spikes. This would probably hurt to cross. Tempest was distracted though.

“Wait, I think there is something to pick up.”, he said and stormed off in the complete opposite direction. Ornstein followed him with another glance to the spiked bridge, hoping not to forget where the doorway was. The catacombs were a tiny bit confusing and his sense of direction wasn't the best in unknown locations. As the archives already had proved.

Tempest picked up whatever item he had chased after and then looked down the ledge only to slip and fall. Ornstein sighed as he went after him, Tempest giving him an awkward smile: “I just wanted to see what was there but apparently this just led back to the room in which we began.”

Ornstein offered him his hand. “Just let me pull you up so we can continue.” Tempest did as told and Ornstein had the feeling there was a blush in the little Storm's face.

“So now what?”, Tempest asked as they stood in front of the spiked bridge.

“There must be a lever somewhere, let's go look for it.”, Ornstein pointed at a path leading up the right. He may have been able to cross the bridge by jumping, but he wasn't keen on finding out how much the landing hurt should he misjudge the jump. Especially because he would have needed to pick the little Storm up too and add his weight to his own.

Tempest stormed off and came running back in an instant and Ornstein knew why as he saw the skull like wisps explode with their signature scream. The dragon slayer managed to jump into safety just in time, carrying Tempest along in the process. “Take better care.”, Ornstein said, getting up, unaware of the deep blush that had appeared on Tempest's face.

“At least the bombs are gone now.”, Tempest stood up, following the path with small, careful steps, stopping as he saw more skeletons coming their way. Sighing, he picked up his swords: “This place is infested with skeletons.”

“These are catacombs after all, what did you expect?”, Ornstein said, breaking one of the skeletons into all its individual parts with a single attack, then moving forwards, stopping in front of a statue that was lined a the path, waiting for Tempest to finish his own battle. As the little Storm came nearer, he stopped near Ornstein, eyes wide in confusion.

“Shouldn't we move on?”, he asked.

“I want to test something.”, Ornstein said and the next thing Tempest knew was that he was shoved forward, stumbled and felt a piercing pain as the statue extracted some spikes, which made him yelp in pain and surprise.

“I knew this place was booby trapped.”, Ornstein said with a triumphant voice as Tempest struggled to get up.

“And why did you had to shove me into it to find this out?”, he complained.

“Because you can easily heal any injury with your Estus flask.”, Ornstein said, kneeling down, searching for aforementioned flask at Tempest's waist and giving him a sip. Even though Tempest was sure he had lost quite some blood because of the dragon slayer's stunt, there seemed to be enough left for him to blush. Again.

“We have to avoid the ones with the plates on their chest.”, Ornstein said after Tempest got up, looking morosely at the holes and blood stains in his armour. He had to fix this later.

“You go first, because you have your Estus.”, Ornstein said.

“Only when you promise that you don't shove me anymore.”, Tempest grumbled.

“I can't make promises.”, Ornstein said and Tempest just knew he had a grin under this leonine helmet of his. Tempest promised to himself to not run into another trap instead.

The rest of the path was rather easy to travel, Tempest spotted one more statue that was booby trapped and managed to avoid it just fine. Near the end of the path they spotted a lever. Tempest went near it to push it into the wall and they were rewarded with the clear noise of something large turning.

Ornstein already had turned around to walk back into the direction of the bridge but Tempest went a bit farther, curious what could be at the end of the path. As Ornstein noticed that Tempest wasn't following him, he turned around again and called for him: “What are you waiting for? Let's go.”

“There is a bonfire in this cave.”, Tempest replied. “But I can't reach it...”

“There must be another way.”, Ornstein said. “Come now. You have enough Estus left, right?”

“Yes, but it would be more if not for your stunt earlier.”, Tempest growled.

“Didn't thought you were this resentful.”, Ornstein chuckled.

“You are one to talk.”, Tempest simply answered and shut up as Ornstein shot him a glare. Well, a glare that he couldn't see but very much feel.

The both of them walked in silence until they were at the bridge. Ornstein just pointed at the two skeletons waiting for them and Tempest nodded in understanding. A minute later both of the skeletons had been kicked down the bridge. Once the skeletons were gone, another necromancer showed themselves and was instantly impaled by the strikes of a sword and a spear.

The duo continued and entered the next hallway. The first thing Ornstein spotted was that a good part of the wall had been broken off. This looked intentional. Tempest had noticed it to and already headed this way without awaiting Ornstein's input. As they stepped into the room Ornstein squinted at the notches in the ground.

“Be careful, we don't know if the ground here can hold our...”, he started and gasped as Tempest stormed forwards and instantly fell into the left hole “...weight...”, he finished before he hissed: “Idiot!”

Ornstein stepped closer to the now hole in the ground and peaked downwards, seeing if he could spot Tempest. “Everything alright down there?”, he shouted down the hole.

He heard the sound of Tempest drinking some Estus and then he said: “Yes, the fall just did hurt a little bit.” And then he gasped and called in a voice full with excitement: “Crystal Lizards!” Ornstein could hear him rushing off and then the sound of a trap being activated and a pained yelp. Ornstein didn't waste a second to jump after Tempest and saw that he indeed had managed to impale himself onto a this time rather obvious trap.

“That was it with the crystal lizards...”, Tempest said before he took a sip of his Estus.

“I think you have found more than enough twinkling titanite in the archives.”, Ornstein said. “Let's follow the path, see where we landed.”

“Alright.”, Tempest nodded and followed behind Ornstein, hiding behind the dragon slayer's large frame whenever they crossed a statue, which all were booby trapped. At the end of the path, the only exciting thing was a ladder, which led into a dead end once they ascended it. There were two more notches embedded into the ground.

“Great, dead end...”, Tempest said but once he noticed the notches he added: “Maybe they lead somewhere like in the previous room...?”

“Only one way to find out.”, Ornstein grinned as she shoved Tempest onto one of the notches and jumped after him once the little Undead had indeed fallen to the ground.

“What was that for?”, Tempest complained, sitting on his rear, clearly taken aback by the sudden shove. “What is it with you and shoving me into traps today?”

“I already said, it is because you are easily able to heal any injury should it be a trap.”, Ornstein said, readying his spear, but no foes were in sight. “Besides, this wasn't even a trap.”

“Huh, seems like we are back at the bridge.”, Tempest said. “This only was a waste of time.”

“You were the one storming off.”, Ornstein said as they crossed the bridge another time, this time descending the long spiral staircase.

“It is getting darker and darker.”, Tempest said, squinting his eyes.

“This is nothing.”, Ornstein replied. “Wait until we are in Nito's realm.”

“Wait, we aren't there yet?”, Tempest asked and then raised his sword to fend off a skeleton that came flying at him.

“He is a lot farther down. Didn't you notice that the skeletons in here are all human sized?”

Tempest looked more closely at his opponent and realized, that Ornstein was right. The skeletons were more his size. Maybe a little larger, Tempest was tiny, even for a human. His head barely made it above Ornstein's waist.

“So there are more skeletons your size farther down?”, Tempest asked as he broke the knees of the skeleton with a well timed sword strike.

“Yes. Because of the size of the skeletons the human population has started to call it the tomb of giants, but the tomb of the gods would be more accurate.”, Ornstein replied.

“Well, for me you are big as a giant.”, Tempest said, glancing at Ornstein. “But I have seen actual giants in Sen's Fortress. They were even bigger.”

“Yes.”, Ornstein nodded. “There is also the giant blacksmith in Anor Londo. The giants in Sen's Fortress and the one in Anor Londo are serving Lord Gwyn.”

Tempest frowned a bit. The way Ornstein said it sounded like the giants were doing this of their own free will, but hadn't he seen them doing the same mindless task over and over again while being in chains?

“...Wasn't there also a giant that was a knight of Gwyn?”, Tempest asked, hoping to loosen the mood a bit while they were fighting off every skeleton in their way.

“Gough, yes.”, Ornstein confirmed. “The best sharpshooter Lord Gwyn's army has ever seen.”

“How was he? As a person I mean.”

Ornstein stayed silent for a while until he had managed to destroy the skeleton that had fought him at the moment. Tempest noticed that he had switched back to the silver knight spear. Apparently, skeletons weren't very sensitive to lightning powers.

“...He was like the friendly father of the team.”, Ornstein finally answered. “Observant. Despite having lost his eyesight later in his life, he always knew if something was up. He even shot out a dragon of the sky despite not having been able to see for years.”

“He did what?! Impressive!”, Tempest's own eyes were sparkling with excitement.

“He retired shortly after the dragon war was over, so his time in the army was short, but I visited him a lot, until...”, Ornstein's voice trailed off and Tempest knew that the talk was over. As over as the path they had walked on. There was only darkness in front of them.

“A dead end.”, Tempest said, squinting down, trying to make out anything in the darkness.

“It looks like there is some kind of platform we could safely land on.”, Ornstein mused. “The emphasis is on could.” Tempest backed away as the leonine helmet turned into his direction.

“I am done with being shoved into pits. Let's search for another way, please.”

“You are no fun.”, Ornstein said but stepped back from the pit, which made Tempest release a breath in relief. One of the few things he still had to do, even in undead state. Sometimes he asked himself if breathing was just a habit, because he used to do it every day to stay alive and if he could still stay alive – or more precisely undead – when he would just stop doing it.

“There have been alcoves on the sides where the skeletons came out.”, Ornstein said. “Let's look for a way there.”

There wasn't a way but another lever which Tempest pulled. They heard a loud noise from up above and took the trek back upwards the stairs.

Indeed there had been a passage opened. Tempest entered it, looking around. There were a few steps in front of him that led into nothingness and a path to the left. “Looks like someone forgot to finish the stairs.”, he said as he headed left.

“Or the stairs have once been there and are now gone.”, Ornstein added. “Don't forget that this land was erected hundreds of years ago.”

“I know and you have been there to see all this glory.”, Tempest's eyes started to sparkle again. What would he have given to see Lordran as the land it once was, not the ruin that it had become? He was too lost in his own thoughts to hear that Ornstein murmured: “...but I also was there to see its downfall...”

Once they stepped out of the corridor, another spiked bridge was in their way. “Guess we have to find another lever.”, Tempest sighed. “Who build all this traps here?”

“They are probably there to scare off grave robbers.”, Ornstein said. “And judging that you pick up anything you see, you are not much different.” He chuckled at this words.

“It's not like they would miss it.”, Tempest said, gaze to the side. “Besides, isn't it better when I pick up this weapons instead of giving the skeletons more choices with what to kill us?”

They arrived at the end of the path, where a ladder lead upwards. Tempest already was proceeding to use it, but Ornstein raised a hand: “Wait.” He squinted at the wall near the ladder and then gave it a knock with his spear, which made the wall poof.

“I knew it, this wall looked strange.”, he grinned to himself. Tempest immediately slid down the ladder and dashed into the opening, yelping as he once again was impaled by a booby trapped statue in front.

“You don't even need my help to run into traps.”, Ornstein said. “You are very good doing it yourself.”

“...This is so embarrassing...”, Tempest said, drank from his Estus and frowned as he saw how little was left. The little Undead proceeded to ascend the stairs behind the wall in a very quiet and careful way, stopping once every few steps searching for enemies or traps. Once Tempest had reached the end of the staircase, he was fulfilled with euphoria. “It's a bonfire!” He quickly lit it and sat down at it, refilling his Estus Flask.

“You haven't died once, little Storm. You are making progress.”, Ornstein said, sitting down too.

“No thanks to you.”, Tempest grumbled. “I could have gone without being shoved into traps or pits.”

Ornstein chuckled at his words. “I wouldn't have done it when I knew you wouldn't be able to take it.”

“Oh, shall I thank you for your consideration now?”, Tempest said, but Ornstein could see him grin. “Let's move on.”, Tempest stood up once his Estus flask was fully filled.

After they exited the room with the bonfire Tempest ascended the ladder to pull the lever and make the spiked bridge traversable. The both of them crossed it in silence, descended another staircase, fought off more skeletons and took a look around, deciding which path to take next.

“I think I fell down to this path when I first was here.”, Tempest said, looking at a some loose bricks in the wall.

“You were lucky you weren't dying from the falls.”, Ornstein said.

“...I drank a lot of Estus.”, Tempest replied. “I wonder if there is more there? I found the ring in there.” Before Ornstein could say another word, Tempest had already taken the path behind the bricks and cursed loudly. Once Ornstein had followed him, he saw the arrow sticking out of Tempest's arm and the little Storm fighting with the skeleton that had shot the bow.

“Oh no, not again.”, Tempest groaned as another arrow stuck out from his other arm, fired from a skeleton archer from the opposite side.

“...I take care of it.”, Ornstein said and hopped down only to be greeted by two more skeletons who dried to gang up on him. While it didn't take the dragon slayer long to get rid of them, he also could count himself to the victims of the skeleton archer as an arrow had made it through the joints of his armour and stuck into his hip.

“This is nothing...”, he murmured to himself as he pulled the arrow out, feeling blood seeping out. He had gotten hurt a lot more than this. In the meantime, Tempest had finished his battle and came down to Ornstein's position, taking a sip of his Estus, glaring at the skeleton archer.

“This has become personal!”, he growled and and rushed to the ladder, yelping once more as another arrow hit him. Once he had reached the skeleton archer, Tempest kicked it down from the ledge and came falling after it, “impaling” it with his sword.

“Finally some peace and quiet.”, he said, turning around to see some stairs leading into a rather dark hallway. He proceeded into it and came running out of it right away, followed by a skeleton of Ornstein's size.

“I remember know! That thing was what killed me after I managed to pick up the ring!”, he said, practically hiding behind Ornstein. A sigh escaped the dragon slayer's lips.

“It's just a skeleton.”, he said. “A big one, yes, like the ones I told you earlier. In the Tombs of the Gods there will be a lot more of them. You can beat them just like the others. Find their weak point.” And with that, he thrust his spear into the pelvis area of the skeleton, which made it collapse into every single bone which cluttered on the ground. After this, Ornstein proceeded into the hallway and stopped at a coffin at the end.

“Ah, that is where I picked up the ring. I think.”, Tempest said. “I wonder how it did get there?”

“Whoever has been buried there must have been a dark moon blade.”, Ornstein replied. “Every dark moon blade gets this ring. That is why the illusion mistook you for one and granted you access to the tomb.”

“Makes sense.”, Tempest said, not mentioning that he was rather glad that he had made the decision to search out Gwyndolin. After all, he never would have learned then that Ornstein was alive and he never would have send on this journey with him. Not to talk about that he was pretty sure he would be going hollow soon otherwise.

“There isn't anything else here, let's go back.”, Ornstein said, but Tempest stopped him. “There were another few loose bricks, let's look into there first.”

“Well, alright...”, Ornstein said, following the small Undead. The path behind the wall was rather uneventful, it just was a straight line following upwards, only one spike trap was in their way, until they landed in a room with a single skeleton and a single necromancer. Tempest took down the skeleton and Ornstein the necromancer. After they were gone, Tempest kneeled down to pick up the skull lantern of the necromancer.

“This looks like it could come in handy.”, he said. “When it really is as dark as you said down there.”

“It could be useful to carry a source of light around, yes.”, Ornstein said. After all, he wouldn't be able to constantly conjure lightning to brighten up the place. And lightning wasn't generally very useful to provide light.

“There is a ladder here, let's go up.”, Ornstein suggested and ascended it, the little Storm following closely behind him. On top, there was a single corpse with a scroll on it. Tempest picked it up and went to show it Ornstein. “I can't say I've ever seen this before.”, Ornstein said upon taking a glance. It seemed to be a prayer that slowed everything down around the caster. It certainly wasn't one of Princess Gwynevere's miracles.

“Maybe I show it to a cleric later.”, Tempest mused as he stuffed the scroll into his belongings, looking at the notches. “They probably won't hold again when I step on them.”, he said, not taking a single step.

“What are you waiting for then?”, Ornstein said and gave Tempest a tiny nudge, enough that he stumbled forward and fell through the ground. At least this time it didn't hurt, but he got attacked by skeletons immediately. Ornstein had hopped lazily after him and helped dispatching the skeleton. Afterwards, Tempest recognized the room.

“We are right back at the beginning!”, he said, hands thrown up. “...I guess we have to make our way back...”

“You wanted to know what is behind the brick wall, little Storm.”, Ornstein said as he followed Tempest back to the place where the brick wall had been.

As they stepped out of the door next to the broken brick wall, Tempest peaked around the corner and groaned when he saw several wisps and three skeletons which came for their position, which turned into a chuckle when one of them managed to just fall off the ground instead.

“Hah, idiots!”, he said and rushed forward to fight the two remaining skeletons, only to come run back when the wisps noticed his presence and started to explode.

“Who is the idiot now?”, Ornstein grinned.

“At least it took down the other skeletons.”, Tempest half snapped as he peaked around the corner.

“Then we can move on.”, Ornstein said. They soon stood in front of a door that led into a rather dark room.

“Be careful in there, little Storm, we don't know what could be in there.”, Ornstein said.

“More skeletons?”, Tempest sarcastically said, squinting his eyes at the darkness. It was so dark, he barely could see a thing. He slowly crept along the wall, hearing Ornstein's breathing near him, indicating that the dragon slayer was near him. “Hm... there seems to be something shiny back there.”, Tempest pointed to the far end of the wall, where Ornstein indeed could make out some kind of shimmering.

Before he could say anything, Tempest had once again rushed forward. The next thing Ornstein heard was the slam of a big weapon hitting the ground and squishing a tiny Undead and the distinct sound of said Undead being transported back to the bonfire.

“I told this idiot to be careful.”, Ornstein said, one hand on the snout on his leonine helmet. He did a few steps into the direction of the sounds and quickly found out, that the creature killing the little Storm turned out to be a titanite demon. He really wasn't keen on fighting one of these, even the one who lived in Anor Londo had been left in peace from both him and Smough. Instead, Ornstein turned around and went back to the bonfire. It would give him a good opportunity to tend to this arrow wound he had received earlier.

Tempest reappeared just as Ornstein had finished applying a bandage to his leg and pulled it tight. Tempest stood up from the bonfire, looked at Ornstein, was quiet for a little while and then just said: “Sorry.”

“I told you to be careful, little idiot.”, Ornstein said, getting both his pants and his pantaloons back one. He wasn't even aware that Tempest was staring at him, but that probably had to do with the fact the Undead hadn't recovered his humanity yet.

“What are you waiting for? Recover your humanity and let's go.”, Ornstein said.

“...I will stay like this.”, Tempest said. He didn't had that much humanity to spare anymore, but he didn't want Ornstein to know about it.

“Well, alright.”, Ornstein said. “Let's go then.”

Tempest sighed. “All the way back down there now...”

“Maybe there is another way... a short cut so to speak.”, Ornstein said and instead of them crossing the bridge he led them back into the hallway which ended on the stairway into nothing.

“What, there is nothing here...”, Tempest said, but Ornstein pointed down. “Oooh.”, Tempest understood and quickly rolled off the ledge. Ornstein followed him with a well timing jump, wincing a little when the landing jostled his injured leg.

Tempest picked up a weapon that laid down on the ledge. “Hm, it's a scythe. Don't you normally mow grass with this?”

“It can also be used as weapon. I once knew a girl who used a scythe as weapon.”, Ornstein replied.

“I don't have the feeling it would be for me.”, Tempest said, but still pocketed the scythe, as he pocketed anything he ever found. “And now?”, Tempest said, but the only way they could go was falling down another ledge and then left, where the familiar notches in the ground were.

“Oh, falling again.”, Tempest said, stepping on the nudge, but this time the fall only slightly hurt. They were right back at the door. “How convenient.”, Tempest said, as Ornstein landed right next to him. “So let's take care of this demon now!”

“Do we have to...?”, Ornstein complained, but still followed Tempest.

“Don't tell me you are afraid of them, you slew dragons!”, Tempest said, eye holes wide, looking at Ornstein. Ornstein didn't even knew that Undead in their hollowed out form were still able to emote like that.

“No, that's not it, just...”, Ornstein searched for words. “Their skin is really hard and they are a drag to fight.”

“I promise I won't die this time.”, Tempest grinned at Ornstein.

“Good, because you are already thin enough.”, Ornstein said, staring at the twig like limbs mostly hidden by Tempest's leather armour.

“Let's go.”, Tempest said and slowly made his way into the door, this time being a lot more careful. They approached the demon and Tempest managed to dodge out of the way of the first strike but overlooked the second one and got a nasty hit. He still bled. But that was to be expected, after all, all the hollows they fought would bleed too.

Ornstein used the opportunity to distract the demon with a thrust of his spear, which prompted the thing to turn around and raise its large weapon. In the meantime, Tempest struggled to get up and take a sip of Estus, that hit had done quite some damage. Ornstein could see how he raised his swords and slashed at the demon, which felt more like a scratch. Damn, he hated how hard the skin of these things was.

It took him and Tempest quite a few hits, but slowly they chipped away on the demon while avoiding its attacks until Ornstein was able to hit a vital point with his spear, which made the demon collapse. “Hmph, glad that this is over.”, Ornstein sad as he kneeled down to cut out some demon titanite. He wouldn't miss this opportunity, demon titanite was rare enough.

In the meantime, Tempest had wandered to the glimmering item and picked it up. It looked like petrified eyes. “Huh, I think the basiliks had this stuff too...”, he murmured to himself and looked around to see that Ornstein was working on the demon and seemed to be rather engrossed in it.

Tempest wandered around, wondering if he should help Ornstein when he saw that one of the coffins was a tad open. Oh, that was perfect. He would hide in there and then give Ornstein a scare when he was done with his work. It was even better because he was in his hollowed out form now and looked like a corpse. Tempest laid down hardly able to contain his snickering.

After around thirty seconds of being in the coffin, closely listening to the sounds of Ornstein, Tempest suddenly felt that the coffin was pulled and he gasped. Oh no, what had he done? Which horrors would await him once the coffin stopped moving?

After he didn't feel any shaking anymore, Tempest slowly rose out of the coffin. To his surprise, he had been brought in a spacious room with nothing inside. Nothing but a large coffin. Tempest slowly got closer to it, wondering if Ornstein already missed him. Tempest stopped in front of the coffin, looking up, swallowing hard as he saw the mass of skeletons tangling inside it, a large sword jabbed in between their form.

For some strange reason, he had the feeling he should show his respect so he kneeled down, closing his eye holes. When he opened them again, he had a sword and a miracle scroll in his position and he heard a voice whisper “Offer me Eye of Death”.

Tempest shrugged, unsure about what just happened and went back to the coffin. Soon enough he felt the pull on it and was transported back to his original location.

Ornstein had finally managed to get the demon titanite off and turned around to look for Tempest, who had been awfully quiet all this time. He found him standing in a coffin, gravelord sword in one hand and Ornstein could only assume that the scroll was the gravelord sword dance miracle.

“You entered the gravelord covenant?!”, Ornstein shouted.

“Oh, that is what this was about?”, Tempest said. “I just wanted to surprise you, that was all.”

“How did you manage to accidentally enter the gravelord covenant by just trying to prank me?!”, Ornstein yelled. He could hardly believe the little Storm.

“Wait, Gravelord?”, Tempest said, finally coming out from the coffin. “Isn't that the guy we are send to kill...?”

“Yes, exactly.”, Ornstein said, both hands on his helmet. “Let's... let's just go. And don't think about trying to do the grave lord stuff.”

“I don't even know how.”

“Good.”

Because after the demon had been a dead end, the both of them walked further into the room, until Tempest spotted a hole in the brick wall and nudged at Ornstein to get him into the right direction. In the room, there wasn't anything to see at first. Tempest walked around the small ledge, picked up a soul and then went back to Ornstein, who waited at the ladder. Tempest swiftly slid down the ladder only to be stopped by something hard. As he looked underneath him with confusion, he saw a rather mad skeleton using its scimitar to slice at his feet.

“Oh, you jerk!”, Tempest said and kicked the skeleton, quickly climbing back up, fighting the skeleton. Ornstein saw a second one coming and took it down quickly.

“Now we can go down, right?”, Tempest said and used the ladder. Ornstein normally would have jumped, but with his still hurting leg he preferred the ladder too. As soon as they both were on the ground, Tempest did one step and crashed through the ground.

“Black Knight!”, the little Undead yelled and Ornstein didn't waste any time and jumped behind him. The black knights, once one of the greatest forces in Lord Gwyn's army, had been reduced to mindless suits of armour in the long years of Lordran's downfall. This one wielded an axe and Ornstein knew that one hit with it would rather hurt. He needed to be careful.

He was in luck though, Tempest had gone rather good at parrying silver knights during their training time in Anor Londo and he was quick to react to get his shield ready and parry the blow of the black knight, which gave Ornstein enough time to end its poor existence with a thrust through its chest.

“I am... I am really glad I learned this...”, Tempest said, staring at his shield. “Hey, we should search out the others and fight them too.”

“...You haven't fought them...?”

“Would you have in my place?”

“...I guess not.”

The only way out of the room was through another hole in the wall. This time Ornstein stopped Tempest before he could drop down. “Wait.”, he said. After a few seconds the sound of something spiky rapidly hitting the ground was heard and Tempest mouth fell in shock.

“Skeletons on wheels?! Who thought this was a good idea?!”, he yelled.

“Not me.”, Ornstein said. “Now wait until they stop moving and then....” He plunged down on them, taking down a whole four of them with one single attack.

“Awesome!”, Tempest came rolling down, taking his sword in both hands and looking around, taking a step forward, frantically running away as a wisp next to him exploded and then running back to Ornstein screaming as another wheel skeleton was on his toes.

“Idiot! Don't bring them to me!”, Ornstein hissed, swinging his spear just in time to block the ongoing rampage but having to dodge to the side to avoid being shredded.

“Sorry, I didn't knew there were more!”, Tempest screamed.

“Don't just run around there headless, help me get rid of them!”, Ornstein shouted as two other wheel skeletons spotted their position.

Three minutes later they were both heavily panting and sitting on a mountain of bones and wheels.

“...That was scary...”, Tempest said.

“Yes, but we survived.”, Ornstein said, getting up. “Let's take a look around.” He thoroughly hoped that no skeletons were left anymore.

After sifting through the rather flooded bottom of the cave, they found another hole in a bricked wall. Tempest just nodded to Ornstein and went in, running back out of it screaming and on flames. As he took a sip from his Estus, Ornstein peaked into the hole only to be greeted by two skeleton archers. He barely managed to avoid their arrows.

“So two archers and a necromancer...”, he murmured. “Little Storm, I take the necromancer, you take the archers! Use your shield to block the arrows!”

Tempest nodded and they went into the hallway, Ornstein instantly taking care of the necromancer before they even could raise their lantern and Tempest managed to take the skeletons down without getting hit by a single arrow.

“And now?”, Tempest said, wandering the hallways, standing in front of a ladder. “Oh, there is a way up. Shall we take a look?”

Ornstein nodded and ascended the ladder shortly after Tempest.

“Aw, we are back where I fell down to the black knight...”, Tempest said. “I guess, now the only way further has to be down there, where the wheel skeletons were.”

“Seems like it.”, Ornstein mentioned as he followed Tempest who dropped back to the bottom of the cave.

Back in the cave, Tempest spotted another brick wall that looked like it would lead to somewhere, but this time it was pretty solid. He pressed his ear onto it and swore he could hear the sounds of hammering. “Hey, Ornstein, can you come here for a second?”, he called.

As the lion knight came over, he asked: “What is it?”

“...Can you break this wall?”, Tempest asked. “I think there is someone behind there.”

“Certainly.”, Ornstein said, though he wondered who should be down here, especially behind a solid wall. He charged up his spear and thrust it into the wall, which made it collapse, the bricks falling on the ground with a few thuds.

Once they entered the room, a rather large skeleton turned around and growled: “Be gone with you... You are spoiling my focus.” before resuming work on a smithy.

“Oh, an undead blacksmith...”, Ornstein murmured. There didn't seem to be anything else in the room but Tempest's features seemed to glow and he ran into the direction of the skeleton blacksmith, trying to spark up a conversation.

Sighing, Ornstein sat down, waiting for the Little Storm. In his opinion, the blacksmith had made clear that he didn't want to be bothered. And Tempest returned soon after. “You could have saved this time, really.”, Ornstein said.

“Hmmm.. but at least he repaired my sword.”, Tempest said, showing it to Ornstein.

“...By the way, was he mad about the wall?”, Ornstein asked.

“Nah.”, Tempest shook his head. “He wanted to rip a hole in it anyway. He just didn't want us to make any noises.”

“...We better leave then.”, Ornstein stood up and they stepped back into the damp cavern where the mountain of bones and wheels still could be seen.

There was only one path they hadn't taken and once they passed a rather high ledge, well, for Tempest it was high, the small Undead stopped. “I think there is something up there....”, he said.

Ornstein sighed. “No, we are not going through this whole mess again only to find out where we can safely drop. I am just going to lift you.” And with that, Ornstein picked Tempest up without any trouble, which made him squeak in surprise, but he climbed up the ledge once Ornstein had lifted him high enough. Tempest took a look and his face fell.

“Oh.”, he just said and hopped down the ledge.

“What was it?”, Ornstein asked.

“A cleric.”, Tempest only answered. Ornstein didn't ask any more questions. There had been countless Undead trying to conquer Lordran, this one probably had long gone hollow and wasn't moving anymore.

“Let's see what is behind that path.”, Tempest said, pointing to it. Soon, the duo stood in front of a fog wall.

“Ready?”, Ornstein asked.

“Ready.”, Tempest nodded, clutching his sword.

They both entered the fog gate. Ornstein never liked the cold perception having to cross them and shuddered a bit. After they had crossed it, both of them readied their weapons, only to let them sink when they weren't under attack right away.

Tempest noticed a small gap ahead of them and headed for it, Ornstein closely followed. Tempest pointed down the gab and then promptly dropped off. Ornstein had a few more difficulties following him through it, but managed, wincing when his leg got jostled by the impact. He hoped they were done with falling through holes now.

The sight that unfolded before them was a weird one. A creature with six arms had their back to them, working on a skeleton, the whole room was littered with books and bones. As the creature noticed them, it turned around and it could be seen that it wore three masks, which seemed to converse with each other. Shortly after they seemed to have found an agreement, the creature started an attack.

“Here it comes!”, Ornstein shouted, readying his spear.

Literally one minute later Tempest and Ornstein stared down at the corpse of the strange creature. “Well, um..., that was easy for a change.”, Tempest muttered, rummaging around in the strange robes. “What even was this...?”

“I have no clue.”, Ornstein said.

Tempest picked up a scroll and read it, realization on his face: “Oh, that is what the clerics have searched. The Rite of Kindling.”

“Hm, that thing where you can make a bonfire shine brighter?”, Ornstein asked, getting a nod of Tempest who pocketed the scroll.

“I should try it the next time we come to one.”, he said. Just as he wanted to leave the corpse alone, one of the masks loosened and fell to the ground. Tempest picked it up, staring at it and at the remaining masks.

“They kinda remind me of a family.”, he said. “A father, a mother and a child.”

“So you just picked up the mask of the father.”, Ornstein said. “..Come on, little Storm, we wasted enough time in this place. Let's move on.”

“...Shouldn't we give our foe a name?”, Tempest asked.

“Who cares? They are dead.”, Ornstein huffed.

“Hm, how about Pinwheel? Because you know, they used fire on a wheel.”

“I can hardly believe you, little Storm.”, Ornstein said but he was smiling. Next chapter: https://mrslittletall.tumblr.com/post/188767635884/title-a-storm-is-coming-chapter-17-fandom-dark

#dark souls #fanfiction #chosen undead #dragon slayer ornstein #orndead #littlewritesstuff #down into the catacombs! #sorry for the wait #this took me ages

[cottonwren]

Can you write me something with Ada and Freddie (or not if you wish) and can you include the following: a phone message, hot chocolate and a single flower.

Hi lovely! I really hope you enjoy this

Pairing: Ada Shelby x Freddie Thorne

Words:1947

——————————————–

“Ada, love, you know he’s going to come back, and you know you’re going to get him straight back without any hesitation. No point in getting worked up when you’ve got other things to focus on.” Polly told Ada as she watched her write - it was Christmas, everyone was staying in Tommy’s for the holiday, and everyone apparently meant everyone except Freddie Thorne.

Ada understood that he had a duty to his party, and really, she did. Ada’s patience wore thin, however, when Freddie got arrested at every other protest that he went on and her own family had to fork out money so that he could be at home with them. She knew that one day that the money would not be enough, and a Campbell lookalike would come along, and he’d be gone for a year. Ada didn’t think about the possibility of death.

Shelbies didn’t do death.

“I’m going to be pissed at him first, Pol.” She told her aunt, watching Charlie and Karl play on the carpet with their soldiers. “Wonderful, this shit. Married life.”

“Don’t worry, he’s going to be stuck in a car with Thomas and Alfie, then I’m going to talk with him.” Polly told her, watching the kids over a glass of whiskey.

“Thanks Pol,” Ada chuckled, shaking her head. “Bloody watchdogs, the lot of you.”

“Pissed!” Karl squealed, happy to have learnt a new word.

“Where the fuck did he learn that?” Tommy asked as he walked in, accompanied only by Alfie. No Freddie in sight. Ada visibly drops, and the anger furthers itself.

“More to the point, Tom, where the fuck is my husband?” Ada asked back, setting her notepad down and standing up. Every second that she went without knowing was a second that she was convinced they’d done it this time. They’d locked her man up.

“Your husband stopped on the way. Should be back in an hour, I reckon.” Alfie grunted from behind Tommy, tapping him on the thigh gently and moving past him to sit down.

“Tommy, a word.” Ada told him - it would have been a request from anyone else, but Tommy knew his sister better than to take it as anything but a command.

Once they were in Tommy’s office, tucked away and out of earshot even if Ada shouted, Ada nearly did just that. She nearly shouted so hard that she passed out, she was so angry, so full of rage, but she didn’t.

Instead, Ada hugged Tommy. Which is how Tommy knew that it must be bad, and Freddie deserved the hiding that he and Alfie had given him in the car.

“I’m so pissed at him.” Were the first words that came out of Ada’s mouth, muffled against his tailored suit.

“He knows.” Tommy hummed, wrapping his arms back around her, remembering the time that she’d bitten a teacher’s finger off and come to him first with a red face and watery eyes.

“I’m more worried than pissed. Makes me more pissed.” Ada admitted, reaching behind him to find a bottle of whiskey and succeeding. She broke from the hug to take a sip, offering him the bottle.

“That’s love. I think. I’m still figuring this shit out myself. Freddie promised me he’d be back here tonight with a decent apology, otherwise not only would I break his kneecaps, but so would Alfie. Alfie was threatening a lot worse but we settled on kneecaps.” Tommy told her honestly, taking a sip. “How are you?”

“I’m alright. Too worried about this to be anything else. Keep thinking I’ll be one of those women who has to take their kid to see their dad in prison.” Ada sighed, sitting up on the desk.

“I won’t let that happen, Ade. You know that.” Tommy told her, clearing up the desk.

“You shouldn’t have to stop it from happening, that’s the point. I’m going to put Karl to bed, it’s late Want me to take Charlie up as well? They should go down easy.” Ada asked, walking towards the door, whiskey still in hand after Tommy handed it back.

“I’ll take them up, I’m Karl’s favourite anyway.” Tommy told her, unusually pleasant. It unsettled Ada - she had only seen this side of him in youth and dire situations. They were not young anymore, nor were they in a dire situation. Were they?

Ada nodded, thanking him and walking into the living room. She was greeted by Finn cross legged on her seat, reading what she’d written. If it was anyone else she’d be a little annoyed, but Finn? She was proud that he wanted to read - that he could read.

“Ada, this is really good. Is it for a publication?” Finn asked as she said goodnight to her son and her nephew, sending them up with Tommy.

“Yeah, The Call. I’ve been writing for them for a while - it’s shit pay but I enjoy doing it, and I’m working on some bigger things that will hopefully pay a bit more.” Without Freddie’s position as a blinder, Ada would have had to accepted money off of Tommy whilst they were raising Karl. Socialism was all fun and games until you relied on it to feed and clothe growing boy.

“I’ll buy an issue that you’ve written in if I can, Ade.” Finn told her, having supported all of her previous ventures before he could read them - all about the sentiment, he decided.

Soon after Karl and Charlie had gone to bed, everyone else did.

Everyone but Ada, that is, who sat up and waited for Freddie. The clock managed to go slower with every second, and she wanted to sleep. She’d finished up the first draft of her article and had learnt not to edit drunk, even though she was tipsy at most. Ada didn’t want Karl to wake up to a mum with a hangover.

The Shelby family had already got enough alcoholics. Ada was not one of  them.

It had hit midnight, and Ada had had enough. She was promised an hour or two, she had waited four. It was now the next day, and Ada was walking up the stairs. Freddie had been arrested, and would have been home four hours ago - the same time as Tommy and Alfie - if he really wanted to be there, he would have been.

“Ade!” Called a voice, followed by rampant running through the hall - Mary would be offended by the dirty footsteps on the floor she so diligently checked every morning, but would make no comment because the pay more than compensate for the fact that she worked for complete crackheads. Not literally, anymore, though.

Ada spun on her heel, arms crossed around her waist, journal in hand. Who else would she see than Freddie. Her own love, her own equal. Relief flooded her veins when she saw him, only paralleled by the rush of anger.

“Where the fuck were you?” Ada hissed, glaring him out. She was too angry, too tired to have a screaming match, so she just hissed.

Freddie found that scarier.

“I had to get my stuff, and I got you flowers, and other stuff, and fuck, Ada, I’m sorry.” Freddie apologised, racing towards her. “Is Karl okay?”

“About Karl - he’s fine. He wouldn’t be fine though, Freddie, if this was the time that they decided that no bail could get you out. If I had to drive to prison every saturday so that our son knew he had a dad? If I had to drive to prison every saturday to see my husband? For what? Freddie, I can’t do this without you!” Ada told him in a hushed yell, shaking as she let it out.

“That’s not going to happen, alright? It’s not going to happen. Even in all of the alternate universes, there’s not one where I don’t stay.” Freddie told her honestly, hand gently cupping her jaw.

“We’ll talk about alternate universes later; you’re very wrong.  Right now I want to know why the fuck the dead Karl Marx is more important than the real Karl upstairs, who asked where Daddy was and I had to distract him with trains.” Ada explained, pointing up the stairs to where Karl was sleeping with Charlie a few rooms down. “I have to explain why Daddy sometimes doesn’t come home.”

Ada watched as her words registered on Freddie’s face, and waited for his reply. She had no idea what she needed to hear, but she knew that she needed something other than sorry.

“Ade, I took the time to think - both in the cell and whilst Tom and Alfie were threatening to mutilate me. I keep putting the cause in front of you and Karl, and it’s not right - it’s not what I married you to do.” Freddie told her, just happy that she hadn’t ran away yet or told him to get fucked.

“I didn’t marry you to never see you either, Fred.” Ada told him, most of the anger seeping from her, leaving only the relief that he wasn’t dead. “Tom did say that Alfie was being nice.”

“I have a feeling he was.” He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck.

Ada laughed, nodding. “He probably was.”

“So, back to this. Ade. Promise you I’ll do my best not to get arrested - actually, this time - and I’ll be at home more.” Freddie promised, aware that there was still a car boot full of things in the drive if she accepted his promise, including the flowers that he hoped weren’t wilting.

“Good. Now if I’d have heard that three hours earlier…” Ada mused, smirking.

“I got you flowers!” He protested, kissing her cheek.

“Where are they then?” She teased, pulling him back in for an actual kiss. “Go get the stuff - I’d help you but it’s fucking freezing.”

“Hot chocolate?” Freddie asked, walking back down the stairs with her.

“I would love some. I’ll be in the lounge, I’ll help you take the stuff up when we go up.”

“Great.” Freddie thought he probably deserved to be the one making hot chocolate at that moment so he didn’t comment.

Freddie had a suitcase in one hand and a single flower in the other, making Ada grin as she saw him. Something about that smile of his reminded her why she loved him in the first place, of the time spent under the bridge, sitting on coats.

“A single flower for Mrs Thorne.” He smiled, dropping the suitcase down carefully and giving her the flower on a bent knee.

Ada took it in between her fingers, then pulled Freddie up to sit next to her.

“It’d be more, but they got damaged on the way.” He told her, wrapping an arm around her and letting himself just breathe. God, he loved her so much. If only he knew how to express it.

Ada hooked the flower through her buttonhole and shook her head. “It’s perfect.”

“I’m glad, love. Still want that hot chocolate?” Freddie asked, not wanting to move from her. A day was too long, especially when he was aware that it could be the time he had forgotten to say I love you before walking out the house that morning.

“I’d love some.” She nodded, sinking back into the sofa as he left to boil the kettle. Typical, she thought, her aunt was right again. It had taken a remarkable thirty minutes, and everything was normal again.

Ada wouldn’t really have it any other way, though - she needed him, her equal, her best friend, her biggest annoyance. They needed eachother, and no policeman, no brother, no son, no queen, nor anyone else could take that from them.

#peaky blinder fanfic #Peaky Blinders #peaky blinder #peaky blinder headcanon #peaky blinders fanfiction #Ada Thorne #Ada Shelby #freddie #freddie thorne #ada thorne imagine #ada shelby imagine #freddie thorne x ada shelby #ada shelby x freddie thorne #ask #req #twistedrunes #old writing

[literateape]

First Season At The Unicorn Ranch

By Dana Jerman

NOT A WEEK AFTER HE CONTACTED ME, after the invitation via letter, I made the three-day trek, climbed the mountain, and found the compound at the Unicorn Ranch. I moved in with only my sleeping bag, a few clothes, a knife, two empty notebooks, two pens, and a toothbrush.

Also, a single packet of opium incense, as well a can of coconut soda and a bottle of vodka (that evening's celebratory libation/first aid).

He seemed almost surprised to see me. He showed me around. We gave each other a good once over twice. He looked better than I remember from our growing up days. He offered a modest repast. Root vegetables and kielbasa. We clinked clean-ish glasses across the oversized wooden mess hall table.

Then, rather exhausted, he sighed and said "Early day tomorrow..."

I almost had a second thought about it, then. If I’m doing the right thing. But he needed help.

I stayed up for another hour in my sleeping bag. Hands behind my head, thinking. Listening.

*

THE MIGRATORY PATH LEADS THEM HERE. For the next few months, in the weak pink of dawn, we trudged out thru the diamond fields up to the terrace where they graze. All the shimmering glints underfoot, close to searing on our boots and leg hairs. Every day I marveled at the heat despite the mountain air and the sapphire sky — broad and clear.

The terrace: a pasture teeming with sorghum and wheat. The waterfall fortified with mica. Food and drink.

Chalk on leather mitt mounted powder-puffs can be rubbed onto their coats to keep the bugs away. This also makes them brighter and softer, while drying their sweat, which can also be collected and distilled into a potent hallucinatory concoction.

The pails of lemongrass milk we yoke out to slake them will be the same to pick up their poo: pink for girls, blue for boys. Noisome as a teenage pageant winner's bedroom, it reeks of very horny flowers with a pollen fetish. If left uncollected, the deep pheromones attract an unsavory population... I'm not talking about the diamond lice that we inspected their horns for each day...

Around the end of the first week, I caught sight of several postings. Icons depicting human-on-unicorn chasing and copulating with red slashes thru them. Another said explicitly "EXTREME DANGER: NO VIRGINS!”

"You didn't tell me about the virgins," I said to him that evening after supper.

“Virgins,” he exhaled a mild disdain. “They don't have the limp."

"Huh?"

"Be careful. If they fall in love, they will follow them anywhere. Off the farm, anywhere."

"Wait, limp?"

"There's an imperceptible limp we have. Virgins don't. They are usually mostly..."

He trailed off and stared toward the window filled with night. Losing himself in some loneliness I hadn't realized was so bad.

"More than a limp, they're dangerous. Any undue attention to this place is dangerous."

He acknowledged me over the shoulder, but didn't look up. The dishes provided ample distraction.

I finished my tea and stared into the bottom of the cup. There was still so much I would probably never know. Surprisingly, he continued.

"When they started coming, I fell in love with one of them. Maybe a few. Deflowered them only to have it backfire on me..."

This time, we made eye contact.

When he lifted the last flatware from the soapy water I was behind him. I wrapped my arms around and put my nose into the cloth over his back. Dust from the mountain mixed in with his own healthy musk.

Just then, I'm glad to be myself, in my own body with my own feelings. And not a virgin, whatever that was. Not scared, and not wanting to be anywhere else. 

"Want to go for a ride?" 

He motioned me down some steps thru a big wooden curved door I hadn't noticed until then.

The Jeep was massive. Diamonds helpless in its tire treads.

"Why haven't we been using this beast to get up to the terrace?!" I balked.

"This 'beast' takes a lot of energy. Besides I'm running out of biofuels. Trying to get it to take diamond dust and uni-leavings as propellent, but the agglutination efforts haven't been successful. Yet." 

We are breaking off onto a trail I don't recognize. Down the east face of the mountain with its bracing pine-laced air. It is just about pitch, even with the indigo cast of the headlamps. A blanket of mist has risen thinly. I see shapes I can't make out until we are almost on top of them, and then they are huge and blinking lazily. We slow down amidst a line of massive radio dish towers. I gawked, speechless. Breathless.

"A repellent sound barrier. Virgins also have an auditory frequency we've lost. Plus some other weaknesses… these protect the entire mountain. Some make it through anyway..."

Sometimes the way he spoke made my hair stand on end. Even without his blue eyes bright and coming right at me, underlit by the Jeep's dash gages. 

*

NIGHTS LATER IN BED I CONFESSED TO HIM: a mild telepathy from the animals has started to affect my dreams. I kept seeing the ghost of the unicorn that went over the waterfall.

He knew about this side-effect too, of course. He always knew the right time to admit a secret, even a dirty one. Since I'd arrived, nearly every evening meal included some revelation that kept me up well into the airy silence of the evening.

"I tried breeding Ponycorns, it was shameful," he sighed. "One came to term with no head. That's when I knew I had to stop."

A long pause. "I've had dreams about the waterfall, about gored virgins bleeding gold blood. When I look at the unicorns, I see beautiful creatures capable of so much violence. Which makes them just like us."

Again his eyes seared right through. Being here had been hard on him, and he was asking me to not be a part of the things that hurt.

*

THE NEXT DAY, I HAD BEEN CANNING PLUMS for unicorn bait when I realized it was taking him longer than usual to do a perimeter sweep of the fence on the far side of the radio dishes.

No sooner had I thought this than I stopped what I was doing at the sound of walkie receiver static. A barely lucid crackle of his panicked voice came thru again and turned my blood to ice.

The only answer to getting to him as quickly as possible was to take the Jeep.

The machine started under me and my guts leapt into my throat. I'd seen him do this precisely once. To muscle the gearstick into drive took more balls than I was sure I ever wanted to have.

Still, the blast of cool fresh air as I bounded away from the compound in this swollen bundle of metal, shocks, noise and urgency was a power hard to describe. I think I know how he felt, though — a hero in his own action film.

The mountain swarmed with smoke. One of the dishes had crashed into another and was licked high up by flames.

He was riding a unicorn, waving his shirt to keep the bizarre skinny hermaphroditic albino wave of grabby virgins at bay.

There were nearly twenty of them. Feral. With heads spinning around as if they were possessed. 

It was like watching a painting of the eschaton come to life. A golden god smiting his zooted, screaming, powdered sugar worshipers while atop a steed rising as wild as the very upturned diamond mine upon which the whole tableau cavorted rampant.

"Take off your shirt!!" He screamed as I dismounted.

"What?!"

"Your breasts!!"

No clue what this meant, but I fast obliged. I ran toward him peeling my shirt up and away, in nothing now but a plum stained apron and shorts, and very old sneakers I'd borrowed from him.

When they saw my C cups, it was as if their eyes exploded. It all happened so fast, I would otherwise swear I saw blood.

He snatched me up onto the equine myth as the virgins twisted en masse, hollering away.

I had one of those unblinking moments where you're not sure how life managed to drop you here. He howled with laughter and triumph, and I was scared out of my wits with awe.

Clinging half-naked to half-naked, we tore about astride this massive animal that seemed to hover violently as it bucked and careened across the landscape that gave way to the sunset. Like a roller coaster gives way to the horizon only to plunge back into it, over and over.

I remember watching the long alabaster mane whipping and waving like a manic flag, and feeling myself smile...

*

I DON'T REALLY REMEMBER PASSING OUT AFTER VOMITTING, only to wake up in bed. He sat near the edge and looked at me while I swallowed the offered water. A towel around his shoulders and his wet hair. His hands still stained slightly with glitter and soot.

"Is the fire out?" I manage.

"Yes."

“Okay, so, is the spied ripe fruit of some mature female another queer garlic-to-vampire virgin weakness? You would only know this if another woman had been up here with you."

He smiled the smile of a modest angel. "No. I'm not the only unicorn rancher to have ever held down this compound…"

So much I would probably never know.

For many reasons and no reason particularly, I started crying. He grabbed my hand and squeezed.

"You saved my life!" he shouted in a whisper. "They would have caused a lot more damage than just a fire if you hadn't come. Listen, I haven't made it easy on you here. But I knew I would be doomed to not just die, but to stay the same if I didn't invite you. You saved my life in more ways than one." 

*

ONLY A WEEK LATER, WE MADE A CELEBRATORY SUPPER to mark the end of the galactic migration period. Unicorns visited once every three years or so, in the time it would take them to shift around the universe.

After many nights, and alone under the full moon of the spring equinox, I climbed the talus near the backside of the compound to cull the pomegranates, turnips, and radishes. I went naked but for boots in the wee hours. Soon, diamond dust permeated my hair. Glints went off without shame, proud as galaxies in miniature, under the curve of my boot treads and the soft fur at my kneecaps.

I stood tall. The chill and the pink smell on the air were softly drifting over my goose-pimpled skin. I breathed and looked up to the moon. The mountainside an obsidian pyramid gleaming in the argent light. Looking back horizonward, I thought I could see gold flints of horns leading themselves up, over, away, beyond...

Suddenly, I wasn't sure I knew what to do without them. But it wouldn't be too hard to wait until their return.

#unicorns #love #jeep #mountains #valleys #terrace #frienship #loyalty #fantasy #weirdness #incense #kielbasa

[theliterateape]

First Season At The Unicorn Ranch

By Dana Jerman

NOT A WEEK AFTER HE CONTACTED ME, after the invitation via letter, I made the three-day trek, climbed the mountain, and found the compound at the Unicorn Ranch. I moved in with only my sleeping bag, a few clothes, a knife, two empty notebooks, two pens, and a toothbrush.

Also, a single packet of opium incense, as well a can of coconut soda and a bottle of vodka (that evening's celebratory libation/first aid).

He seemed almost surprised to see me. He showed me around. We gave each other a good once over twice. He looked better than I remember from our growing up days. He offered a modest repast. Root vegetables and kielbasa. We clinked clean-ish glasses across the oversized wooden mess hall table.

Then, rather exhausted, he sighed and said "Early day tomorrow..."

I almost had a second thought about it, then. If I’m doing the right thing. But he needed help.

I stayed up for another hour in my sleeping bag. Hands behind my head, thinking. Listening.

*

THE MIGRATORY PATH LEADS THEM HERE. For the next few months, in the weak pink of dawn, we trudged out thru the diamond fields up to the terrace where they graze. All the shimmering glints underfoot, close to searing on our boots and leg hairs. Every day I marveled at the heat despite the mountain air and the sapphire sky — broad and clear.

The terrace: a pasture teeming with sorghum and wheat. The waterfall fortified with mica. Food and drink.

Chalk on leather mitt mounted powder-puffs can be rubbed onto their coats to keep the bugs away. This also makes them brighter and softer, while drying their sweat, which can also be collected and distilled into a potent hallucinatory concoction.

The pails of lemongrass milk we yoke out to slake them will be the same to pick up their poo: pink for girls, blue for boys. Noisome as a teenage pageant winner's bedroom, it reeks of very horny flowers with a pollen fetish. If left uncollected, the deep pheromones attract an unsavory population... I'm not talking about the diamond lice that we inspected their horns for each day...

Around the end of the first week, I caught sight of several postings. Icons depicting human-on-unicorn chasing and copulating with red slashes thru them. Another said explicitly "EXTREME DANGER: NO VIRGINS!”

"You didn't tell me about the virgins," I said to him that evening after supper.

“Virgins,” he exhaled a mild disdain. “They don't have the limp."

"Huh?"

"Be careful. If they fall in love, they will follow them anywhere. Off the farm, anywhere."

"Wait, limp?"

"There's an imperceptible limp we have. Virgins don't. They are usually mostly..."

He trailed off and stared toward the window filled with night. Losing himself in some loneliness I hadn't realized was so bad.

"More than a limp, they're dangerous. Any undue attention to this place is dangerous."

He acknowledged me over the shoulder, but didn't look up. The dishes provided ample distraction.

I finished my tea and stared into the bottom of the cup. There was still so much I would probably never know. Surprisingly, he continued.

"When they started coming, I fell in love with one of them. Maybe a few. Deflowered them only to have it backfire on me..."

This time, we made eye contact.

When he lifted the last flatware from the soapy water I was behind him. I wrapped my arms around and put my nose into the cloth over his back. Dust from the mountain mixed in with his own healthy musk.

Just then, I'm glad to be myself, in my own body with my own feelings. And not a virgin, whatever that was. Not scared, and not wanting to be anywhere else. 

"Want to go for a ride?" 

He motioned me down some steps thru a big wooden curved door I hadn't noticed until then.

The Jeep was massive. Diamonds helpless in its tire treads.

"Why haven't we been using this beast to get up to the terrace?!" I balked.

"This 'beast' takes a lot of energy. Besides I'm running out of biofuels. Trying to get it to take diamond dust and uni-leavings as propellent, but the agglutination efforts haven't been successful. Yet." 

We are breaking off onto a trail I don't recognize. Down the east face of the mountain with its bracing pine-laced air. It is just about pitch, even with the indigo cast of the headlamps. A blanket of mist has risen thinly. I see shapes I can't make out until we are almost on top of them, and then they are huge and blinking lazily. We slow down amidst a line of massive radio dish towers. I gawked, speechless. Breathless.

"A repellent sound barrier. Virgins also have an auditory frequency we've lost. Plus some other weaknesses… these protect the entire mountain. Some make it through anyway..."

Sometimes the way he spoke made my hair stand on end. Even without his blue eyes bright and coming right at me, underlit by the Jeep's dash gages. 

*

NIGHTS LATER IN BED I CONFESSED TO HIM: a mild telepathy from the animals has started to affect my dreams. I kept seeing the ghost of the unicorn that went over the waterfall.

He knew about this side-effect too, of course. He always knew the right time to admit a secret, even a dirty one. Since I'd arrived, nearly every evening meal included some revelation that kept me up well into the airy silence of the evening.

"I tried breeding Ponycorns, it was shameful," he sighed. "One came to term with no head. That's when I knew I had to stop."

A long pause. "I've had dreams about the waterfall, about gored virgins bleeding gold blood. When I look at the unicorns, I see beautiful creatures capable of so much violence. Which makes them just like us."

Again his eyes seared right through. Being here had been hard on him, and he was asking me to not be a part of the things that hurt.

*

THE NEXT DAY, I HAD BEEN CANNING PLUMS for unicorn bait when I realized it was taking him longer than usual to do a perimeter sweep of the fence on the far side of the radio dishes.

No sooner had I thought this than I stopped what I was doing at the sound of walkie receiver static. A barely lucid crackle of his panicked voice came thru again and turned my blood to ice.

The only answer to getting to him as quickly as possible was to take the Jeep.

The machine started under me and my guts leapt into my throat. I'd seen him do this precisely once. To muscle the gearstick into drive took more balls than I was sure I ever wanted to have.

Still, the blast of cool fresh air as I bounded away from the compound in this swollen bundle of metal, shocks, noise and urgency was a power hard to describe. I think I know how he felt, though — a hero in his own action film.

The mountain swarmed with smoke. One of the dishes had crashed into another and was licked high up by flames.

He was riding a unicorn, waving his shirt to keep the bizarre skinny hermaphroditic albino wave of grabby virgins at bay.

There were nearly twenty of them. Feral. With heads spinning around as if they were possessed. 

It was like watching a painting of the eschaton come to life. A golden god smiting his zooted, screaming, powdered sugar worshipers while atop a steed rising as wild as the very upturned diamond mine upon which the whole tableau cavorted rampant.

"Take off your shirt!!" He screamed as I dismounted.

"What?!"

"Your breasts!!"

No clue what this meant, but I fast obliged. I ran toward him peeling my shirt up and away, in nothing now but a plum stained apron and shorts, and very old sneakers I'd borrowed from him.

When they saw my C cups, it was as if their eyes exploded. It all happened so fast, I would otherwise swear I saw blood.

He snatched me up onto the equine myth as the virgins twisted en masse, hollering away.

I had one of those unblinking moments where you're not sure how life managed to drop you here. He howled with laughter and triumph, and I was scared out of my wits with awe.

Clinging half-naked to half-naked, we tore about astride this massive animal that seemed to hover violently as it bucked and careened across the landscape that gave way to the sunset. Like a roller coaster gives way to the horizon only to plunge back into it, over and over.

I remember watching the long alabaster mane whipping and waving like a manic flag, and feeling myself smile...

*

I DON'T REALLY REMEMBER PASSING OUT AFTER VOMITTING, only to wake up in bed. He sat near the edge and looked at me while I swallowed the offered water. A towel around his shoulders and his wet hair. His hands still stained slightly with glitter and soot.

"Is the fire out?" I manage.

"Yes."

“Okay, so, is the spied ripe fruit of some mature female another queer garlic-to-vampire virgin weakness? You would only know this if another woman had been up here with you."

He smiled the smile of a modest angel. "No. I'm not the only unicorn rancher to have ever held down this compound…"

So much I would probably never know.

For many reasons and no reason particularly, I started crying. He grabbed my hand and squeezed.

"You saved my life!" he shouted in a whisper. "They would have caused a lot more damage than just a fire if you hadn't come. Listen, I haven't made it easy on you here. But I knew I would be doomed to not just die, but to stay the same if I didn't invite you. You saved my life in more ways than one." 

*

ONLY A WEEK LATER, WE MADE A CELEBRATORY SUPPER to mark the end of the galactic migration period. Unicorns visited once every three years or so, in the time it would take them to shift around the universe.

After many nights, and alone under the full moon of the spring equinox, I climbed the talus near the backside of the compound to cull the pomegranates, turnips, and radishes. I went naked but for boots in the wee hours. Soon, diamond dust permeated my hair. Glints went off without shame, proud as galaxies in miniature, under the curve of my boot treads and the soft fur at my kneecaps.

I stood tall. The chill and the pink smell on the air were softly drifting over my goose-pimpled skin. I breathed and looked up to the moon. The mountainside an obsidian pyramid gleaming in the argent light. Looking back horizonward, I thought I could see gold flints of horns leading themselves up, over, away, beyond...

Suddenly, I wasn't sure I knew what to do without them. But it wouldn't be too hard to wait until their return.

#unicorns #love #jeep #mountains #valleys #terrace #frienship #loyalty #fantasy #weirdness #incense #kielbasa

[glass-ladybug]

road trip fic

At first, it wasn't noticeable. Just a few people, gone for the day. It was swiftly pinned down as a 24 hour bug. After two days, people began to wonder about the flu. After three, people started getting scared. Missing posters went up, phone calls were made, police were sent to look around, suspecting a prank, or maybe even a slew of movers, left for another town. But nothing came of it- none of the fifteen newly missing people were found. Council members, officers, regular members of the community- gone. The second Bea came home to her eerily quiet apartment, she knew. It was a feeling in her stomach: a pit that sank down, down, down until she wanted to throw up, or scream, or cry to make it disappear. But she held on, calling his name and ransacking the house, opening every door until it was overwhelmingly obvious her father wasn't home. She didn't sleep that night. When Bea fled from her house to work that morning, trying so /so/ hard to cling to some semblance of normality, Creek wasn't there. On any other day, Bea would've grumbled a bit about having to pick up the slack, but would've been secretly relieved to have a day away from the old creep. Today, she sat in the backroom and buried her head in her hands, shoulders shaking as her entire world broke down around her. She killed her father. Or, if the cave-in hadn't, dehydration soon would. An eye for an eye, Mae for her father. She briefly wondered if it was worth it. Her dad wasn't a bad guy. Creek, maybe, but not her dad. He was a man who had been broken to the point of no return, but he didn't deserve to die, not like that. Or maybe he did. The cult killed people. Her /dad/ could've killed people for all she knew. And if he hadn't, he'd certainly stood by while others did. This was too much. Too much to handle now, in this cramped, cluttered backroom by herself. Maybe too much to handle ever. But she couldn't live in denial, like Mae. Or excuse it like Gregg. Or, worse yet, agree with it like Angus. So there, in the storage room of the little store, her store, -she owned it now, she supposed- Bea made the active decision to live with it. ----------------- Possum Springs was healing. Things were still pretty messed up, but after a month, they were getting better. Aunt Molly was gone. Mae's mom kept assuring her that no, no, her aunt was fine, she was probably on a vacation, or a work trip and had forgotten to tell them. Mae pretended it was the truth. Other people were missing too- the head council member, some lesser ones, and a whole bunch of people that Mae had known. People she'd talked to, shared meals with, waved to from across the street. She couldn't go to the woods anymore. Even Germ's house was too close to That Place for her. She didn't like to think about it- preferring to shove it to some deep dark corner of her mind and forget. ((Too fast of a tone change?)) So Mae went to work. She'd gotten a job at Taco Buck, which was good! True, she didn't have a car to deliver with, but she /could/ Naruto run down the street at an alarming pace, and that was good enough. Mae balanced a bag of Mega Tacos in her arms. Struggling to pick up her ringing flip-phone, she didn't bother to check the Caller ID. "Heyyyyy." Gregg's voice echoed through the tinny receiver. "Hey, Mae! What's up?" "Not a lot. I was thinking about going to the park. To, y'know... get away." Gregg's voice filled with understanding. "Oh. Yeah, I get it." There was a beat of silence. "Can me and Angus come? We're not doing anything tonight, so I thought maybe we could all hang out before..." The words 'before we leave for good' hung in the air. Mae waved the growing pain in her chest away. "Sounds good! I'll invite Bea, too." "Nice!" "Five okay?" Gregg leaned away from his phone for a second, and Mae could hear muffled shouting. "Yeah, that works!" "See you then." "Bye, dude!" Gregg hung up with a faint click. Two down, one to go. Mae dialed Bea's number, impatiently waiting for her to pick up. "Hello?" Bea answered. "Hey, Bea! You free tonight?" "Are you asking-" Bea's low voice held an element of shock. "Gregg, Angus and I are going to the park, you wanna come?" "Oh. Sure, okay." "Five work for you?" "Yep. Bye." "See y-" /click/. Well. That was hasty. Now, Mae had to deliver some tacos. --------------------------------------- Bea liked spending as little time as possible at her empty house, which was why she was thrilled at Mae's offer of the park. Even if she was expecting something else. No, no, she was just tired! Long day at work. As always. Possum Springs didn't really have a park, per say. It had a tiny little plot of land with a fountain that only worked half the time, and a run down swing set. But she'd go anyway. When she arrived, Mae was already swinging as high as she possibly could, seemingly on an endless quest to swing completely around the bar. Gregg was beside her, shifting from side to side in his swing in an attempt to shove her off. She sat down next to Angus. "Hey." "Hey." It was good. A conversation with Angus wasn't exactly talkative, but it was peaceful, and fufilling for both of them. Quiet, but nice. Just like Angus. They sat together, the sun oddly warm for November, watching Gregg and Mae grow increasingly rowdy in their efforts to dethrone the other. A slight breeze ruffled the remaining leaves on the trees. Mae let out a shout, and hopped to the ground, Gregg crowing wildly in the background. She dusted her shirt off indignantly, before eying her friends oddly. There was something different about her, Bea noticed. She looked less... free. Her usually bright eyes had a hint of something else behind them. Something tired, and broken. It scared Bea that this was usual, now. ((FIX LAST SENTENCE LATER)) Mae motioned for Gregg to join them, and looked critically at the scenery around them before smiling widely. "I've been thinking." Angus sighed. "Hey!" Mae chortled. "That's not fair!" "Go on." Bea drawled. "I have a plan." "For?" "Well..." Mae paused for dramatic effect, obviously relishing in their anticipation. Bea sort of wanted to kick her in the kneecap. "We should go on a road trip!" Mae looked around at them, gauging their reactions. Bea started coughing loudly, hacking shocked breaths escaping from her lungs. Gregg shot to his feet. "Yeah! We totally should!" Mae slung an arm around her best friend, grinning devilishly at Angus and Bea. Angus seemed to be contemplating the option. He took a deep breath. "No." Bea, still in shock, noticed the remarkable similarity between the downcast expressions on the two daredevil's faces. Gregg pouted, and Mae made her eyes as wide and innocent as possible. Angus wasn't fazed. "We can't just stop now, Bug. Not when we're this close." Gregg adjusted his leather jacket slightly. "These are our friends! And, hell, soon we're not gonna even see them anymore!" Gregg pleaded with his boyfriend, who looked away. "The Plan can be put on hold for what-" Gregg looked inquisitively at Mae. "-three days? Four?" "Dunno. I didn't actually think I'd get this far." Mae said sheepishly. Angus pinched the bridge of his nose. "Where would we even go?" "We can work out the details later!" "...This is ridiculous." "I'm ridiculous!" Gregg chimed in. Bea felt inclined to agree. Resolve cracking, Angus furrowed his brows. "We have work." "We'll leave Friday, and call in sick on Monday." "The four of us? On the same day? In a small town?" "Yeah, if anyone asks we'll say we all caught the travel bug!" Gregg's excitement was gaining momentum, and it was obvious Angus wasn't going to hold up under the blond's relentless assault of sweetness. Angus turned to Bea, sending a silent plea for backup. Bea threw her hands up in a "what can you do" gesture, smiling slightly. He groaned, resting his head in his hands. "Bea, please..." Thanks, Angus. The decision was in /her/ hands now. Greeaaat. Mae seemed to sense this too, as she quickly switched her attention to Bea, giving her her best angelic smile. Bea said nothing. Mae continued to flutter her eyelashes. Bea, again, said nothing. She wasn't going to lose. Apparently, neither was Mae, as she detached herself from Gregg to sidle up next to the older girl. Bea raised a single eyebrow, a talent she possessed that made Mae insanely incensed. Mae winked. Sighing heavily, Bea pursed her lips. "We'll use my car." Mae shot up with a cheer, pulling the four of them into a hug. "Oh my God Oh my God /Oh my God/, we're gonna do this!" Mae pulled back, looking critically at Angus. "We /are/ doing this, right?" "I guess." "Yay!" Mae cheered, burying her face in Angus's scarf. Bea didn't miss the glare Angus threw at her over Mae's shoulder. Serves him right. If he didn't want this outcome, he shouldn't have handed it over to Bea. "So," Mae spouted happily, seemingly vibrating with energy, "where are we gonna go? Cuz', I've actually got nothing, and-" "The Grand Canyon." Gregg interrupted. "Huh?" "The Grand Canyon! That's... That's a place people go, right? We could do that?" "Yeah..." Mae said, pausing to think for a second. "Yeah, you're right! Bea, Angus, what do you think?" Angus pursed his lips, clearly still unhappy that this was happening. "It's a long way." "More places to go in between!" Bea had to see the logic in that. And, well, it'd be nice to see such an iconic part of America. Even if the whole country was on an economic slide due to power-hungry officials and underhanded corrupt dealings. Wait, no! Focus, Bea. "How long would this take?" She asked skeptically. Gregg quickly whipped out his phone, fingers tapping across the screen at a lightening pace. "Well, if we..." He shook his head slightly, blonde strands of hair sweeping to the other side of his forehead. "No, no... If we hit Vegas, which we definitely are, then..." Gregg typed a few more things onto his screen, before dropping his phone into the pocket of his leather jacket. ((Too much description of Gregg?)) "Accounting for driving, snack breaks, stops, sleeping, and at least one random accident, I'd say four days? Roughly?" Bea nodded. "We could leave on Friday after work, do stops and stuff on Saturday and Sunday, arrive at the canyon on Monday, then get home early Tuesday morning before work." Bea looked at Angus, almost in disbelief that she was siding with Gregg. "We... could actually do this. It's not as ludicrous as it sounds." Looking as if he'd just been drafted into battle, Angus merely sighed heavily. "Okay, fine! Fine. We'll pack tonight." Mae's eyes were alight with joy. "I'll grab some snacks." They needed this, Bea thought. They all needed to escape from this town, even if just for a little bit. Mae most of all. Mae and Gregg spun each other around again. Bea watched thoughtfully. "Tomorrow, right after everyone's done working, you grab your stuff and meet me at the Pickaxe. I'll pick everyone up from there, and we can head out, I guess." Mae waved happily, looking more alive than Bea had seen her in weeks. "I'll see you then!" Gregg ferociously bobbed his head up and down in agreement, and Angus nodded in affirmation. "I'll see you then." Bea whispered. ((I gotta add an ending sentence that's a lil happier bc I want this to be a fluffier fic))

[waldos-writing]

The Dig Initiative: Chapter 20

The Misadventures of Poole

Adam bent down in front of the door and carefully untied his shoes before sliding his heels free. He tucked the shoes neatly beneath a row of decorative hooks he used to hang his keys and his coat and his hat. The instant relief on the soles of his feet was heavenly. He cracked his toes against the floor before locking his door and retreating into the quiet sanctuary of his home.

The kettle on the stove was old, something he had inherited from his neighbor as she did her spring cleaning. She had a new one to replace it. Why own two kettles? She laughed and he thanked her for thinking of him and she asked him some question he dodged before returning home. The kettle looked tarnished. Nothing fancy. However, it boiled decently. That’s all he really needed; a decent boil. Adam turned on the stove, which clicked and clicked and sputtered and clicked and then took the flame. While the water heated, he found a mug from the pile in his sink. Probably had only been used for water and, if not that, then just another cup of tea. He sniffed it. It would be fine.

There were a few apples in a wire basket on the counter. They were getting long in the tooth by then with their sugar spots and Adam struggled with the idea of eating them or just throwing them out. He picked one up to test the firmness of the skin. It wrinkled against his thumb.

“Ugh, gross.”

“You were supposed to throw them out yesterday.”

“I know,” said Adam, his nose scrunched as he kept pushing the soft old skin of the apple in a little circle with his thumb. “Trash doesn’t go out until next week. They’re just going to get bad in the waste basket.”

“They’re going to get bad on your counter too.”

“I know,” said Adam again. He put the apple back. He’d get to it tomorrow.

While he was thinking about it, he wanted to shed his suit and tie and put them in the laundry bag to take to the dry cleaners on his day off. He worked the tie loose and pulled it up over his head as he went back to his bedroom. It was dark in there, too, but he knew his way around the place. There was still a little light coming in through the west-facing window, cut into pieces by the cheap blinds. Adam stared through it as he unbuttoned his shirt, whipped the belt out of the pant loops, and tossed his jacket onto an unmade bed. Felt good just to be in boxers and a tee. Adam stretched his arms over his head and cocked his hips to the left and right. He even smiled as he did it. Adam did not smile enough.

“I told you about the raid, didn’t I?” Adam called from his bedroom. He was putting on some jeans before he’d come out again to talk. “Soup kitchen, can you believe? All these little people, these parasite kind of people, stuffed into this dis-gust-ing little place. Bunch of them in there and half of them dead from the fever.”

There was a hole in the knee of his jeans. It showed most of his kneecap. Too much skin exposed. Adam stopped, touched the hole, fingering the delicate white threads that bordered it, and then stood up again.

“Hole…. Whole bunch of uh candidates. Couple of them had turned actually, which is weird.” Adam stared at the hole, wondering if he cared when all he was going to do was stay in for the rest of the day. “I don’t know how it got there. Out. I mean out. I mean how it got out. I don’t know how those people survived if they didn’t have the program, remember that? Valentina does.”

Didn’t matter that nobody else was going to see him. Adam wormed out of the pants and chucked them at a pile trailing out of his attached bathroom. There was a second pair of jeans, less comfortable, but clean and complete. No hole.

“Valentina also has a few theories about what happened. About the virus. She cares about a lot of things,” Adam continued as he came out of the bedroom. “Has that kind of energy.”

“You know I can’t hear you when you’re back there, right?”

“She’s kind of infectious too, if you know what I mean,” Adam said, ignoring the question.

He popped open his refrigerator and fished out a beer. It didn’t do that satisfactory ssktssaah when he pulled the tab back on it. Commercials always lied about that stuff. Lied about the flavors too; crisp, mountain fresh, full bodied and refreshing. Well, okay, it was refreshing. Adam gulped down half the can.

“Ahh,” he said dramatically, closing the fridge door. “Anyways, I think I’ll take her out for coffee. I told her about those places they used to have, you know. Late night open mic places. I really miss those places, I really do.”

“You’re kettles on.”

“What?”

“You’re kettles on, Poole.”

“Don’t call me—”

“You’re kettles on, Poole.”

The kettle was screaming on the stove. It was hard to miss as Adam put down his beer and grabbed the little dingy kitchen towel to take the kettle off the burner. The fire was still going, but he was careful to set the kettle down on an oven mitt before he did anything else.

“This is only because I was talking to you,” said Adam bitterly. He hadn’t put out any tea and decided it didn’t matter. He was going to finish the beer anyways.

“Then don’t.”

“Oh, you’d hate it if I ignored you. You’d start going on and on about everything just to fill the void. You’d tell me everything under the sun because you don’t even get to see the sun anymore. Don’t think I don’t remember.”

Maybe one beer wasn’t enough. It definitely wasn’t enough. He was a big guy, tall. Had always been bigger than other people, but not too big, because then he wouldn’t have been an augmenter. And nothing seemed worse than wearing white.

Even though the tea wasn’t going to happen—Adam reached in and grabbed two cans before bumping the fridge door shut with his hip—he decided he’d move on to a different routine. Tomorrow was going to be his only day off in two weeks.

“We’re cleaning the house today,” he announced and laughed.

“I thought you were going to the dry cleaners.”

“Clean the house first,” he answered. He sipped at the second beer and nodded at nothing and peaked his eyebrows, giggling a little with a metallic ping into the can. “You better,” he muttered. “If you’re ever inviting her over here, you want a clean place.”

What he really wanted was to sit back and talk about Valentina Drednov. He wanted to talk about how she tugged at her earlobes during debriefs, like a little wink to him about how boring their supervisor was. Or the way she hitched up her shoulders, bubbling with nervous confidence when she drove during their patrols. The way she purposefully stopped at each light to remind him of their first flirtatious moment. The way she snapped her fingers when she was primed to knock a candidate off their feet. The way she turned to him for approval when they dropped them off with the Altamira team. The way her mouth twitched with that little hidden smile for him, of course for him, because they were partners and he knew, if he cleaned and washed his clothes and made his bed and prepared everything just right, he could have her.

“You know, we’re coming up on a very important date. You remember it?” Adam asked, setting down the can again so he could start in on the dishes. “Half of May already over. I can’t believe it’s finally coming up. I can go on and on about illegal candidates and turnovers in soup kitchens all day, but it won’t even matter when they finish up with the towers, right? And I wouldn’t even know about it if it wasn’t for what you did.”

Adam laughed again, a little softer this time, expecting to hear a nasty retort. The faucet was running, maybe too loudly, so he turned it off.

“Did you say something?”

Silence.

“You know what I’m talking about, though, don’t you? You haven’t forgotten yet?”

Adam was scrubbing one of his many mugs. It was covered with soap suds, squeaking against the tired green sponge. When there was still no answer, he threw the sponge into the water in the sink. The mug went right in after it, shattering against the dishes hiding under the suds.

“Great! You see what you made me do?”

Adam turned in the kitchen, waiting for something, probably laughter, but it just wasn’t coming. He gripped the edge of the sink and roared with his neck taught, eyes bulging. He tried to rip the counter off from the sink, but it was solid built. It stayed. He pushed and pulled, jerked against it a little, but gave up.

“Are you ignoring me? After all we’ve been through? After all you’ve put me through? Now you’re giving me the cold shoulder, huh?” Adam slapped the counter. “Cold shoulder, you sonovabitch.” He slapped it again and laughed this time, hard. “Cold shoulder!”

Adam grabbed the kettle next to him and tossed it out of the kitchen. It sailed over the counter with an arc of hot water splashing around it before it bounced against his dining room table and onto the floor. The half-empty beer can was next, not before it soothed some of the burn on Adam’s palm. He didn’t care, really, that his hand was burned. He didn’t care that the table was damaged or that there was a giant puddle of steamy water on his dining room rug. He turned to the freezer and yanked open the bottom drawer.

“You don’t even have a shoulder, Daniel!” Adam yelled to the block of ice that took up the majority of his freezer space. Daniel still wasn’t answering, deciding instead to let his partner steep. “You think you’re better than me. You always did. You snuck around my back like I was this big dumb simpleton, thinking you could get in with the higher ups and take me out. You talked to that doctor, the one we had to put away and figured out they’re spreading the rest of NARA through the towers. Got a date, too. And good for you. Good for you, cause you had to tell me. Me, the big dumb partner. Put me in with the White Jackets. I knew, Danny. I knew you wanted to do that. I knew everything.”

The frozen head felt even better against his burnt palm than the beer can did. Adam fished Mr. Shutter’s out, squeezing the dead frozen cheeks between each hand as he hoisted it up to his eye level.

“And it’s good that I did. You know? Cause, Danny, listen,” he whispered and pressed his forehead against the bluish-white skull. Mr. Shutters eyes were frozen white, sightless, but he didn’t need them anymore. Didn’t need anything but that big dumb mouth of his, running off all the time. “I got the girl. How about that? Pretty thing, too. Beautiful. You’d be so jealous. You will be, when she comes over. She’s coming over and she’s gonna love me, Danny. Everything you used to say? Lies. Lies lies lies, even when you found out everything from that Dr. Fletcher and didn’t even tell me, didn’t even share until you did like a giant idiot, Danny.”

The skull’s blinked through the white frost, staring up at the big man who used to be his augmenter. But he didn’t say anything.

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#The Dig Initiative #writing #prose #this is a cliche in here #but I still wanted it so there #novel #self publishing #Against the Gray