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wrenhyperfixates · 3 years

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The Raven Haired Rebel

Chapter 4

Pairing: Loki x reader Series Summary: After invading New York, it was decided that, as a punishment, Loki would work for SHIELD. Yeah, right. After escaping from their custody and stranded on Midgard, the God of Mischief decides to prove he’s the one thing no one ever thought he was: the good guy. Now a vigilante, Loki attempts to make amends for his past wrongdoings while also evading the Avengers, including their newest member. You. Brought in specially for the case, you notice more and more details about the prince’s story don’t add up. When you get the chance to turn him in, will you listen to your employers or your heart that believes Loki’s done nothing wrong? Chapter Summary: In which Loki and you make a breakthrough. Chapter Warnings: none I believe A/N: Happy reading folks :)

Permanent Tag List: @lucywrites02 @frostedficrecs @lunarmoon8 @twhiddlestonsstuff @lokistan @lowkeyorlokificrecs @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass @castiels-majestic-wings @kozkaboi @cozy-the-overlord @birdgirl90 @myraiswack @mythicalgarlicknot @what-a-flammable-heart @marvelouslovely @laurenandloki @fallinallinmendes @sophlubbwriting @mooncat163 @lokislittlesigyn

RHR Tag List: @happygalaxymilkshake @electroma89 @stardust-walker @i-would-kneel-for-loki @fredweasleyandlokiaremylife @aestheticallyholland

Masterlist

Disclaimer: Gif not mine

Loki had insisted on moving again before your team got to work. The team, of course, was really just you and him, but he liked the sound of it. Of having a whole little group to belong to. But, in reality, he didn’t. He had you, at least, and that was enough for now. Quite possibly for forever, if he were to be honest. After all, everyone always says it's better to have one true friend than a million who don’t care for you at all. Growing up, he’d had plenty of sycophants attach themselves to his hip, only to ignore him once they got close with Thor. That was before everyone decided Loki wasn’t even worth their time. The lonely, brooding sorcerer prince of Asgard deemed too unimportant to even use as a gateway to greater things.

You, however, were different; Loki could tell. Truly, you had nothing to gain and everything to lose by aligning yourself with him. Yet there you were, listening with rapt attention and big eyes, clinging to his every word. That was why his latest choice of motel was nicer than the previous one. He felt like you deserved it. The fact that there was only one bed was not his doing, he swore on his life. Alas, that was all that was available. He’d offered to take the floor so you could have it to yourself, but you insisted on sharing. And with all your stubbornness, who was he to resist?

Now, that’s not to say there weren’t problems with the set-up because there most certainly were. Like the fact that on the first night, despite falling asleep with his back toward you, he woke up facing you, an arm lazily wrapped around your waist. He could tell your sleep was feigned, an act he assumed was out of consideration for him so he wouldn’t be embarrassed. He’d whipped his arm away as quick as he could, rolling onto his back, the act making you open your eyes and blink innocently at him.

“You know,” you’d said, sleep still in the edges of your voice. “I really didn’t mind.”

“Thank you,” he’d cleared his throat. “But you do not have to say that just for my sake.”

You’d splayed a hand on his chest and leaned your body over his, making his heart stutter in his chest. “I’m not. I mean it.”

Before he could think of some reply- which with the way things were going, honestly could have been kissing you—you moved away from him. He laid there for a bit longer as you fixed yourself a breakfast of cereal. You put together a bowl for him, too, leaving it on his nightstand. Even that he did not touch for a bit, too lost in thought. He hadn’t been in touch with his emotions for quite some time. Now when he needed to most, he hoped he could be again.

Whether he understood his feelings or not, he stopped pulling away in the mornings. Because, yes, without fail, every time he woke up his arm was around you. You kept snuggling closer every night too; just that day he’d woken up to your head resting on his shoulder. He’d adjusted his haphazard grip on your body to hold you closer, tighter. It was a secure little bubble for the two of you to relish in, away from all the troubles of the world. How Loki wished he never had to leave it. Sadly, there was work to be done.

Currently, you were trying to find AIM’s secret headquarters. Loki was flipping through the files of intel he’d compiled, and you were tapping away on that computer device you had. You’d tried to explain how to use it, but it was lost on Loki. He promised to try again once you had more time. Which was odd, he thought, that you’d want to stick around him even after all this was over.

He wasn’t even exactly sure what he was going to do once his name was cleared. He didn’t particularly want to join SHIELD, though he felt that’s what you had in mind. So even if he didn’t agree to becoming the other half to a top secret crime fighting duo with you, would you still want to stay with him? What if he wanted to keep up this rebel, vigilante lifestyle? Would you keep traveling with him? He was pretty sure he’d miss you if you didn’t.

One thing he wouldn’t miss, however, was the fact you decided to put the TV on. The incessant blathering coming from the screen was beginning to annoy him. He’d tolerated it the whole week you’d spent together, but it was really getting on his last nerve now.

“Darling? Would you mind turning that off?” he asked.

“Do I have to?” you pouted. “I think better with the background noise.”

He walked over to the counter you were sitting on, going to grab the remote. You picked it up before he could and held it above your head so he couldn’t reach it. Unfortunately, even with the boost your perch on the countertop provided, he was devastatingly tall. You tried moving it back behind you a bit, too, but after a quick struggle, he seized it from your grasp with a smirk, hitting the power button.

“So some music then?” you asked with a grin.

“How about some peace and quiet?” he chuckled.

You playfully sighed. “Only for you.”

He hadn’t realized it during your little game, but he was standing between your legs so that they were wrapped around him a little. He knew it should have been oh so easy just to move away, yet he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Your fingers began to run through his hair as he stood there, the tenderness startling him.

“What are you doing?” he puzzled when you stopped for a minute, only to start massaging his scalp.

“You seem stressed,” you shrugged, hesitating for a moment but ultimately deciding to continue. “Is this alright?”

“Yes,” he sighed in relief as he allowed tension to leave his body. “It is perfect.”

When you finished, ending by smoothing his mussed hair back down, he rested his head on your shoulder, eyes hidden in the crook of your neck. His arms wrapped around your waist and you held him back, contentedly humming your approval. It was dangerous that he felt so attached to you, he thought. He was also surprisingly worried for you, but he could write that off in his mind as he felt like he was in your debt, something he didn’t like being in to anyone. The only way he felt certain he could repay it was by keeping you safe.

“Are you certain they will not find us, darling?” he checked. “That we should not move again?”

“We’re practically hiding in plain sight, and we haven’t really been out of this room in a week. We’ll be alright,” you assured him.

“Ok,” he acquiesced, though he was ready to protect you at any cost. His clever little darling mortal. But before he could analyze what all that really meant, something else occurred to him. “Wait a minute, that is it! Hiding in plain sight.”

You cocked your head at him as he pulled away a bit so he could look at you. “You mean... AIM is hiding in plain sight. Of course! Why didn’t we think of that sooner?”

“Well, it is just an idea. After all, we have checked their active facilities and found no suspicious activity there.”

“Good point,” you mused, going back to your computer. “But what about a site that’s not up and running yet?”

Loki looked on at the screen as you ran a few algorithms. He must admit, he was rather impressed as you quickly narrowed the options down location by location until only one was left.

“Here,” you said, turning the device so he could see it easier. “A new facility they’ve been ‘remodeling’ to make it the latest branch. But look when they bought it and started renovations; just a little over three months ago.”

“Which corresponds with the spike in their activity,” Loki caught on to your point. He took your hand and led you over to the bed where his files were laid out. “Hold on, I know I have a history of their transactions somewhere... Aha! Here, look; they have not bought very many items with which to refurbish a new building. Plus, those are not any of their usual contractors.”

“So that’s it then. That’s their base,” you said with a bubbling excitement. “So now we just have to get in.”

“No offense, darling, but are you sure you are up for it?”

“Yes,” you glared. “Besides, look at this. They’re ‘hiring.��”

Well, you were determined and clever, Loki had to give you that. The only problem being AIM was too. They were pretty good at keeping up a front, and he somehow had a feeling something would go terribly wrong. Still, some kind of backup would be nice. He didn’t want to hurt your feelings either. Norns, he really was going soft for you.

“Alright. So we go in for an interview and then sneak off to where they conduct their more unsavory business. But if we are going to clear my name, we have to let SHIELD know too,” he thought out loud.

“Easy,” you replied. “I’ll ping them our location once we get there. They’ll ship out immediately.”

“True,” he said, though he wasn’t exactly the biggest fan of letting them know where he was, let alone where you were. However, he didn’t really see many other viable options. “Then I suppose we should set to work, darling.”

You were able to get interviews for that Wednesday, just a mere three days away. Loki had noticed a disclaimer at the bottom of the form that said you may be offered a job at a different location. How very clever of them, he thought, to multitask like that, keeping up a front and expanding their company at the same time. Then again, he felt like it wasn’t the smartest idea to let anyone into a place where you were cooking a nefarious plot. That’s what happened when people got secure in what they did, though. They got lazy.

Regardless, about twelve hours later, you were off to California for your appointments, hoping the cover of night would make it harder to track you. As the sun rose on your car driving along the interstate, Loki broke the comfortable silence that had settled between you, ready to say what had been on his mind for the past several miles.

“You know that if something goes awry, we will not be able to save the other, right?” he began. “It will jeopardize the mission.”

“I know,” you replied. “We have to focus on taking them down. It’s not like SHIELD will be particularly happy with me either if we fail.”

“Yes, well, I thought it was worth mentioning. I am glad we are in agreement.”

After a few more minutes of silence, you spoke again. “Hey, Loki?”

“Yes, darling?”

“I think I’m falling for you.”

“Then,” he answered, turning his head to look out the window in order to hide his blush. He wished he could say it as bluntly as you had, but his nerves made him settle for a slightly veiled confession. “I am glad we are in agreement about that too.”

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catherdrashepard · 3 years

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Darrow is Not Going to Die at the End of the Series Part 2

There are probably going to be at least one or two more parts depending on how much I can stop myself from blathering on. Anyway, spoilers ahead for the following: Dark Age, Hunger Games, Castlevania, Trollhunters: Rise of the Titans, Avengers Endgame, The Hobbit, Voltron, FMA, HttYD, Death Note, Madoka Magica, Merlin, Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts, HunterxHunter, Dragon Prince, He-Man (the new one), Yu Yu Hakusho, Persona 3. Mass Effect, The Hollow, Camp Cretaceous, and whatever else I can think of.

I last left off on talking about how my thoughts implied that Darrow could die at the end as long all the loose ends are tied. But, I don’t think that that’s really something that can actually happen. A lot of this is speculation on my part and really relies on what happens during the 6th book.

The first thing that came to mind was Mass Effect. The ending of Mass Effect 3 was...not very well received. I’m not going to say that I’m particularly happy with it either but I also think it fits the narrative. However, one thing to note, video games are different than books and the story that Shepard goes through is reliant on the player. Also, stories in games are going to be shorter than stories in books (for the most part, there are definitely exceptions) due to player involvement.

I’m going to start with Shepard’s first death, at the beginning of Mass Effect 2. Of course, being the second game, their death couldn’t be permanent unless BioWare switched protagonists mid trilogy. There are a few reasons, in my opinion, that Shepard was killed during the opening credits of the second game.

First of all, the combat changed between games (a lot between the first and second and only slightly between second and third), and I think Shepard’s two year absence gave a reason for a tutorial on the new combat system. They were dead and had to learn how to use new technology. This is also done between the second and third games, with a 6 month gap, but the combat only changed slightly. Secondly, having the main protagonist die really highlights the threat that the player is dealing with in the second game but, Shepard’s return also shows that they still have unfinished business and that their story isn’t over. Thirdly, I think the absence gives time for the secondary characters time to develop on their own. This is shown more with the characters who appeared in the first game but also it gives an idea of just how much of an impact Shepard had. I feel like this is a parallel to the time Darrow spent in the table between GS and MS.

Now to move on to Shepard’s more permanent death...although if you complete the game entirely (at least in the legendary edition; thank goodness I hated the battle readiness thing) there is a dubious ending where Shepard may or may not have lived. But in any case, Shepard is considered dead and their story is over. Whatever my feelings about this may be, this type of ending didn’t come out of nowhere. The main threat, the Reapers, have been dealt with in a permanent manner, or at least it’s heavily implied that they won’t be coming back. However, just because the Reapers are gone doesn’t mean there aren’t still things to be done. Specifically, recovery. Shepard very well could have been involved in this but it’s not necessary. Their story is over, they have dealt with the threat and it’s not coming back.

Darrow, on the other hand, has not finished his mission. Even if he does by the end of the next book, however, it’s a very different circumstance from Shepard. The threat in Mass Effect was a very large and tangible thing, whereas the problem Darrow faces is an ideology and the people who hold those views. Something like that doesn’t end with a large space weapon pointed directly at the threat; it permeates everything. So even if Darrow defeats Atalantia, Lysander, and whoever else, there’s most likely going to be more people who shared belief that Golds are best. Also, we saw how the Vox Populi felt about the things Darrow was doing. Darrow is essentially reconstructing an entire system of government and, no matter how correct Darrow is, there will always be people who disagree with him.

Assuming Darrow defeats the remnants of the Society, stops the Ascomanni, deals with Quicksilver and whatever he’s doing, takes care of Atlas, handles Apple, what’s left? Much like with the end of Mass Effect, what’s left is recovery. The difference between these two, however, is that while Shepard was not necessarily needed for the rebuilding, Darrow would be.

Now, both Shepard and Darrow spearheaded their respective causes, but (and this relies heavily on how the sixth RR book goes) defeating the Reapers was a group effort, utilising every species and as many resources as they can spare. No doubt the rebuilding of the entire galaxy will require the same. Not that Darrow’s goal hasn’t been similar in that regards, with the help of so many different Colors being necessary. It’s just....Darrow’s circle feels a lot smaller than Shepard’s.

I mean, obviously being the face of a war is going to get you a lot supporters and people to work with, but the most important players are Darrow’s close friends and family. I’m sure part of this is the fact that the books are first person with specific POVs. Mass Effect does focus on Shepard’s story, but it’s in third person and you get a lot of different information through sidequests and talking to other characters. I mean, there’s a whole codex in Mass Effect with a lot of information and there isn’t one for RR (PB should make one tho). Our knowledge of the universe and its history is more limited in RR than Mass Effect, but I think that’s mostly because the lore in Mass Effect has more of a direct impact on how the story goes.

But back to the original point, it’s explicitly shown in Mass Effect that it requires everyone to stop the Reapers. And even though we see Darrow’s army, the main players, the ones who are taking care of the big things, are still Darrow’s inner circle. As an example, Mass Effect would be more like a pyramid (ironic) where Shepard is at the top. Even if it crumbles away (they die), the pyramid will still stand. For RR, it feels more like a chain. If one of the links (Darrow) breaks, then the chain is also broken. You could re-attach the pieces but it wouldn’t be as strong as it once was.

One last thing I wanted to bring up (which I will bring up again in part 4, yes I said part 4), is technology. Both Mass Effect and RR take place in the future and therefore have better technology than we do. There is something very important about this technology though that makes it more likely for Darrow to live. The Reapers are a race of sentient squid machines hellbent on the genocide of every other sentient species in the galaxy. But they are the ONLY things with access to that kind of technology. Even when they share it with Saren or the Collectors, it’s not something others can replicate. And once they’re destroyed (control ending notwithstanding) at the end of the third game, that’s it. They could still have people who are indoctrinated (although I think that stops when the Reapers were destroyed?) or people who are just stupid and think they were right, but...those people aren’t a threat. They can’t bring back the Reapers, I doubt anyone would be able to recreate such a thing (at least not within Shepard’s lifetime even if they did live). So once the Reapers were gone...that’s it.

Now, the technology in RR is, for the most part, accessible to everyone. Assuming Darrow defeats Atalantia, Lysander, etc. their way of thinking would still be around. But with the way the universe works, I think it would entirely possible for supporters of the Society to rise up and start a conflict all over again. This means Darrow is not finished yet, even if the immediate threats are gone. It wouldn’t make sense for him to die when there’s still stuff for him to do.

I do think, though, that it is worth mentioning that the definite ending of Mass Effect is probably related to the fact that it’s a video game and especially for stories like that, a more open ended conclusion with the implication that I COULD do more would only be frustrating. With tv shows, movies, and books, I notice, having a more vague ending works better because you’re just separated enough from the story that you can enjoy the implications of more stuff without feeling unsatisfied. There’s always exceptions of course.

ANYWAY, it part 3 I’m going to be talking about Persona 3 and 5 so....stay tuned.

#darrow of lykos #dark age spoilers #character study #long post

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drpierceandmrhyde · 3 years

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okay here’s me blathering about “Hawk’s Nightmare” for ~1350 words

I’m going to talk about Frank and Margaret’s conversation in post-op first because it doesn’t fit with the other themes of the episode that I want to talk about, but I still like that scene, so I want to talk about it anyway.

Margaret’s “I happen to be an engaged person” is very Gender, but I also like her “I’m a one-man woman” because … well, she is. Sure, she had a long affair with a married man, but that affair could have been born from mutual loneliness as much as from attraction, and as far as I remember she is never in a relationship with both Frank and Donald. When it’s clear that Frank is never going to divorce his wife, Margaret calls their affair quits. And she commits to her relationships, even if the men with whom she is involved don’t share her commitment. She sticks with Frank through countless empty promises, and Donald leaves her, not the other way around. (Also, I hate to say it, but “I know God exists because you exist” is quite a romantic line.)

Now for the on-topic stuff.

From the opening scene we see the impetus for the themes of Hawkeye’s sleepwalking and dreams. The episode opens with Hawkeye lamenting on the age of his patient. This isn’t the first time this has happened; he and Trapper had the whole “I’d swear this kid is really a kid” scene in “Sometimes You Hear the Bullet.” But Hawkeye seems especially worked up about this patient’s age, even countering Frank’s claim that their patients are proud soldiers by saying that they’re babies. So it makes sense that this fixation on the youth of these soldiers would lead to dreams about people from Hawkeye’s own childhood.

The youth of Hawkeye’s patient is further cemented in a later scene when Hawkeye is visiting with him in post-op. The patient hadn’t even heard of Korea before the war started. And when Hawkeye says that he’s from Crabapple Cove, the patient says that it sounds like a place where Winnie the Pooh hangs out. There’s something unnerving about a soldier talking about something as childish as Winnie the Pooh. It reminds you that he’s just a kid whose government forced him into this war.

The episode is full of little moments that show the care that the 4077th has for Hawkeye. When BJ sees him asleep in bed without a blanket, he puts a blanket over him. When Klinger and Radar catch him sleepwalking for the second night in a row, they very calmly and gently get him back to bed without waking him up. When Hawkeye wakes up Radar in the middle of the night because he’s desperate to check on a friend back home, Radar places the call without hesitation, and Colonel Potter asks Radar to call Sidney but does so discreetly because he doesn’t want Hawkeye to know. Even Frank kind of tries to offer comfort depending on how you look at it. I know Hawkeye doesn’t take comfort from Frank saying that there’s nothing in the dark that isn’t there in the light, but in the right circumstances I could see how that sentiment could be comforting to someone. (And I have a weakness for Potter saying “Anything I can do, son?” while putting his hand on Hawkeye’s back and then encouraging Hawkeye to lie down for a while.)

The episode has some good demonstrations of Hawkeye feeling like he has to be funny, whether the staff has imposed that expectation or whether he’s imposed it on himself. You have “Come on, don’t pull my leg. The shape I’m in, it’ll come off,” and he says “Frankly, I think I’m pregnant” when he’s talking to Margaret and BJ about his first nightmare. It could be humor as a coping mechanism or to keep up with his jokester expectations or perhaps both.

But I also think it’s interesting that when BJ says there’s no need to make such a big deal out of a little sleepwalking and one nightmare, Hawkeye agrees with him and says that he wouldn’t if it were happening to anyone else. But wouldn’t he? At this point Hawkeye has a history of treating traumatized patients with compassion and taking their trauma seriously, even if he doesn’t always understand the trauma. “Mad Dogs and Servicemen” is perhaps a bit of an exception, but that was mostly because he was trying to follow Sidney’s advice when Sidney couldn’t show up to talk to the patient himself, and behind that firmness I think he still cared about the patient, and he thought that the patient probably didn’t like him because of his treatment.

We get a taste of Hawkeye viewing his home and his childhood through rose-tinted glasses. He says that Toby Wilder was his best friend as a kid, but when he calls Toby to check on him after his nightmare, Toby only cares about the money that Hawkeye supposedly owes him. And then a few seasons later, Hawkeye talks about his love for his cousin Billy, who almost drowned him.

I love the way that the writing describes trauma without using medical or psychiatric terminology. When talking about his fear of going to sleep, Hawkeye says “It’s one thing to live in a shooting gallery, but now I’m being attacked from inside. […] How do I defend myself from myself?” And there’s the conversation between Potter and Radar after Potter has called Sidney, when Radar talks about the fight against the war. When Potter says that the jokes aren’t working anymore and Radar says that the other side is winning, it reminds me of Alan Alda saying that Hawkeye doesn’t fundamentally change but rather that his coping mechanisms stop working. And Hawkeye openly says that he’s scared. I always love when characters express their fear outright.

I love that Hawkeye and Sidney’s scene is framed as a conversation rather than a formal psychiatric appointment. Their friendship and mutual respect has been well established by this point, but this is the first extended scene of Hawkeye being a patient and Sidney being his therapist (we got a little of that in “O.R.” but not to this extent). Hawkeye is relieved that Potter called Sidney, and he quickly talks very candidly about his fear of falling asleep, and Sidney invites Hawkeye to share his own insight into his mental state without trying to twist Hawkeye’s words. “So you’ve been walking in your sleep. What do you think it means?” And as a bonus we get a taste of Sidney’s sense of humor with his “losing your marbles” joke.

I haven’t seen “Goodbye, Farewell and Amen” yet and won’t until the 28th, but from what I know about Hawkeye’s arc in that episode, there is some foreshadowing/reversal in this episode. In this episode Hawkeye is worried that he’s going crazy and eventually asks Sidney point blank if he is crazy, but in GFA (from my understanding) Hawkeye doesn’t think he needs help. In this episode Hawkeye tells Sidney that he’s very reassuring and that he has a great warside manner, but in GFA he calls Sidney a son of a bitch. I’ll definitely revisit this episode once I’ve seen GFA.

I also love and appreciate that Hawkeye’s sleepwalking and nightmares come from the trauma of the war without Hawkeye dreaming about the war itself. It’s a refreshing twist on war-related PTSD tropes. He dreams about childhood friends, and in the dreams they’re still children, and the dreams all end with the kids dying violently, and Sidney compares those dreams to the children that Hawkeye has had to operate on. And Sidney saying “But there’s a lot of suffering going on here, Hawkeye, and you can’t avoid it. You can’t even dream it away” is yet another indication of Hawkeye being fully, painfully aware of the war and another indication that Hawkeye is drowning in the war and cannot escape the totality of it.

So overall it’s a great episode that presents it subject matter authentically and in ways that ring true to the characters’ personalities.

#anyways. fucking love this episode #*#M*A*S*H

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celestialvoid-fanfiction · 4 years

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Get Well Soon

Harry gets the magical flu and he’s laid up in bed for a week. The only reason he doesn’t fall behind in classes is because he gets notes from a classmate, but he doesn’t know who it is.

For @loveyprophet

(You can read it on AO3 here)

Magical flu – who would have thought that’d be a thing? Unfortunately for Harry, it was.

He’d been laid up in bed for three days now, swaddled in blankets and sleeping through the day.

The first few days he had spent in the hospital wing, but once his fever broke the matron agreed to let him rest in the Gryffindor dorms.

The first letter came that evening. Harry watched as it fluttered through the open window of the dorm room, fluttering wings keeping it afloat as it gracefully circled the room, the paper crackling with the movement.

Harry cupped his hands and held out his arms, watching – mesmerised – as the enchanted paper bird landed in his hand and fell still.

He carefully unfolded the paper, feeling a strange warmth settle in his chest as he looked down at the elegant scrawls of lettering across the page.

There were pages upon pages of notes, each titled by which class they were for. There were notes for the past three days of lessons—about what they had learnt in class as well as observations the writer had made and doodles and illustrations along the edges of the paper.

Among the notes for Herbology, there were illustrations of the plants as well as notes on the side about how to tend to them, what potions and medicines they were used in, and their own magical properties.

There were more notes on Transfiguration, Charms, History of Magic, and Defence Against the Dark Arts. The notes for Astronomy were covered in illustrations of stars and constellations that sat alongside the lesson notes: Canis Major with a brilliantly vibrant star—Sirius; Cygnus, Lyra, and at the bottom of the page Draco.

For Potions, there were detailed notes on what the potion was used for and step-by-step instructions. In the columns were small illustrations of the ingredients – herbs, beetles, flowers; all beautifully drawn – and an animated drawing of a potion blowing up in Seamus’ face—a common enough occurrence that seeing the animated sketch play through made Harry smile.

Harry read the notes avidly, finding himself smiling more and more as he read through the pages. But what caught him off guard was the final page; it was empty except for one sentence, the beautifully elegant handwriting making the words seem all the more meaningful.

Get well soon.

The next day, another enchanted letter appeared, fluttering through the open window. It landed in Harry’s hand, stretching its wings and slowing before falling still.

Harry felt his heart flutter with anticipation, shocked to find himself looking forward to seeing that beautiful handwriting again.

He unfolded the notes, letting out a small sigh of relief as he looked down at the elegant scrawls of ink.

He first few pages were Herbology notes, the boarder of the pages beautifully illustrated with drawings of fungi—bundles of enoki, rows of hiratake and oyster mushrooms that grew likes rippling shelves on the side of a towering tree, rounded toadstools with bright tops, and clusters of honey agaric. There were notes of which fungi were edible and which were not.

The next page were notes from Potions class. Harry read through them all, turning the page over. He couldn’t help but laugh as he looked down at the illustrtion at the bottom of the page; a rather unflattering animated doodle of Snape blathering on with a seach bubble that read ‘blah, blah, blah’.

When he finished laughing, he drew in a deep breath and read through the rest of the notes, feeling his heart sip a beat as he read the message on the final page—the one line of elegant writing.

Get well soon.

Harry stared at that one sentence for a while.

Finally, he let out a measured sigh and laid the rest of the notes on top, reaching over to his bedside table and picking up one of his notebooks. He opened the cover and set the pages of notes inside, setting them aside where they’d be safe.

The next day, Harry was starting to feel a lot better, even more so when another enchanted letter flew through the windows and into Harry’s hands.

His heart fluttered as he read the beautiful script.

He turned through the pages, reading the notes.

The third Herbology class that week was about flowers, the pages of notes decorated with beautiful illustrations of lilies, jasmine, dandelions, and hawthorn as well as notes on how they could be used for healing and potions.

Among the notes was a pressed hawthorn flower.

Harry gently picked it up off the paper, turning it around in his fingers.

It was beautiful, delicate. The crisp white petals seemed enchanting on their own.

He set it aside carefully, turning his attention back to the letter.

The pages of notes from Potions class were filled with silly jokes and mocking doodles of Professor Snape.

He couldn’t help but smile as he read through the pages, feeling a warmth settle in his chest as he read the elegant handwriting.

“What are you smirking at?” Ron asked as he made his way into the dorm and flopped down on the end of Harry’s bed.

“Nothing,” Harry said dismissively.

He picked out one of the pages and handed it to Ron.

“Does his handwriting look familiar to you?” he asked.

Ron looked down at the page.

“No,” he said, turning the piece of paper over and bursting into laughter at the crude doodle of Professor Snape. “But whoever they are, they’ve captured Snape perfectly.”

Ron passed the letter to Neville.

Neville looked it over, snickering at the illustration before passing it to Seamus who then passed it to Dean, but they all had the same answer: no one knew who wrote the notes.

“Whoever it is, they’ve got to be a Ravenclaw,” Seamus said. “No one else pays that much attention in class.”

“Hermione does,” Ron countered, looking at another page he’d picked up off the bed. “But that’s not her handwriting.”

“Is that so?” Dean said, his voice drawn out in a suggestive tone. He smirked and arched a brow as he looked at Ron.

“Shut up,” Ron replied.

Harry chuckled. He took the pages back, sliding them in place with the rest of the notes.

He flicked to the last page, the same as the last page of all the others.

Get well soon.

The others began to talk about their day but Harry wasn’t listening though; his attention was focused on the pressed flower in his hand. He turned the hawthorn around in his fingers, looking at it with wonder.

“Who are you?” he mused, his voice a quiet whisper.

He carefully set the flower back among the pages, reaching for his notebook and setting the notes aside.

Days later, Harry was finally well enough to join classes, and as happy as he was about being able to leave the dorms and spend time with his friends, there was something that weighed on him. The thought of never receiving another letter broke his heart.

That morning, before breakfast, Harry opened the notebook where the letters had been stored, picking up one of the final pages that read ‘Get well soon’. He stared down at the curves of the lettering, feeling his heart flutter in his chest. He folded up the piece of paper and stowed it in his pocket.

Throughout the day, Harry and his friends would compare the elegant scrawls of writing from the letter to the penmanship of their classmates, but none of the girls’ handwriting matched up.

That evening, Harry, Ron and Hermione were gathered in the Gryffindor common room. Ron was stretched out across the couch in front of the fire while Harry and Hermione sat on the floor.

Harry had brought out the letters in order to show Hermione the notes, hoping she would recognise the handwriting.

“It almost looks like…” Hermione’s voice trailed off. “Never mind.”

“What?” Harry asked, hopeful.

“Forget it,” Hermione said, shaking her head as she handed the page of Potions notes back to Harry.

“Hermione,” Harry pleaded.

Hermione let out a sigh.

“When Malfoy takes notes in Herbology and Potions, he sometimes draws the flowers, herbs and whatnot beside his notes,” she said. “It almost looks like his drawings.”

“Malfoy?” Ron repeated, his voice a mix of shock, disbelief, and disgust.

“But I don’t know what his handwriting looks like and I doubt Draco Malfoy would be sending you letters, let alone ones that say ‘get well soon’,” Hermione pointed out.

Harry let out a dejected sigh, looking down at the page in his hand.

“Oh no,” Hermione said. “I know that face.”

“What?” Harry asked, looking up at her.

“Harry, you can’t seriously tell me you’ve fallen for someone you don’t even know because they sent you a letter,” Hermione said.

Harry let out a heavy sigh, but he didn’t deny it.

“Harry,” Hermione said, her voice soft but scolding.

There was a heavy thud as a stack of paper dropped between them.

“Bloody hell,” Ron gasped, looking up at his brothers. “What’s this?”

“Samples of handwriting from every house,” Fred answered.

“You’re welcome,” George added.

Harry stared at the pile, his eyes wide with shock. “How did you—?”

“We called in a favour from Cedric Diggory,” George explained. “He put together examples of everyone’s handwriting from the Hufflepuff dorms—guys and girls alike.”

“Ginny talked to Luna and got her to ask everyone in Ravenclaw to write something down,” Fred added.

“We had to bribe Pansy Parkinson to get examples of everyone’s handwriting in the Slytherin dorm,” George said, his voice a little tense.

“How did you know—?”

“That you were looking for who wrote the letters?” George finished Harry’s question. “The whole dorm knows.”

“The whole of Hogwarts knows,” Fred countered teasingly.

Harry looked down at the stacks of paper and then back up at the twins. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” they said in unison.

A couple of others joined them, sorting through the mountain of paper – pages of notes, scraps of paper with things written on them, etc – and comparing the handwriting to the elegant script of the letters.

There were a lot that came close, but weren’t quite right: the slant of the writing wasn’t the same, there wasn’t as much of a curve on the upwards stroke of the “d”s or the downwards stroke of the “y”s.

Harry was about to give up hope when he picked up another page of writing.

His heart stopped, his breath catching in his throat.

He help the page up to the letter.

It was an exact match.

His eyes drifted to the name at the top of the page.

Without a word, he held the page out to Ron.

Ron took it, comparing the writing. He opened his mouth to say something when he noticed the same thing as harry—the name at the top.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered.

“What is it?” Hermione asked.

Ron passed the age to her, letting her see for herself, but Harry couldn’t get the name out of his mind.

Draco Malfoy.

The next day, Harry sat alone in the library.

He watched as the light outside the large windows of the library began to dim and the sky lit up with a brilliant display of colours.

He turned his attention to the blank piece of parchment before him, staring at the paper as he tried to figure out what to write.

He jumped at the loud thud of someone dropping their books on the table.

He turned to see Draco pull out a chair a few seats down from him. He sat down and opened the large text books, pulling out his notebook as he set to work writing things down.

Harry looked down at the piece of paper in front of him. He picked up his quill and began to write.

He wrote down two words before sketching a paper crane below it.

He set aside his quill and pushed the paper across the table.

Draco looked up from his work, his brow furrowed slightly as he picked up the piece of paper and read it.

‘Thank you.’

Draco looked up at Harry, puzzled. Thoughts swirled like storm clouds in his grey eyes, but he didn’t say anything. He just looked back down at the letter and smiled.

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seb-owns-these-tatas · 4 years

Text

Witcher of the Night (Chapter 23)

THIS IS MODERN ERA READER WHO WOKE UP IN THE DIMENSION OF THE WITCHER.

CHAPTER 22

WOTN MASTERLIST

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: You only needed a little push from the Druid to blurt out what is needed to be said out in the open. It was time to finally recognize such feelings you have for the witcher who is out to hunt for the witch that will set you free. Thus, making you yearn more for him when you're currently still in a fight with the man himself.

Warnings: I've customized Kolby in this story of mine. He talks a little. Heh. Derogatory attitudes and words. No Still, no Geralt yet. Full blown Geralt perspective on chapter 23.1! (Not 1st POV) It will be posted earlier in Wattpad. Hehehehe.

Words: 6k

A/N: Updates might be a lot slower than usual when September starts because it's the start of our online school. 😊 That's why I'm doing my effort in posting updates as much as possible. Feedbacks will be so nice to receive especially for an author. 😊 Also, CAN’T THEY JUST MAKE-UP ALREADY? I MISS WRITING FLUFF FOR THEM?!

TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE! Sorry for the grammatical errors and such because English isn’t my mother tongue! PLEASE LEAVE FEEDBACK AFTER READING, BB! I apologize for errors!

Disclaimer: PNG’s and pictures used in edits are not mine even the GIF’s too. Character development and personalities are based from my understanding and how I want them to be. I only own my original characters in this fanfic.

MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

(I know that ain't a Hirikka. Just looks like one. Hehe. It's a Madagascar Lemure to be specific. So cute. Literally looks like a Hirikka or Kolby but a smaller version! 😍)

By your sudden reckoning after days of physical torture, you deserve a reward for having your hypothesis correct. The palace guards has taken you all close to a stock still riverbed; stagnant and utterly too tranquil to begin with that it has given you doubts over how safe it is. Living with the witcher has made you more cautious over your surroundings, thinking that there would always be monsters hiding around or beneath the dark stream of water where minnows constantly waggled along your toes as you tried to test the temperature of the water.

The river curved gently through the forest, your eyes scanning all around and wary for any beasts to surprise you out of the blue. Every women began to grab onto a pile of dirt stained clothes scattered on the dry, rocky ground as you were calf deep within the rivers, looking through the trees while you stood on your place---seeing for any broken branches looking like it has been eaten or moved by a gigantic beast.

Remembering the witcher's knowledge about monsters, giving you some of the basics. He'd told you about foot prints seen on the ground as it could also be a hint that monsters may be wandering around the place.

You've felt a hand shoving your shoulders forward to disturb you out of your thoughts, the mild splashing of water coming from your stumbling body as you heard the voices of one, ill-bred castle guard, "It's safe. The servants have been washing clothes in ere' since before you even feckin' arrived," he curtly spat with no remorse. Drops of his saliva watering your face like rainfall which has made you scrunch your nose in disgust.

"We shouldn't be too sure," ambivalent of the whole place, you uttered in complete hesitance.

The castle guard boastfully crossed his arms in front of you, tilting his chin high to show how he was pressing on his dominance over a servant slash prisoner he believed you to be---his judgement being also based upon your connection with a witcher which has made him more repellant and hateful.

"Stop blathering, witcha's whore. Do your job."

There was no use to that especially that every man and woman surrounding you began to rudely stare---criticising your shilly-shallying and thinking that you were doing it to lessen your work time. All the tension was adding stones to your chest because you sincerely didn't want to do any of it at all.

One begrudging sigh and a glum frown was all it took for your feet to leave the rivers, carrying the heavyness of being trapped and controlled by people acting like they owned everything of you.

This was probably how peasants were back in history and it was humiliating to be under their jurisdiction when you have been used to freedom back in your dimension no matter how depressing it can be to be alone and a commoner.

You sat on a big pile of rock around the river bed, your knuckles turning beet red from how you have been scrubbing all clothing, under garments, any type of fabric that has got you feeling as if muscles would build up around your shoulders and arms from how thick and thin they can become. Minding your own business and wanting to finish the chores as soon as possible---being secluded from the group of chattering servants who were a few meters away from you that their abrupt jests and teases haven't been heard by you. One tall, slim maiden managed to stroll along your way, through the riverbed as she loudly called which has gotten giggles of mischievousness from the women.

"Oi! Witcher's tramp!" she loudly spoke whilst the cold wind passed by, "---I heard you're damned just like the butcher,"

Your movements have been ceased by her blatant pillory. But, you went on scrubbing the clothing on your hands while lowly murmuring a tired warning.

"Leave me alone."

Cold sweat began to drip on your temples and neck. The healing bruises on your back slightly feeling sore and you couldn't help but stretch your back upon sitting down on the rocks. Once the maiden was up close as you've seen her shadows nearby, giving her a plain gander; your memory washed through when you've seen her face.

Drishti. She was the woman who looked to be in a close relationship with the senior servants who seemed to also be mocking other women as a playful jest.

Though, you doubt yours have just been playful teases.

She swiftly turned away to crouch beside you, grabbing onto the finished fabrics that were already clean. The giggling woman dropped the wet bundle of clothes over your head that has made you breathless for too much frustrations going to your head, intentionally ruining your work and mockingly stating her apologies when some of it went straight down the waters, soiling them again.

"The queen wants it squeaky clean. No tarnishes. Leave er' out until your knuckles are bleedin'! I've seen dirt with your work---wouldn't want the queen to scold us now, don't we?"

Otker has just been watching the whole scene before him with a frown etched on his face. He didn't want to involve in such problems that women try to stir with each other especially that other knights and sentinels actually came with them. But, seeing you being bludgeoned for their entertainment was giving himself more guilt while hearing more of what they were saying.

The others began to saunter towards where you both were. Mischievous grins curling their lips as they prowled closer to where Drishti was and stopping beside her with their hands on their hips, wiping their wet hands on their aprons.

"I doubt you would be able to wash all these clothing by yourself," Drishti stated, proud of ruining your work and seeing you submissively peeling off the clothes covering your head one by one in a lethargic manner. No words spoken by the witcher's tramp that they have been calling you since the day you've seen them.

"You seem to be in a moribund by how pale ye' are! Definitely the witcher's bride!" the other maiden noticed as she crouched near you, her face closely in a few inches from yours. Yet, you didn't give her your attention and continued to ignore whatever they were doing. Fed up by all their oppression about being Geralt's whore. The label quite affecting you more and more each day as they try to make you realize that it was all your worth to him.

They weren't helping after the fight you had with him as it was still fresh inside your head, stressing you out with a want to claw anyone in your way.

"Your stupid witcher killed my knightly hombre for a floozie like ye'!" Drishti snarled, raising her foot to kick you on the side before seeing her in your peripheral vision and blocking her assaults with a shove of your hands, pushing her calf away from your body.

"---Not. My. Stomach. Bitch."

The bitchy maiden squinted her eyes, guessing as to why you seem to be in a flurry and protective state over the stomach you've suddenly held dear. She tilted her chin, comprehending what was keeping you all guarded rather than accepting their tyrannizes just like how you've been days before.

You were acting like a pregnant woman, she thought in the back of her mind. Now, Drishti knew you were basically fucking the witcher---and you were too naive to know that he was sterile.

Though, they never know anything at all besides that.

"Feisty and defensive, aye! Ye' growin' a cub down there? I doubt!" she scoffed from the idea and how you were avoiding her eyes, guilty from being caught, "---you've gone doolally if you ever think the witcher gots you pregnant, harlot!"

Drishti was about to tug onto your hair when your guarding has been on the low, choosing to ignore her. Like a shot, an uninvited whisk of a wind passed by. The gasps and yelps of people around started to begin again with buzzes of incoherent gossips. Their fingers pointing towards an undesirable visitor who can never be accepted by people in their land.

A familiar growl vibrated beside you, making you turn your head to see your Hirikka standing for safeguard. His fangs shown towards Drishti who was now sitting upon the riverbed, her bottom drenched in her own clothes from being shoved by the beast you call your own, looking like she has seen her own fears appear before her.

"Kolby?" sweetly called by you, gasping afterwards by feeling the relief wash over, "---Kolby! I thought you were gone,"

Upon the de trop invitation of the Hirikka, pandemonium started to arise for his presence. Wary of the sound of swords unsheathing from their covers and gallants suddenly coming forth towards the both of you.

It suddenly made you stand up in defense, hiding Kolby behind whilst you fought for his life.

"Kill it!" Roger, the head guard suddenly started his upheaval. Marching towards you with his sword on his side, paranoid over the monster that they're seeing.

"Stop! he's harmless! Just feral because you are using your swords on him!" Their actions made you shout at the top of your lungs, making them cease their steps when Kolby swiftly turned to change position and stood in front, safeguarding you from everyone he sees peril.

One sentinel huffed in abhorrence, his face shadowing outrage for the brute trying to protect another human. Disbelief written inside their eyes as Kolby continued to loudly howl in the middle of the forest and riverbed.

"That's a feckin' monster you gots there, you foolish woman!"

You reached for the Hirikka, softly petting his head which quickly have him calm down in the slightest, leaning his muzzle closer to your face as he purred. Noting his particular stench that he had from being away for days and out in the forest.

"Kolby is harmless! I can even pet him! He will prove you all that this Hirikka is harmless for anyone. Would you do the honors, Otker?"

The forest green eyed man suppressed all his opinions to himself as he observed what was happening. Reveling in his own silence, his name was abruptly called out of the blue, snapping from his own dwam as Otker surveyed the looks of everyone who were scattered around him, their defense up and alert whilst they hold their weapons.

"M-Must it be me?" he stuttered and tweeted, his weight shifting from one foot to the other while his foot tapped on the ground. Otker seeming to be reluctant from your suggestion when he'd given Kolby a scan of his eyes as the Hirikka barred his teeth dispassionately, distinguishing to be a smile that caught the chevalier in surprise.

"---He's harmless, lads. Unless you're keeping his master in danger then he'll bite,"

Nobody believed him. That wasn't new to a newly employed knight who hadn't reach years of working for the kingdom.

One Kaedweni scout yelled his hatred over your monster out in the open, "Slaughter the beast and behead!"

They've all taken one step forward. Their stance never capitulating no matter how much convincing was ever told. Kolby vehemently yowled and barked in the middle of their pussyfooting till they could reach you both. It sounded like a howl of a wolf who was calling for its kind. Their obstinacy made you squawk out of nowhere, rattling the quietude of the forest as you felt your heart pounding faster and louder against your chest. Your temples thumping in torment because your head was starting to ache from the stress they were trying to give and for also feeling your other half's current state.

Your screams made them jerk back, the maidens clearing their throat and subtly stepping back from your sudden outrage.

"I'd like to see you try before I tell him to rip your head first while I feed your balls off to fuckin' Ghouls!" you shrieked and panted, feeling another gist of a panic-attack about to happen. Your emotions were starting to be a squall before a hurricane, utterly ferocious and turbulent because of the pent-up aggression kept for days long.

"---Just leave me the fuck alone for this once! You're all insane for annoying the shit out of me since the moment I got here! I've been doing everything you wanted! Wasn't all the drubbing enough?! Call me the witcher's whore, tramp, harlot, his sex-doll for all I care! I know my face shows how I'm always thirsty for Geralt's dick but you don't need to know that! JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!" pause. "---FUCKING ASSHOLES IN THE MEDIEVAL ERA! YOU'RE STRESSING ME OUT!"

You were a towering rage set in a small body of a woman. Your face wild and vicious---in the verge of crying and wanting to bring back the time where you have never drowned in a lake you hardly remember; for it to have the power of never transporting into another dimension that was staring to take a toll on you, never wanting to have met Geralt along the way so you wouldn't have love him too much just like how you do now.

Thinking about his whereabouts every single day despite of being thoroughly upset over him, still caring for him even knowing that he didn't even loved you.

Tears were being squeezed from the eyes who have already cried all night and day. But, it seemed like it decided not to give the people in front---the taste of your desperation for peace and happiness especially without your anchorage who happened to be breaking the chains for you.

Roger took a step back, hearing growling from afar and not just from your Hirikka. His head snapped to where the noise where coming from when he was suddenly standing stiff from where he stood, eyeing a dozen of wild Hirikkas grouping themselves from the other side of the river. Grimy and nasty looking more than Kolby; taller, bigger and some were buffed like a bear. Their teeth barred for everyone to see as the monsters were scanning them one by one with their wild golden eyes.

The kaedweni sentinels seen it all, even the maidens who were silently panicking from seeing such monsters prowling away from them, standing to watch what was happening as if Kolby was their alpha. They all looked at Roger who begrudgingly sheathed his sword, ignoring your dispute with a single nod of his head for his men.

"They're everywhere. The beast must've called for reinforcements," he exhaled a breath of exasperation, taking a gander to give you a glare.

"---Stand down, lads."

All at once, they've yielded their weapons. Some shaking their heads at what they were witnessing. However, most were sending crude remarks over your relationship with a monster they believed and had profound repugnance over its kind.

"You're...You're a feckin' mutant too! Get your feckin' monster out of ere' before we kill ye' instead!"

Nevertheless, as each hour and days pass by. It seems like their ridicules sound like a normal thing to hear now after a ton of shameless monikers coming from them whenever they were seeing you. Becoming numb over what humans think of because you were simply associated with Geralt of Rivia. A witcher in their world. Catching more undisputed names that you hardly know as he seemed not to be the only witcher that people knew.

Hushed words were buzzing through the air whilst everyone tried hard to go back to their chores. The guards being more wary and defensive especially that the Hirikkas on the other end didn't leave the rivers after raising the white flag. Servants couldn't look you in the eye now after the commotion or particularly because Kolby was crouched beside while you went back to sit on the large stone.

He was breathing out large breaths through his snout while you scrubbed the dirty laundry again that Drishti has ruined, hearing a primal murmur of an animalistic whirr of his lungs.

"Ger...Ger...alt...Gwenn...bleid,"

Your eyes simply went wide at that, quickly understanding what words he was trying to form. Blood seeming to be pumping faster through your heart like you were hearing the first words of your child, excitement and curiosity rushing all around.

"You talk?! Are you curious as to where Geralt is?" Kolby gave a wince of his muzzle, snarling to himself like his sudden talking was making him hurt. You've quickly reached out and scratched the back of his long, wide, sharp ears that made him bark in felicity.

"He's not here though. Geralt is probably out in the woods hunting for the witch to get me out of this castle. Then, after that...I'm probably going back to where I came from because we had a fight,"

Kolby's doe eyes stared straight to your soul, whimpering as if he understood what you meant. The Hirikka subtly shook his head, making you furrow your brows from his peculiar gestures.

"You don't believe me?" only a loud sniff of his nose was given as an answer. He made a noise at the back of his throat that only he could do---sounding like a purr and a growl. Kolby sniffed another on your apron, across your stomach before promptly sitting up straight. His eyes as wide as the sun was shining above you whilst he suddenly screeched in a high-pitch tone for three times. Pausing in every yelp that got you covering your ears for how loud it was.

You were about to ask him what was wrong when he stood up on his paws, his teeth chattering like how cats are whenever they're on a hunt. The other Hirikkas loudly howling before Kolby sprinted beside you and paved away for the second time.

"Kolby! No! Come back! Not again!"

Your Hirikka was the only precious warmth you could remember like how a home can give. But, now; even Kolby was running away from you just like how Geralt chose to disregard the warmth you sincerely felt for him.

"Can't I have one day of rest?"

The exhausting day finally came to an end. Your chest feeling more and more heavier each day---probably having more weight than what you usually hold on to when you're upset. With Geralt's feelings overflowing yours and combining with the disappointment you had for him.

In the deepest part of your heart, there was still the obvious yearning to be in the arms of your witcher as days went on. The curse of the djinn being also somewhat a connection of souls you had with Geralt. Combination of feelings being stronger each day but never knowing what it truly was. Undisclosed secrets never been told to each other which heightened more of the weight on both of your shoulders.

With your back towards the door, the druid stood upon the threshold with stuff on his feeble arms.

"Wear this," Eanraig took several steps closer, placing the basket of womanly essentials on the side table of your bed. He slowly lowered the dress on the foot of the mattress before you rolled on your back with a whimper of your sore muscles.

"---The queen has set you a gown for a feast,"

"Is this the day I die?" you deadpanned, staring at the ceiling, "---this happens in the movies. They become good to me for one day because I'm dying the next. I'm naive, but not entirely stupid. Thanks, Eanraig."

Lifting yourself up on the bed, your back leaning against the headboard. You've maneuvered on all fours, crawling towards the lacy gown displayed along the golden sheets of the mattress. The color of the dress singing praises over the hues laid upon. Raising quite a heavy dress saluting back at you was a raven painted renaissance dress dangling over the bust part of a woman's body with a thin, see through fabric that fell along the arms like a sleeve to cover them up.

It was beautiful since black was a color you've always opted to wear back in earth. The color being basic and not difficult to match up with accessories. Yet, the whole gown seemed to be a planned outfit because of how gothic it looked, like the dress was meant to wear for something else.

Your mouth fell into a gloomy frown, realizing what this whole jet-black look was giving.

"A death dress. Wow. I'm impressed."

Eanraig couldn't help but scratch the nape of his neck, avoiding your callous guise and the idea of what you said, "If you still want to live or see the Witcher and give him his progeny then you must attend the feast that was planned for you---somehow, it is."

Dropping the dress back on the sheets, your mouth was set on a thin line as you speak, "---and pretend I'm happy like they didn't beat the shit out of me?"

There was a beat of silence that filled the chambers he was in. Eanraig unconsciously scratched his whitening beard, sitting on the side of the bed beside you, "Just remember to stay low and never create a scene,"

"Tell your knights to not touch me then,"

A long deafening pause lingered between you. Eanraig's grey eyes filled with dread from what he misunderstood over what was said, quickly thinking about your witcher when he knows you have been 'touched' without your consent. Geralt would never get to tranquilize his savagery regardless whether a sorceress, wizard or any of the royal family stood before him when you have been abused for more than what was expected.

They've promised not to touch you. The witcher wouldn't take such broken promises without having their heads sliced from his hands.

"Were you..." the druid uttered and was lost in his trepidation, suggesting that their assaults have been more to that.

You were quick to shake your head firmly, swallowing that uncomfortable feeling down your throat from even just thinking about it. Knights and guards never did touch you in that way because of how they've loathed your relationship by being the witcher's tramp---thinking that you were one disgusting human they can never tolerate to try and bed you. Somehow, you were thankful that they've found you disgusting rather than appealing because you didn't know what to do nor have the energy to live on their world knowing that they have paved their way to have you.

Your spine felt the cold prickle, making you shiver and grabbing a hold of yourself by placing both of your palms on either side of your arms, more hopeless without any comfort around you but yourself.

"No. Not in that kind, Eanraig." pause. You've quickly changed the topic, "---I've never had any sleep since the moment Geralt left."

It's definitely not comfortable to be sleeping in a huge castle where memories of men beating you up shadowed on the four corners of the room. Frigidness completing your night where you have done nothing but stare from a distance, waiting for the moment where it was finally time to leave. The jocular memories filling your evening with nothing but the smiles of Jaskier, Cirilla and Geralt, excruciating when it came to reminiscing in the exact moment where Geralt had you in his arms by night, shushing you to sleep when he wasn't out to kill actual monsters and he was just there to protect you from yours.

"Having no proper sleep may harm the baby."

A sardonic laugh filled the room. The baby inside you was giving more complications upon staying in the castle, knowing that Ingrith hated you for it and for what the child was capable of. If only she could slice your throat, she probably would have done it in your sleep. Yet, the sorceress seemed to be like a person who held a name where she couldn't do any obvious wicked schemes that will harm her status.

"It's not like this castle isn't dangerous 24/7. You think I can sleep knowing that Geralt would actually leave me alone and I raise this child all by myself in a world I hardly know about?"

Now, Eanraig had the chance to skip the topic to something else, trying not to stress you more because he knew that a pregnant woman shouldn't be in distress from any begrudging news or complications. In due course, he was finally understanding that you overthink about such things where it could be affecting your mental state no matter how sooner or later, you'll be muttering how Geralt could sip tea with his monsters then sobbing afterwards because you were mindlessly missing to stay at his home. All away from the troubles that everyone was giving.

"I am unaware of women's essentials. But, I have brought you what I have retrieved from Cynthia. She has adviced for you to doll up being pretty as a princess," he was caught up in his own thoughts, pointing at a basket laid beside the bed. An unfamiliar name of a woman that he hardly ever mentioned until tonight.

With the ends of your lips raising into a smile, you couldn't stop the teasing gaze given to the druid which made him throatily chuckle while crawling to take a peek inside the basket, "It's...make up. This Cynthia you call, is she your wife?" unconsciously, your brows wiggled to goad over how timorous he suddenly became.

Even the magical so called 'druid' had his own rocky relationship with a woman.

Love. What's in it for you between Geralt? was it the affection bound to be felt for him?

You were reading the signs---his signs as if he was being hot and cold. Push and pull. Jumping and then taking a step back whenever he was swimming too deep, hesitant over such that you may never know until he tells.

"I'm afraid so, Little woman. But hardly my betrothed." the scholar chuckled and shook his head, turning his head to see you shuffle under the sheets, slipping in and hugging the blanket over your body longing for a witcher's touch regardless of being in a fight with him.

"Not official then. Hmm."

"You are starting to be the same as your witcher,"

A brow was lifted as you heard him acknowledge the fact that you were catching onto Geralt's habits of humming, your mouth forming a tight thin line as if he was sharing that you were slowly becoming one with him.

"Thanks for the dress and make-up, Eanraig. I just want to leave this castle for good already." you sneered, promptly laying down on the bed. Your back away from the druid which got him raising his brows because of your never ending worries.

Well, if you weren't living in a world like theirs and accidentally transported to their dimension with the lore of monsters---he certainly would go crazy just like how you were deeply pondering over circumstances.

"Back where you came from? Or back in your home with Geralt?"

"I...don't know,"

The bed squeaked as Eanraig shifted against the mattress, scooting closer to prove the witcher's understandable logic, "You know he didn't mean to say that. If anyone knows more about him in this castle, it must be you, Little Woman." he stated as a matter of fact, leaving no arguments on the latter part of his sentence.

Though, feeling attacked over pointing the blame on you felt like wildfire.

"He called me pathetic and wanted me to shut up, Eanraig."

"He's been called more than just displeasing names if we were to talk about his experiences. Geralt has created barriers over people that sometimes slips in between moments like this," he paused for a beat of second, continuing to provide more assurance and knowledge over his perspectives.

"---Maybe, you must have upset him too---hurt him in such ways which made him defensively talk back,"

Your lower lip quivered from the horrid truth that Geralt's friend managed to let out for you to think through, saving the best reason for last about the motives why you were acting snappy and cranky from the start.

"He doesn't love me,"

The scholar couldn't help but lowly chuckle beneath his breath, sounding like a scorn or derision that made you curl up like a ball under the sheets that was thrown over your head.

"But, he's out there finding a witch that is difficult to find. Correct?" pause. "---Even had killed men for you that no other men could do in the continent. So, how sure are you to say that his feelings aren't love?"

Another dreading beat of silence came after. The constant pauses being a fear for receiving more hurtful truths that kept you whining throughout the night.

You kicked your foot inside the sheets, facing front against the bed like a plank. Your voice sounding muffled through the soft fabric, "He...was searching for his lost lover before I came around."

"Before you came around," he repeated in a sing-song tone, "---Is he still searching for her whereabouts?"

"I...don't know. People have been telling me that he isn't meant to love another,"

Eanraig smiled to himself, his palms slapping his knees whilst he stood with a persuasive tone, "Then, you don't have enough trust and faith for him when you are giving him doubts. You are just like other people who sees him as the mutant that they all tell---a witcher who has no emotions nor is capable of having,"

The latter turned his back away. Deciding to leave you alone after pushing your hesitance through the limits. You just needed a push over actually trying to be the matured one---a mind of a mother who would only care for her child or family than herself. He knew it was in there, the femininity after knowing from Tybalt that you have begged to be taken rather than for Geralt's child of surprise to be kidnapped, including the humble bard whom has received beatings from the army.

As he stood, Eanraig heard a quiet sob followed suit and a hiccup from keeping everything too long to yourself---even kept everything from the witcher because you didn't have it in you.

"I-I don't! I don't see him as that! You don't get to judge me!" another hiccup resonated in the room, your stuttering making the druid frown from how small and fragile you instantly seemed to be. Knowing that one of the reasons why Geralt has been protecting you with all the risks included.

You were certainly like a bread before it has even been baked. A dough that appeared and felt to be soft once touched, your characteristics needed to be molded to make you stronger in their world. Sensitiveness being a sole weakness and he knew Geralt would've seen it with one look. Unless, the witcher must've loved how vulnerable and helpless you are---your naivity and innocence over lots of things has Geralt keeping you closer to his side.

Maybe, the witcher doesn't want you to change at all.

The druid knew that because even with Cynthia, he loved all her attributes and personality with all his heart. Accepting her imperfections and weaknesses as a part of her that makes her...human.

"---I love him, Eanraig. I love Geralt. I genuinely fell for him before I even know it and this child we have isn't helping when I know he would only ever love me as a woman that will eventually fade when she comes back around!"

Sobbing under the sheets was better than bawling your eyes out for another man to see. You went on in sobbing and curling into a fetus position, hearing Eanraig sigh but never seeing the regret in his eyes by triggering you into becoming this sobbing woman who would cry the night away.

"I'm sure he knows how you feel for him, Little Woman. Tell him before it's too late," he scratched his beard with his thumb, seeing you shift under the blankets and turning half away but not actually seeing your face as you were still hiding inside the sheets.

"---No matter how deep he's fond of you or not because you both have created a bundle of joy who is bound to walk through the continent. I am sure she has been made with love," Pause.

"Regrets won't get you living in happiness because you'll always come back to the moment where you hope to have confessed," Eanraig gave a small smile you never saw as you continued to wail. The bond that the Djinn has cast you both in gradually making you suffer from its yearning it was having for the witcher who was not there for you to hold nor talk to. The scholar knew it has given you both such connection that won't be easy to break.

"---Geralt's not entirely inhuman. You both have shared a bond together that nobody can ever experience. Never fear for the witcher who has captured your fragile heart---who knows, you might have captured his since then.Yet, he doesn't give candor due to his brooding persona. Don't let fear conquer the love you have for him,"

Sorry for the typos and errors! I've edited this all in my phone. (via Wattpad) Spare me an error please? HAHAHAHAH! COMMENTS OR FEEDBACKS WILL MAKE MY HEART TWERK! GO DO IT, BB! Tell me your guesses as to what will happen when it's finally the night of the feast in the castle! 😉🙈

Taglist for WOTN: (Strikethrough means your blog can’t be tagged. Please check your settings, bb’s! Thank you.) @alyxkbrl @himarisolace @barkingbullfrog @ayamenimthiriel @hellodevilslittlesister @turkish276 @spookypeachx @grungelovebug @fangirl-inthe-us @nympeth @amirahiddleston @gabethelobster @dreaming-about-fanfictions @uncoolcloudyhead @melaninstylezz @psychosupernaturalhero @missjenniferb @dance-dreamer @marvelousell @kingniazx @angelias134 @tapismyforte @chook007 @butterpumpkinscotch @deadlydemon @cheesecakeisapie @angelofthor @carrieannewaywardson, @plantingmum, @stuckupstucky, @shesthelastjedi, @a–1–1–3, @gutfucks, @raynosaurus-rex, @britty443, @suhke3, @shadowclawstudio88, @ruthoakenshield, @just-a-sad-donut, @gxrdenr0se, @singeramg @friendlyneighbourhoodweirdo, @alexwinchester23, @naturalthrone22

Overall witcher taglist: @pizza-eater-i-ate-the-pizza, @crazybutconfidentaf

General taglist for any Henry Cavill fics: @agniavateira, @iloveyouyen, @rahdaleigh, @silverkitten547, @henrythickcavill, @kaatelyyynn, @marvelousell, @madelinelina, @summersong69, @raynosaurus-rex, @fckdeusername, @evansislife

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sleepymccoy · 4 years

Text

gifts

Alright, it’s just a blather with some art, but i had fun writing this out! Crowley has spent the centuries giving Aziraphale gifts that are, overwhelmingly, in poor taste

The First Present, America, 1308 AD

The conversation paused, a topic finished and the next yet to be pounced upon. A gust of wind pulled up from the canyon below their feet, whipping the loose fabric of their trousers unthreateningly.

Crowley crossed his ankles, his somehow sleek shoes knocking the rock edge they sat on. They were the tightest fitting shoes ever made on this continent, in part because they hadn't exactly been made here. Crowley has seen someone of the Sioux tribe wearing similar and had fashioned his own with a thought.

Aziraphale's shoes were much more realistic, pale woven fibre that were hanging onto his feet in terror as he absentmindedly let them sway in the breeze the Grand Canyon let rip through.

"Got you a present," Crowley muttered, pulling a rolled bit of canvas from his coat. It's was a creamy sort of colour, some marks of ink on its back, and held closed by an incongruous blue ribbon.

"Oh," Aziraphale said dumbly. He accepted as if on autopilot, watching in discomfort as Crowley handed it over and grinned as casually as he could manage. "I don't know what to say."

Crowley began to regret the idea, but what was done was done. "Open it."

"What's the occasion?"

Crowley leaned back onto his hands and glared at the stars. "Formalising the Arrangement."

"That was four years ago."

"What, are you complaining?"

"No, no, I'm sure, lovely."

Fabric whispered as Crowley glanced to the side, catching the moment Aziraphale unfurled the scroll.

Aziraphale's nervousness dissipated immediately, replaced by frustration.

"Oh, Crowley, what on earth is this," he said, not asking but complaining.

Crowley grinned and sat forward again. "Saw it, thought of you. Well, thought of me, really, but then I thought of you."

Aziraphale shook the paper and looked at it again, the sourness of his expression furthering to a degree Crowley had to call exaggerated. "I hate it, dear boy."

"What?" Crowley laughed. "But it's a picture of me!"

Crowley leaned closer, whispering like he was saying something secret. He was, really, but he was also joking. "We're connected now, angel."

Aziraphale's eyebrows flew up. "Don't say that!" He admonished. He glared at the picture again, then back to Crowley. "Oh, it's horrible,” he said fondly.

Crowley laughed and lay flat on the ground, his feet still dangling off the edge of the canyon. Aziraphale sighed and lay back with him a moment later and no more was said of the, in Crowley's opinion, very good gift.

Crowley was touched that Aziraphale at least waited until after these left to throw the canvas into the abyss. He ought not have been surprised, really, Aziraphale tended for politeness.

The Fifth Present, Italy, 1482

Crowley waited, grinning like an idiot, holding the enormous roll of fabric up. The servant he'd spoken to was taking their time, but he felt confident Aziraphale would see him today. They'd been on good terms lately. Of course, this might put a spanner in all that.

Soft footsteps sounded at the top of the stairs. Crowley adjusted his stance to be slightly more flattering.

Aziraphale grinned as he caught Crowley's eye, his eyebrows already raising in question.

"Here," Crowley said, knocking the canvas with his shoulder as if Aziraphale could miss it.

"What's this?" Aziraphale asked.

"Thought you'd appreciate it."

Aziraphale reached him, stopping a few feet short and looked warily. "It's enormous, what is it?"

"There you are," Crowley grunted, pushing the stupid thing to Aziraphale. Aziraphale, to his credit, caught it with no difficulty despite its weight. "Open it."

Aziraphale's head poked out from behind it. "What do you mean open it?"

Crowley pointed. "There's a ribbon."

"Oh dear, so there is." Aziraphale sighed at the sight of the now familiar blue ribbon. He threw a resigned glance at Crowley.

He unfurled the canvas with a deftness that only one as strong as he could. Crowley had broken a toe rolling it up, but Aziraphale didn't struggle in the slightest.

Aziraphale looked at it. He looked appreciative for a moment, then frowned, then chuckled, then frowned again and turned to glare at Crowley.

"Crowley," Aziraphale said dryly, "you have outdone yourself."

"Haven't I just?" Crowley grinned. "I got Mikey to have another go at it, with a few important details. The proper one’s in that church."

“Chapel,” Aziraphale corrected absently. He kept looking at the rough painting. "Just ridiculous," he spat. "I can't keep this, and it's rude of you to gloat!"

"That's not the point. Look, see that one? That one's you."

"Well, I hope you're pleased," Aziraphale said like he in fact hoped the opposite.

"Exalted," Crowley said lushly. “The other guy is Gabriel.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale began to roll the canvas up again, very quickly and much more smoothly than Crowley had. "Get out, I can't look at you."

"Fair enough!" Crowley laughed. He turned on his heel and sauntered away.

As he left he overheard Aziraphale sigh, "Oh dear," the chuckle quietly to himself.

The Twelfth Present, England, 1874

"You hear about selfies?" Crowley asked as he poured himself a more-than-generous serving of bourbon.

Aziraphale sat across the bookshop on the other couch, having quite a different night with his white wine and prayer book while Crowley tiptoed steadily closer to drunk while trying not to get completely miserable over the balderdash in the gossip tabloids.

"What-ies?" Aziraphale asked. He was wearing his little glasses and looked very calm and sweet. Whereas Crowley was pretty sure the new pollution in the streets had permanently stained his pants. They were a different black to what they used to be, it was annoying.

"Selfies, they're taking off. People take pictures of themselves."

"Oh," Aziraphale said, "no."

Crowley flicked the newspaper, rustling it expertly. "Well, I started it."

"Should I be putting a stop to it?"

"I suppose, if you want to, but that's not why I brought it up. I thought you'd enjoy a slice of history." Crowley fiddled with the edge of the newspaper for another moment, then went for it and plucked the piece of thin, engraved stone he's had with him all afternoon. It had a blue ribbon around it, as custom dictated. He held it out to Aziraphale. "The first selfie," he explained.

Aziraphale stood to accept it. "Oh?" He asked uncertainly.

"It's 3000 years old."

"Oh?" Aziraphale said, vastly more interested.

"These blue ribbons, Crowley," Aziraphale said as he sat done again, "they just- they just fill me with dread."

"It's nice!" Crowley laughed, the smog and the gossip of the day beginning to leave his thoughts at last. "This one's nice."

Aziraphale looked at him doubtfully, but removed the ribbon regardless. He looked down and immediately smiled, then wiped the smile from his face with an air Crowley knew to be forced. A moment of expectant waiting passed before Aziraphale gave in and chuckled.

"Liar," Aziraphale said with a smile. He looked up at Crowley. "What are you doing with your hands?"

"Peace sign."

"This is just absurd, my dear."

Crowley settled back into his cushions and grinned. "Feel free to, you know, ritually burn it like the rest."

A snap of guilt appeared on Aziraphale’s face, but it didn't last. Crowley watched as Aziraphale looked down at the stone engraving again. He wanted to apologise for the quip, but that wasn't his style. Aziraphale was all politeness, he probably didn't enjoy the part where he threw out a gift. No matter how sarcastically given.

"Of course," Aziraphale agreed quietly.

The Eighteenth Present, England, 2021

Crowley didn't knock, he just opened the shop door and entered. "Hey," he called out. He hadn't called out once and Aziraphale had been annoyed to not notice his presence for two hours.

"Oh, hello," Aziraphale greeted warmly. He sat at his desk, many books open before him. "This is a pleasant surprise, I was toying with inviting you out for dinner tonight."

"Here," Crowley didn't-explain as he threw the ribbon wrapper frame down before Aziraphale. "Where were you thinking?"

"I hadn't gotten that far." Aziraphale hadn't looked at the gift yet, he was still gazing up at Crowley.

Crowley stuck his hands in his pockets. "No?"

"Parasillo's," Aziraphale admitted easily, "it's by the river."

"Sure."

Aziraphale's smile became a grin, a beacon of light. He finally looked down at the gift. "Now, what's- oh." He trailed a finger gently along the ribbon.

Crowley shifted his weight back, eager for the laugh he was promised once Aziraphale saw what he'd been given.

But instead of opening it, Aziraphale looked up and asked, "Crowley, would you do me a favour?"

Crowley shrugged. "Sure."

"Would you clear that wall for me? Just put the bookshelf wherever seems appropriate."

"The- ?" Crowley looked at the wall Aziraphale was pointing to curiously. A chair scraped and Crowley turned back to find Aziraphale already dashing out of the room, further into his private residence. "Oka-ay," Crowley agreed, although he was alone.

Crowley touched the side of the bookshelf gingerly and pushed. It didn't move. He sighed and glared after Aziraphale.

He strolled, sexily just in case someone was watching, to one of the free standing shelves with a back. He pulled the tapestry off it and flung it over the arm of a couch that only held two blankets and could handle a third, then clicked his fingers and transported the bookshelf in place.

The revealed wall had a few cobwebs and a section of peeling wallpaper, but it was bare.

"Oh, thank you, dear, that's perfect," Aziraphale said. He placed a large wooden crate on the ground and smiled at Crowley. "Won't be a tick."

Aziraphale left again. Crowley approached the crate gingerly and was standing over it considering how to go about opening it without crossing any privacy boundaries with Aziraphale when the angel returned.

Or, more relevantly, the back of a large painting entered the room, Aziraphale's hands and legs from the knee down visible behind it.

"What…?" Crowley asked about the painting, the crate, and kind of just generally.

"Be a dear and get out of the way, would you?"

Crowley scrambled on-top of a couch and watched as Aziraphale wrangled the painting onto a perfectly placed hook in the wall. When he stepped away, Crowley recognised it.

"You kept that?" Crowley whispered. Unfortunately he spoke too soon and his voice was raw with emotion. He was touched, honestly, and more than a little overwhelmed by implications about the crate. "That's the dumbest thing I've ever given you."

Aziraphale turned and grinned. "No, dearest, it's not. That prize goes to-" he opened the crate and rummaged for a moment, then held up a small mirror with a squiggle of a snake painted onto the front, a direct copy of Crowley's tattoo and placed so that your reflection would have an approximation of his tattoo. "-this."

Crowley gaped. "You kept that!?"

Aziraphale pulled a snake skeleton made of white wood and jangled it in amusement. Then a bright yellow book called How To Summon A Demon For Dummies.

Aziraphale began decorating. Crowley stared as dumb gift after dumb gift was pulled from the box and thoughtfully placed around the shop. The mirror hung beside the door, the engraved selfie sat on Aziraphale’s desk, the illustrations of angels in compromising positions (which Crowley was very happy to see, he wanted to have another flick through that one) was slipped into a shelf. The apple-shaped phone Crowley had brought only fifteen years ago sat next to the wall phone, not plugged in yet but threatening use.

Crowley could feel himself smiling and couldn’t find a way to stop it.

“This one is horrible, mind,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley tore his attention from the first present he’d given Aziraphale, a silly sketch of a snake he’d commissioned in China, which had been kept and now sat in a tidy frame on the coffee table, and found that Aziraphale had unwrapped his present. Crowley blinked and grinned as Aziraphale held the shirt to his chest, pouting at Crowley disapprovingly. The design of the (outrageously fit and sexy) demon and angel wrapped up in each other sat across his belly.

“They're all horrible, angel,” Crowley said, so softly, because he really wanted to say how he loved Aziraphale.

Aziraphale’s pout turned into a smirk and he pulled the t-shirt on, over his vest and bowtie.

Crowley about fell off the couch laughing, only saved by Aziraphale’s quick response, then further saved by his less-quick kiss.

#good omens #good omens fic #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #through the ages

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101flavoursofweird · 4 years

Note

Love a good bit of the ol whump. Ransom could work with, say, Targent agents and Desmond. Any agent could work, maybe think of it as an AU in which they take him to try and get Layton to join them.

((I’m sorry this is so late... and that the prompt ‘ransom’ isn’t even mentioned in this fic. But the prompt definitely inspired a scenario where Raymond needs to rescue his drama son from Targent agents!))

Most university students would spend their summer holidays studying, working, travelling, partying, or sleeping…

Desmond was not like most students.

That may have sounded like something Desmond would say during one of his brooding sessions, but it was true.

Most students hadn’t lost their parents to the archaeology mafia, or set up an adoption and a new identity for their younger sibling.

Most weren’t taken in by their old Scottish neighbour.

Most didn’t enter their chosen subject area with an end goal of ‘getting revenge on an ancient civilisation’. (Thankfully, Desmond had omitted that detail from his university application.)

Though he definitely had a fondness for travelling— “Apologies, Master, adventures,”— Desmond was far more invested in the archaeological lore than the nightlife of any given location.

Case in point: Gwawryn, a sleepy town in North Wales.

According to Desmond’s research, an Azran artefact had been donated to the town’s ramshackle museum last week. It was a golden-framed tablet, said to have belonged to the Azran sages.

Desmond had visited the museum in the day with Raymond (during opening hours) to confirm whether the tablet was authentic. And now, at one am, Desmond was busy stealing the tablet.

Much to Raymond’s relief, Desmond hadn’t asked for his help with the heist. Raymond was content to wait at the inn where they were staying. He had shown his face to the inn keeper half an hour ago and requested some honey and lemon tea for his poor ‘son’ who was stuck in bed with a cold. (“He’s not used to this Welsh weather,” Raymond had joked.)

The honey and lemon tea had been sitting untouched on Raymond’s bedside table for three hours.

Where was Desmond?

Raymond checked the chiming clock on the wall. Earlier, when he was preparing for his heist, Desmond had threatened to throw the clock out the window. Raymond had found its chimes comforting... but with each passing minute, he was starting to agree with Desmond.

Shouldn’t he be back by now?

If Desmond had gotten caught by the police, surely they would have contacted Raymond. Raymond would have to go to the police station to confirm, “Aye, that’s my bampot son who’s supposed to be in bed!”, and back up any excuses Desmond had concocted for breaking into the museum.

Raymond would almost find it reassuring if Desmond had been arrested. Maybe he would finally give this Azran nonsense a rest...

Another thirty minutes crawled by— still no Desmond.

Right, then...

Praying the inn keeper had already gone to sleep, Raymond tied their bedsheets together and shimmed out the window. (Next time, they were booking a room on the ground floor.)

It was only a fifteen-minute sprint to the museum. Raymond made sure he kept to the shadows and ducked under any windows. The last thing he needed was to be spotted while he was searching for Desmond.

The museum’s lights were out— most likely the police weren’t there, then. As far as Raymond could see, no one had broken in through the entrance or the front windows.

Had Desmond entered through a back door?

The museum’s entrance faced the main road, but it backed out on to a quiet country lane.

Raymond crept behind the building, crossing his fingers that he wouldn’t encounter any of the museum staff.

He hadn’t seen any security guards present during the day (if the museum could even afford to pay for security), but the curator had seemed extremely proud of his new Azran exhibit and kept ordering his assistant to polish its glass casing—

“Alright, get him inside,” someone ordered.

The voice was low— almost lazy— but it made Raymond freeze. He pressed his body against the side of the museum and peeped his head around the back.

Through the headlights of a dark car, Raymond was able to distinguish two figures in blue uniforms and black glasses.

Those weren’t the police.

One Targent agent, a man with grey hair and a slim build, was holding the golden-edged Azran tablet.

The second agent was taller— at least six feet— and he was wearing a pointed blue cap. An unconscious Desmond was slung over his shoulder.

The car’s back doors were open.

Raymond tensed. Fight or flight— how should he respond? Fight to defend Desmond. Flight to escape with Desmond. Or... Perhaps this was a trick. Desmond would stir at any second now and steal the tablet...

The taller agent threw Desmond into the back of the car. Desmond didn’t wake up. Why wasn’t he waking up?

Before they could shut the car door and disappear with Desmond forever, Raymond shouted, “Wait!”

The agents turned as he rushed out from behind the museum, panting, “Please, wait. That’s my... my son you’ve got there.”

The man holding the tablet scratched his long chin. He glanced from Desmond to Raymond. (Would he notice the lack of a family resemblance?)

“Who are you?” he asked casually, as if kidnapping archaeology students was a common occurrence.

Raymond swallowed, stalling for a minute as he regained his composure. Then he replied, “My name is Alaric Riddock.” His mother’s maiden name— bless her soul.

The man gestured to Desmond, who was still slumped inside the car. “And this is...?”

“Jack Riddock,” Raymond said. He raised his eyebrows, playing dumb. “Who are you two?”

“That’s classified,” the taller agent snapped.

“Manners, Cass,” the agent with the tablet rebuked. (It was clear who was in charge here.) He smiled at Raymond... or tried to smile— it was hard to tell with that extended chin of his.

“We work for Targent— an organisation tasked with preserving ancient artefacts,” Mr. Chin explained, lifting the Azran tablet to his chest. “Have you heard of us, by any chance?”

Raymond shook his head.

“What are your professions?”

“Farmers,” Raymond said. He had been a doctor, years ago, but Targent didn’t need to know that.

Raymond looked over at Desmond again, expecting him to protest at being called a bumpkin farmer. But Desmond’s eyes remained closed. (Hopefully Targent hadn’t recognised his eyes...)

The taller agent, ‘Cass’, scoffed. “Both of you?”

Raymond nodded. “Runs in the family.”

“I see...” said Mr. Chin, unimpressed. (Targent weren’t interested in recruiting farmers.) Mr. Chin wondered, “What brings you two to Gwa... Gwa-ryn...?” If he couldn’t wrap his tongue around the Welsh name, then he couldn’t be from the local area.

“Gwawryn?” Raymond pronounced.

“That’s it! What brings you here?”

“Shouldn’t you be out collecting corn?” Cass sneered.

Raymond shrugged. “Break for the summer... and for the wife.”

Mr. Chin hummed. “And what was Jack doing at the museum so late at night?”

Raymond sighed. “Don’t tell me— did he try to pinch something?”

“Indeed,” Mr. Chin confirmed. His hold on the tablet tightened. “He tried to ‘pinch’ this priceless artefact. It’s lucky we caught him...”

Raymond frowned at Desmond— How much force had they used to ‘catch’ him?— and tutted loudly. “Please forgive my boy. He has a history of shoplifting...” (Would Targent find that too appealing?) “...But the police always catch him in the end. It’s like he wants to be caught! He’s got a good heart, deep down—“

“Well, then,” Mr. Chin interrupted, “we’ll be sure to put him on the right path.”

He nodded to Cass. Cass got into the front of the car and started the engine.

Raymond’s eyes widened. “Please,” he breathed, “release my son. He’s only nineteen...”

Twenty-one, actually, but Desmond looked young for his age. Raymond often had to remind himself of that.

“Then he should learn quickly,” Mr. Chin chuckled. He slipped into the back seat next to Desmond.

Desmond still had his whole life ahead of him. Targent wanted to take that away.

Not on Raymond’s watch.

Raymond dived into the car as Mr. Chin reached for the back door handle. Chin grunted and moved to block him from grabbing Desmond.

Raymond grabbed the Azran tablet from his hands. He slammed it into Mr. Chin’s face. The tablet shattered.

Cass was shouting from the front of the car. He turned around in the driver’s seat and tried to climb into the back, but he was too tall.

While he was stuck and Chin was still dazed, Raymond dragged Desmond out of the car. He hauled Desmond onto his back and ran past the museum.

The two agents howled with rage. Neither of them had expected to be beaten by a blathering old farmer.

—

“Ray...mond?” Desmond mumbled when finally he came to, back at the inn. “What happened?” He squinted at Raymond and struggled to sit up in bed.

Raymond gently pushed him back down. “You received a blow to the head... and most likely, a concussion.”

Desmond winced when his head touched the pillow. He hissed, “What?”

“Don’t worry about it now—“

“Tell me!”

“Shush!” Raymond glanced at the door.

Desmond huffed, “It’s just the inn keeper—“

“No, it’s Targent,” Raymond whispered furiously, glaring back at Desmond. “They attacked you at the museum and they then tried to abduct you.”

Desmond’s face went even more pale. His fists gripped the bedsheets. “Was that... because I had the Azran tablet?”

“Let’s hope so, and not—“

“Where’s the tablet?” Desmond gasped. “Don’t tell me they got it?”

Only Desmond would be more concerned with an Azran treasure than his own safety. “They did,” Raymond said, “but I think I destroyed it when I rescued you.”

Desmond lay there in silence, staring at Raymond. All of his scheming had been for nothing. The Azran tablet had been reduced to splinters now. Good riddance, if you asked Raymond.

He was startled when Desmond released a small laugh.

“Thanks, Raymond. Better that then letting them keep it...” His laugh morphed into a pained groan. He rubbed his head.

“As soon as it’s light out, I’m taking you to the hospital,” Raymond vowed.

#Professor Layton #Raymond #Desmond sycamore #Targent #my writing #pl fanfic #my fics #prompt #whumptober #Yeah since we’re now in October 2020 this might be the last Whumptober fic I write #thank you for suggesting Desmond!#The agents are Shoebill and Cassowary #Inspired by the creepiest bird and what is considered the most dangerous bird

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musashi · 4 years

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Can we ask you for advice on character development and interaction for a pokemon fanfic? I love Denounce the Evils and want to capture that amazing feeling from reading it with my own characters.

first off, thanks for liking my fic! ToT dang!

so, on development:

have an idea mapped out of where your character is and where you want them to go by the end. that is really the bluntest advice i can give. you need a start point and an end point, and how you fill in the time in between has to do with the external factors in your story and how your characters react to them as time passes.

think about the relationships you want your characters to have in the beginning, too! make little pairs and write out a list of traits you want their relationship to have. sibling-like? romantic? best friends? multi-layered? rivals? write the names of two characters and beneath that, write how each of them feels about each other. how does x feel about y? how does y feel about x? this will inform plot points, conflicts, and how they speak to one another. if they clash on two ideas, that’s an opportunity to expand upon. do they compromise? how big of a rift does it cause if they dont?

i’m gonna give you a mountain of DTE talk as an example just because we’re both familiar with it and i talk best in examples honestly xD im sorry this got so long and its just me talking about my own ass story.... but i super do not know how to like... give general advice, so i wanna like. idk. walk you through my own process? yeah

there’s actually two simultaneous developments each character is going thru at once--all three of them need to achieve the goal of, ultimately, growing to be heroes rather than villains. this was the easier bit to develop, because they were fairly soft-hearted villains to begin with. it really was a matter of dissection first--what motivates team rocket to be villains? the answer to that is: stability, money, freedom. villainy is a career to them, so in chapter one i mercilessly destroyed their organization. that left their main motivations: stability, money, and freedom. the rest of the story is about them finding that elsewhere. they don’t know where elsewhere is, so they travel the world until they do.

good deeds don’t always immediately yield results. this is a lesson they have to learn, and they have to choose to do good anyways. their past will often creep up and hold them accountable. they have to fight their urge to make excuses for their past selves. and at certain points, they have to resist the temptation to go back to the comfort of villainy. but, as i’ve said, they’re all very softhearted individuals. its easier to make them choose good than say, a villain like hunter j or giovanni.

this is the plot-centric character development--this is was fuels the story and the conflicts they face as a group with a shared past. the other running character development happening is their individual development. this dictates 1. how they interact with one another and 2. how they might splinter off from the group and interact with various people they meet along the way.

meowth’s arc is the simplest--it revolves around this idea that haunts him: that he’s alone in the world, caught between two states of being, never quite knowing where he fits in and searching for a home. his end is that he realizes homes are made, not found, and that he’s always been exactly where he belongs--with his two best friends, with his family.

james’s arc is about healing from his trauma, a trauma he is ruled by. he allows others to step on him because its what he knows, he runs from hard conversations because he sees his abusers in everyone and everything, he leaves his friends behind because he legitimately believes he is doing them a service. james has a martyr complex and can’t fathom he’s loved by anyone--he considers himself a burden, so he’s self-sacrificial to a fault to lessen that burden. his end is to be the opposite of ALL this--in the end, james is brave. he faces everything head on, he has conversations with what scares him even if his hands shake and his voice gives out. he advocates for himself, he looks his abusers in the eyes and tells them who he is and they see it and they’re scared. he reunites with all the friends he left behind and gives them a second chance even when he doesn’t fully believe he’s good for them, he trusts them. he might not entirely believe that his presence in anyone’s life matters, but his friends and pokemon believe that, and he trusts them.

jessie’s arc is about a lot of the same stuff james’ is about--overcoming the trauma that rules her. in her case its traumatic abandonment, and her fierce prioritization of herself. jessie loving herself is not a toxic trait by any means, but where it comes from is problematic--she loves herself so wholly because she believes that if she doesn’t, no one ever will. she’s obsessed with being someone’s wife because once that happens, in her head, thats it! they cant abandon her! they cant leave! she’s safe! she’s secure! all her actual toxic traits revolve around her fear of abandonment & her history with it--she abandons her own friends in a heartbeat because she’s scared of them doing it to her first. she refuses to be vulnerable or open up deeply to the people closest to her because she’s scared of them loving her, and her loving them back, and that love being fostered, and the euphoria of that... and how bad it will hurt when they leave. she’s incredibly sensitive and masks it with anger, and overall she’s just a neglected person who needs to be loved for who she is, but who struggles with finding someone to love her because she’s become so sharp and walled in DUE to all that neglect.

her end is realizing that she’s wasting her life living in fear of this heartache. that never being abandoned again is not worth living a life without love. and while my message was never really meant to be “jessie has to change herself to be loved” (i try to make it clear james fell in love with her at first sight when they were kids xD) she CHOOSES to make several changes: she chooses to open up to her friends, and she CHOOSES to compromise and make little sacrifices for their own well-being now and then.

going back to character relationships, i always knew DTE was going to be a rocketshipping story, and a huge part of that was because i was dissatisfied with reading very few realistic takes on their relationship’s development. fanfiction is meant to be self-indulgent, but jessie and james are polar opposites. in some ways, that makes them an amazing couple! but there is a LOT of shit they feel different on, and so their development largely revolved around their inability to meet each other on the same wavelength before finally brute forcing it and putting in the work. i knew i wanted them to have a screaming match with one another by the time the fic was done, because the build-up of tension between them over the years needed to come to a head so they could both break down and just talk.

james runs from things he’s scared of. jessie is scared of people running from her. james thinks he’s lower than dirt. jessie thinks she’s the most important thing in the world. james is canonically gamophobic & has PTSD revolving entirely around marriage. jessie is obsessed with being someone’s wife. james desires freedom because he was raised in stifling conditions. jessie desires stability because she was raised in conditions that constantly changed. my assignment is to somehow make them fall in love.

this is what i’m talking about when i say conflicts are key to informing development. ultimately, conflicts are contrasted against how much your characters are willing to compromise for one another. early on in the story, they might fight and stew and mess things up and be incredibly clumsy with one another. as they work on their issues, these conflicts can keep coming up, and every time, you can make them compromise a little more.

in DTE, my best example of this is the fire stone. jessie snags it for herself in chapter 4, and immediately starts dreaming up a future where she has the flareon she always wanted. but jessie’s arc is about how love requires compromise, and how falling in love with someone can make those compromises come almost instinctively. so in chapter 16, she gives the stone to james without a moment’s hesitation. in the chapter before this, she’s the one to stoke her anger and admit she knows nothing about why he’s so disgusted by this baby oddish they just hatched. these little moments of compromise build. the reader remembers them, james remembers them, and they allow him to make his own compromises.

when one character shows growth, the people close to them are likely to have moments where they stop and think--wow, they’ve grown, haven’t they? maybe... i can do that, too.

again sorry i just blathered on about my own ass story, its just the hardest i’ve ever really thought about this kinda stuff so its my reference level, tbh. i would say, plot out your story. plot out your characters--their good traits, their bad ones, where they are, and where you want them to go. as you hit points in the storyline, you can think “this is the perfect place for these two to conflict” or “this is the perfect bit for a small victory.” and you can just gradually change and shift those interactions as time goes on. thats kinda how i played it! i had a lot of little scenes i wanted to write, and how my characters developed changed and shifted and melded to those scenes.

and remember, you are in control. this is your canon. anything you’re not happy with, you can change and rework! take it seriously, but don’t stress out too much. overall, the one thing you need to always take to heart: just write. dont let the fear of doing it wrong paralyze you into making nothing at all.

good luck!

#dteblogging #wendy rambles #chaospulsar #wendy answers

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starryrogue · 4 years

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So some people said they wanted my extended Blathers/Tom Nook story.

I haven't written anything like this in years. But it was a nice exercise.(its pretty rough)

So blow the cut an Idea Blather/Tom Nook, childhood friends to???

When they were boys they would stay up into the night dreaming of the opportunities of city life. The success and sophistication. The chance to grow where the same festivals happened season after season, where weeds popped up more than people. Tom Nook knew he could get out here no sweat. He’d been hacking as long as he could remember. Taking food from the unsuspecting and odd jobs where he could just to get by. Blathers never worried about that with his family but he never seemed to worry about what was in front of him. He was either focused on the tiniest of details on a hermit crab or the vastness of history behind, never on how to act on day to day. It was the most annoying quality to someone who used all his energy to survive and to plan, but it was also the most admiring. Tom could give him something as simple as an interesting rock and it was like giving his friend the universe. He would sit back and lose himself in the facts and figures that would gush out after and pretend he could be part of that universe forever.

The one thing Blathers could never get right was astronomy, but when they lay in his back yard, Tom could weave stories in the spaces between. Quick thinking and connections. He’d always been envious of that cleverness. But what did it matter when it belonged to someone so close. He could sit back and learn about how Tom saw the world too. The knowledge way just as valuable

Tom knew he couldn’t bear to stay in the town any longer and soon left. He was sure Blather’s who saw entire worlds in everyday life could be fine, even happy despite being. For someone as detailed oriented as Blather’s it wasn’t hard to spot when a large absence appears where your best friend used to be.

Life with Redd was exciting. It was everything Tom Nook thought he wanted. Making big money. Scamming fools for profit. Succeeding in the big city. Parties and Clubs and Fun. Art heists, back alley dealings, con after scam after ruse and bells…lots and lots of bells... And the charming devil may care fox he could spend the thrills of thievery and the late nights of drinking and partying with. A rush of a man who would help him with any of his desires in life, form the finical, to the late night personal. After a youth in poverty in a small backwater town, the money was what mattered.

Not for everyone. Blathers who prized intellect over success. Who valued passion, over profit. Who spent all night studying everything from history to entomology (the stuff of nightmares, but at least it kept him awake into the early hours). Knowledge and experience has value that bells couldn’t buy. Teaching a little sister the stars. Helping his friend start a small coffee shop. Applying over and over for universities, and grants and materials. And despite the rejection, and there were many, the study of life itself could outweigh any small inconveniences

When Tom ever needed to get away from the hustle and bustle, or away from an unsatisfied “customer” he would always make a point to drop in on old friends. And he knew just who would want to hear his storied and who he could turn to for peace of mind. Hand him a gift and let the words wash over you and it will be like you never left. However when he went to visit Blather he could only see everything he’d run away from. The cramped apartment he shared with his sister, 2 cots separated by a wall of shared book. His closet of an office acted as a second wardrobe and workspace and sometimes a bedroom after late nights of research. The underfunded museum’s café was more often his kitchen than not, not that the barista minded the company or the small impromptu lectures on archelogy and anthropology.

Tom thought Blathers deserved so much better. Who could live like this? Scraping by in a town whose population dwindled each year, where the donations had stopped coming in. Blathers was so smart and clever, he could be working anywhere he wanted. why stay here? He hoped his gift of a Wistful Painting would be a consolation and an invitation. A glimpse at the wealth he could have. He deserved the world. A proper library instead of a stack of second hand torn textbooks. Proper equipment and an assistant to take care of those nasty bugs, to have the bags disappear from under his deep intelligent eyes. To rest, to be rich, to be happy.

The night before he was set to return to the city, Blather was waiting in his office by his request. It was hard to move between the clutter, the extra person and the painting. This had been a hard one to acquire and the reason behind his latest trip from the city. The danger even leading him to flee from his safe house and split with Redd, taking his prize to safest place he knew, where no one would look and with the person he trusted most.

Pressed up next to his friend, he watched closely for the excitement and happiness upon the opening of his gift. And while it started with the bright eyes excitement Tom had grown to admire, it swiftly shifted to confusion, to realization, to the kind of sweating fidgeting horror as if Blathers was face to face with a tarantula.

What was supposed to be a sweet moment, a gift for a dear friend turned into an interrogation. “Where did you get this? It’s been all over the news?!” A pause and a conclusion drawn “Was it you?” More an accusation than a question. Tom tried to justify himself, not even getting to invite Blathers into his world of wealth while on the defensive. It became clear he had not brought a prize to share, but crossed a line. He couldn’t lie to the face of his most honest friend admitting to what he had done to steal and take, how great it was to have wealth and room to grow and to be far away from this dying village in the middle of nowhere.

Those large eyes studied him as if he were an ant, a mix of fear and curiosity instead of the enthusiastic awe tom had hoped for. Blather was unable to look away at this puzzle he needed to solvee. His eyes shifted back to the stolen goods where he found another curiosity more interesting than his dear friend turned thief.

“This isn’t even the real one.”

“…What?”

“Does that look like a Pearl Earring to you?”

It wasn’t possible. He had removed it from the gallery wall himself. Had it stashed with him for the last week under his old bed in his childhood home (more like a shack) and no one here was bold enough to leave town, let alone steal. Only one other person knew where the painting was. Redd

He left that night, leaving Blathers with the fake painting and unanswered questions. Back at the safe house, it was clear he lost more than one painting. The place had been emptied out. Every fake watch and ID, the tools of the trade but also the things that had made this a home. The furniture gone, the silverware filched, each poster and cushion and every scrap of food disappeared. All that was left was his stripped bed, half of his clothes, a half empty bell bag and a single gingko leaf resting on the bare mattress.

The Museum had long since closed. Paintings had been moved or sold to private bidders, the specimens had been relocated. The fossils had been the most painful. It had taken so long to finish the exhibit and it had only taken a week to take it all down. Brewster had helped him make ends meet when he wasn’t subbing a class. Blathers tried to make learning fun, but students weren’t like the patrons who had volunteered to learn. The kids would just sit and not even pretend to listen over their worksheets. Between looking for a more permanent job and the long hours at the café, there had been no time to further his studies. On the upside, this was the most sleep he had gotten in years, but it was never restful. Celeste had left for college and now grad school and so he had more space to spread out, but it just felt empty even with the piles of unread books filling the leftover space. Behind the stacks propped on the wall, the girl with the …Star earing stared at him. He hadn’t been able to let it go but didn’t want such an insult to art looming over his home.

Flipping through his mail of would-be bookmarks and bills, a hand written letter. His name scribbled on the top by childish hand. An invitation and brochure? The note offered him a spot as curator and surveyor of an island, a chance to run a museum of his own on a tropical get away! This was too good to be true but it made his heart flutter none the less. A place to put his specific degree and interest to the test. The whole letter smattered with personal details about his life only ignited his curiosity. Signed at the bottom T&t&t N. The enigmatic initials only another mystery to be solved then he turned to the more professional looking brochure, for a tropical getaway. A beautiful view stamped with a name that he thought he’d buried behind, but like the portrait squirreled away behind his book, he knew it was always there

What a beautiful scam. A promise at a new start. A blank slate for those who could help build a new community. A low price in exchange for free labor? On the back, an older version of a thief, who looked as if he’d gotten away and grown fat and happy. No doubt at someone’s expense... He almost dismissed the whole thing out of hand but looking further down showed two mini versions of himself on either side. Family? Children? And further still surrounded by a smattering of smiling faces, all looking a little burnt, and a smidge filthy, with dirt under their nails and wrinkles in their clothes, but beaming ear to ear. The mark of honest fulfilling work.

His buzzing phone pulled him out of his curiosity.

“Hello, who may I ask is calling?”

A boy’s well practiced voice

“Hello Mr. Blather sir..sir. We are calling on behalf of Nook Inc…Inc”

A brochure. A promise of a new life. A call. A promise at a fresh start. There are no such thing but what did blathers have left to lose. At the very least it would be a nice vacation with a chance to study the local wildlife. And maybe fill that absence that always lingered in his collection of knowledge. “What happened to him?”

When he arrived, Tom saw, under years of stress, and the bags under his eyes heavier than the ones in his hands, an old friend and a chance to make amends. Blathers could see the work a former thief who was clearly trying in to right wrongs. That was clear as the pilot saluted as he left the vigor that those twins to his bag A tent has been set up with all his equipment, right next to the amenities provided by resident services.

As Blathers unpacked, the sun sunk low over the horizon. The cool night air breeze alerting him to someone entering. Tom, with two mason jars full of something tart with cherries and something strong to help with the vacation. A small toast, to fresh starts and new arrivals. Blathers no longer saw the thief he had given up on but a leader and a friend, who needed forgiveness. More from himself than from his friend. If he was being honest, Blather’s had stayed mad b/c it made the distance easier to bear if he could justify it. But as he was handed another drink and single. No a few. No a dozen! Specimens including a fossil. He knew his friend has come home.

They sat side by side on the brand new cot (only the best for the new arrival). Blather’s went on and on about each cage and tank, Tom nook felt the same wave wash over him in the pouring of word’s he hadn’t heard in years. And with each drop of knowledge that came, more of that anger leaked out of Blathers. Before he knew it he was ready to sleep, the earliest he’d felt in a while, it couldn’t be past midnight, but travel and drink and forgiveness can really where a person out. What was more pressing was the warm mass pressed into his shoulder. Tom had drifted off somewhere between the sea angel and the squid. He probably should wake him up, but resident services was all the way a few yards over, and besides, it had been years since they slept side by side under the stars. Before closing his tent for the night, he looked up at a new sky and couldn’t recognize the consolations. It was ok, they could make some up together tomorrow.

#Animal crossing #acnh #animal crossing new horizons #Blathers #Tom Nook #Gay stuff #starrysays

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packsbeforesnacks · 4 years

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A Staggering Revelation || Cece & Winn

TIMING: Wednesday, February 5th, 2020, Late Night LOCATION: Dell’s Tavern PARTIES: @thebickedwitchoftherest & @packsbeforesnacks SUMMARY: Cece gets drunk as a skunk. Emotionally, Winn is like a screen door on a submarine. WARNINGS: None.

Cece should have stopped a while ago. Usually, Cece was better at pacing herself. At least if she was out in public. There were no direct reasons that lead to her drinking as much as she had tonight, but she had on multiple occasions almost been murdered by enlarged lobsters, so she was going to blame them.

It had started innocently enough. She had ordered the cheapest beer on draft, her usual. Then, she had gotten talking to people and listening to their recommendations. Soon enough, she was trying different craft beers and arguing to some Kansas City tool about the Super Bowl. The arguing had made her even thirstier. Multiple hours later and Cece was giggling up a storm, dangling off of the barstool and taking a large gulp of her final beer.

She figured a walk out in the fresh air might do her some good as long as she could remember how to get herself home. She was making her way toward the door when she realized there was someone who must have been talking to her. “Honestly dude, I’m flattered but I am not interested.” Cece turned her head slightly to wave the man off but did a double take. Jesus, he was hot. “Even if you’re — wow damn you’re so pretty. But I am staying strong on my go home alone when drunk policy. Raincheck?”

It wasn’t Winn’s policy to go out drinking on a Wednesday, especially if he wasn’t drinking at the Arena — and, honestly, this was, what, the third time he’d been out drinking this week, counting the Super Bowl? But fuck it.

Natalia had gotten him enough weed to last him through a small apocalypse, but after his outing with Miles in the forest last month, Winn was keen to appease the beast within as best he could before Friday’s full moon. Since his cabin had recently run out of both Ricky’s barbecue and cheap beer, and since the wolf demanded booze and meat to keep it happy and sated, Winn found himself at Dell’s Tavern, drinking cheap beer, and burying his face into a double order of sliders.

Some loudmouth was blathering on about the Chiefs’ win Sunday, though he’d long ago been taken on by blonde woman who wouldn’t stand for the asshole’s slander of the entire state of California. Winn tuned in and out of their conversation and the basketball game, watching the Raptors come back from behind to give the Pacers a run for their money. He noticed the woman getting far drunker than the loudmouth, eyes squinting as he tried to figure out KC’s intentions. But he seemed harmless enough, and eventually left the woman to her own devices.

Winn nursed his beer, protective instincts — after all, last time he’d helped out a drunk person, he’d made a friend in Noah — kicking in. When she got up, starting to stumble to the door, Winn followed, slapping a twenty on the counter and nodding at the bartender (who’d mostly left Winn alone after he’d been waved off twice, and whose was now staring at the twenty like he’d spike Winn’s drinks with liquor, always tip your bartenders) to close out his tab.

He tried calling out to the woman, realized it might look bad, and double-timed it to the door. “Hey, uh, you alright?” he tried. She looked just past him for a moment, then nearly ran into the door, slurring somethin’ about Winn being pretty. Oh, right. Some dudes liked chicks. “Uh, was gonna offer to walk you home, actually, uh… ma’am?” He winced. “You never know what could be lurkin’ out in the streets.” God, could he sound creepier? “You’re a little… well, shit-faced, if I’m being honest.”

Shit faced? Who was this guy to call Cece shit faced? Even if she was shit faced, which she most definitely was, where did this guy get off telling that to her? But Cece had way more important things to be offended by.

“Ma’am? What am I? Forty-five?” She scoffed at him and kept making her way to the door, forgetting how cold it was outside until she swung the front door open and the burst of cold air smacked her in the face, her cheeks immediately flushing. The walk from the bar wasn’t that long on a normal night but would certainly feel that way in this cold. Maybe having a pretty face along for the ride would make the walk go more quickly.

“You listen here, sir.” She walked over to Winn and pointed her finger at him, poking him in the chest. “I am the thing that lurks in the streets.” She spoke as seriously as she could, holding a serious expression for as long as she could before breaking into giggle. It felt like she was doing great. Realistically, her vision was blurred, and she wasn’t sure that she was even looking directly at the man. “Fine. But you better keep up. And you better make good conversation.”

She burst through the door, expecting him to follow along. She felt her weight slipping to one side and risked falling over, so she corrected herself and ended up tumbling the other direction, tripping over her own feet and almost falling to the ground. “That was less graceful than I intended, but I assure you I’m fine. What’s your name, pretty boy?”

Had she just poked him in the chest? She’d just poked him in the chest. Winn listened to the woman talk for a moment, used to dealing with drunk people from the… everything about his personal history. She was looking past Winn, which typically meant that she’d look past other things, like street lamps or trees. Winn had been there; he definitely understood, but that just made him more adamant to help her get home.

Fortunately, though, she agreed to his proposal, and spun on her heel, walking (and nearly falling, and then actually falling). He placed a hand on her upper back (the safe zone, his straight friends had told him, though, really, what did they know?) and offered his arm to the woman. “I’ve been told I’m pretty good at conversation… or at least at listenin’. Name’s Winn. And I wouldn’t have to call you ma’am, ma’am, if you told me your name.”

He flushed a bit at being called “pretty boy.” He knew he was pretty, sure, but, having gone through multiple years with no one pointing it out, Winn was still unused to hearing it again. Part of him had suspected, maybe, that everything that he’d done, everything that had happened to him, had erased some part of that shining visage he was known for amongst his friends, lovers, and, hey, even his enemies had to admit that Winn was easy on the eyes. Nothin’ to be self-conscious about, really. “And which way’re we headin’?” he asked, ready to steer the woman (gently, subtly) in whichever direction spoke most to her.

Even if he was cute, the good boy demeanor annoyed the hell out of Cece. Not because she found nice guys to be especially obnoxious or because she couldn't stand some random guy trying to do her a favor, but because she was drunk. All men annoyed her when she was drunk. He guided her along the street and back to her feet, his hand gently pressed against her back. For now, Cece couldn’t tell if he was good at conversation or if people just enjoyed talking to the pretty face. But she tried to reserve judgement until she got to know the person.

“Shit, if I tell you my name do you promise to stop calling me ma’am?” Cece rolled her eyes at the man and looked up at him, finally noticing how much taller he was than her. “You can call me Cece. And only Cece.” The two followed along together, heading in the general direction of Cece’s house. She was pretty sure. Technically speaking, she knew she wasn’t drunk enough to have lost her home but clearly she wasn’t very focused right now.

“We are heading to my house, obviously.” Cece took a long pause, glancing in both directions and trying to visualize herself walking in each direction to get a feel of which one gave her the best vibes. “As soon as I figure out where my house is.” She eventually picked a path, fairly confident that it was the correct one. For a block or two, the two worked in relative silence sans the constant cuss words Cece muttered under her breath when she stumbled. Eventually the silence pissed her off more than the hot guy did. “If you’re such good conversation, tell me about yourself, Winn.”

Winn had been just about to break the pointed silence (well, semi-silence, but Winn wasn’t gonna count swearing as conversation… in this instance) when the woman, Cece, did it herself.

“Hmm. Well, I was a teen model for a minute,” he started. Belatedly, it occurred to him that the woman looked about his age and might know him from when he’d been a teen model, but he hoped that she was too drunk to remember his cover issue of Seventeen… if she’d ever picked it up in the first place. It wasn’t that he was embarrassed, no, no, no. Just… wasn’t the fact he usually led with.

“Uh, oh, duh, I coach hockey. The Crypteens — or, uh, the White Crest Cryptids. If you’re lame.” He laughed, looking at the sidewalk to scan for hazards that might trip up drunk women who didn’t think they were that drunk and were liable to make dumb mistakes for that assumption. Least she wasn’t drunksplaining yet. “I’unno, what do you wanna know? And what’s your deal, Cece? Like I said, I’m happy to listen, if you got anything you’ve been meanin’ to get off your chest; I’m a good secret keeper.”

Cece wasn’t even surprised that he had been a teen model. She immediately began wondering how famous he had been and if she had seen him at any time in her life. If she had, then props to her high school self for finally meeting a model. She was killing the game even more than she already knew she was back at sixteen. “I need proof of this so-called modeling. How am I supposed to know if you were just like a hand model, or did a photoshoot for your random friend who wanted to be a photographer, hm Winn? Pics or it didn’t happen!”

Cece shrugged as if there was nothing else she could do in this situation. Her hands were metaphorically tied. And literally too drunk to actually do anything with. “Oh that’s cute! Hockey wasn’t really a thing back in LA. When I’m sober, I need you to tell me this again so I can come to one of the games. Does the stadium serve alcohol? Asking for a friend.” Plot twist, Cece was the friend.

“We’re not talking about me, mister. There’s nothing to tell about me. I’m just a girl who tests urine all day and then likes to have a couple drinks.” The joys of a toxicologist. She spent her days testing much more than urine, but that seemed to be the most common or at least the one that stuck in her mind. “Nice try, but your smooth talking won’t get me that easy. I don’t spill my darkest secrets until at least the third date. I’m a girl of class, clearly.”

The two continued their hike, Winn letting Cece lead the way for better or worse. She made a right turn, not because she could tell a difference between any of the roads in the night but because she remembered that she took a right turn at some point in her usual path home. “I want to know why someone goes to the bar if they don’t plan on drinking.”

“The Arena,” Winn said pointedly, dodging the questions about his modeling career in their entirety and hoping she’d forget upon sobering up, “does serve alcohol, yeah. Big D — yes, that’s his name, I know, I know — can make a mean mixed drink.” He got the distinct impression that the friend was Cece, herself.

“Los Angeles, huh? I haven’t been since I was a kid, and it was mostly in—” Wait, no, don’t mention Mom. “—uh, hotels, y’know? Got bad food poisoning and had to stay in the hotel the whole time.” They made a sharp right turn, heading in what Winn assumed was probably the wrong way. Worst case scenario, Winn would put her up on the couch. Best case scenario, even a blind squirrel finds a nut every once in a while, right? Or a drunk squirrel, as the case may be. He ignored the comment about dates.

“I did have some drinks, just have class in the morning, so couldn’t get quite as drunk as maybe I wanted to. Don’t worry, I’m sure that by Friday, I’ll want to drink my body weight in liquor.” What could happen to put him there, he’d never know, but it was… possible, he supposed? “

There’s not a ton to tell about me either.” Lie. “I’m an open book.” Lie-ish.

“Alright, how about a story from my childhood? We used to go down the Potomac to the beaches on the coast of Virginia — where I’m originally from — and swim, pretty often.” Well, often relative to, you know, familial affection in general. “First time that we’re down there, my parents are holdin’ my hands and guiding me to see the ocean, between them. They got married pretty young, but one of their friends married them — right there, on that beach. But the waves were a little rough that day, and my parents were talkin’ ‘bout somethin’, can’t remember what, but they weren’t paying attention as close as maybe” — definitely — “they should have been. So, when I’d just gotten my feet wet, the ocean knocked me under. One of their hands slipped, think my mom, and then my dad couldn’t keep me up on his own. The waves retreated pretty immediately — we weren’t that far in — but I still remember the way the water crashed into me. I was scared as hell, even if I didn’t understand somethin’ like drownin’ quite yet” He smiled, a little sad. “But the thing is? You think that’d turn me off of the ocean, right? But I love the water. I love the salt, and the brine, and the air, and the waves, and I love feelin’ the crash of it against me, now. I never, y’know, held it against the ocean. I was the one fightin’ against nature, it was just… being. It couldn’t change what it was. But I had a choice. Let that pull me under, or embrace it.”

He laughed, a bit nervous. “Sorry, I guess I, uh, kinda got going there.”

“I’ll call him whatever he wants if he makes a good mojito.” Cece grinned at Winn. “Whoops. I think I just outed myself.” It’s true, she was the friend after all. But she had kept Winn guessing for a minute there. The Arena. She would try to remember that, to the best of her drunk ability. Hockey was never something she had gotten into, being from Cali and all, but Cece had always been into that stadium mentality that sporting events brought on. She loved screaming down at an arena of people wildly more athletic than herself to tell them all the things they were doing wrong.

“Well there are certainly a lot of hotels in LA. I hope you at least got a good one, since you were stuck there.” Cece was of course, not familiar with the hotels in LA given that she lived there. “Well, not drinking on a school night is very responsible of you. Wish I could say the same.” Cece had gone to college, mostly. A lot of moving around and online classes made for a less than stellar college experience, but what could a girl do when she spent all her time with a traveling coven?

Even drunk, Cece was able to stay mostly quiet as Winn recounted a story from his childhood and she was immediately sucked into the drama of it. The romance of the wedding. The place setting. Cece stared, she gasped, if she had some more drinks in her she might have even cried. It was all very raw, and honest. Cece was almost disappointed that she was too drunk to appreciate the depth of it.

“Dude…” Cece began, drawing the syllable out for longer than needed. “That was depressing as hell, oh my god.” She was full on laughing now. “I can’t believe that was the story you went with for an introduction story. You’re hella raw, Winn. I dig it. Guess we’re sorta friends now, aren’t we? I don’t let just anybody walk me home after all.”

Outed herself? Boy, she was really choosin’ excellent word choice for someone so smashed. He barked out a laugh at her (potentially?) unintentional pun, covering it with a cough. Winn had paused after his story to take an account of her reaction, and she’d paused for a moment before the long, drawn-out, “Duuuuude,” she’d graced him with. He didn’t hold any of what she said against her; it was a pretty depressin’ story, when you got down to brass tacks. The laughter was a bit new, and he bristled a little, but tried to let it roll off him, much like the tide had rolled over him. (Dark humor, Winner? Very funny.)

“I can’t really believe I went for it either,” he admitted. “I probably haven’t thought about that in, Christ, years?” But, hey, if Noah was anything to go off of, ranting to drunk people (or drunk ranting at sober people anyway) was free therapy, and… maybe he needed to get that out, again, to someone new. He played his cards in White Crest pretty close to his chest. He didn’t like lyin’, as a rule, but bein’ selective about the truth? Yeah, he was all about that life. Wouldn’t lie if he was asked, but, then, who was there to ask?

His ear perked up at “friends,” Winn tuning back in to remember why they were walking together in the first place. “Oh, right. Home. Your home. Cece, uh, not to doubt you or anythin’, but what part of town do you live in? ‘Cause, well, we’ve been walkin’ for a bit and I thought maybe you knew where you were goin’, but… I don’t even think I know where we are.” Thank God for cell phones. Maybe Cece really did live in… Winn glanced around… the… abandoned warehouse district? What was this, a bad horror movie?

Despite her initial annoyance, Cece had eventually decided that Winn made for good company. Maybe he was a little overly noble, led with depressing stories about his childhood, and was freakishly tall. But those aside, Cece was enjoying her night with the Big Friendly Giant.

“Well, not sure how I helped make those memories bubble back up to the surface, but happy to be of service.” She giggled at him. Was that memory really something she should be thanked for? Maybe not, but it was Winn that had decided to share the story in the first place, not Cece. Besides, she needed to focus on other things. Like getting them back to her house. Which according to Winn, she had lost. As if he had any better clue where they were than she did.

Admittedly, glancing around Cece wasn’t familiar with the area they had ended up in. But she wasn’t about to let that stop her. “Excuse you sir but I definitely may or may not know exactly where I amn’t.” That didn’t feel like a word. Whatever. “I live by all the rich people. Harris Island? Not there — I’m not rich. But I live by it. Take notes!” Cece yelled aloud, suddenly realizing how loud she had been talking. Then she had the idea to ask her phone.

“EY SE RE!” she yelled at her phone. “Takemehome.” She spoke as clearly as she could before getting annoyed and shoving her phone off to him. “Shhh. It’s nighttime. Tell her to take us home.”

Winn placed a gentle hand on Cece’s back as she mentioned Harris Island — and, wait, had she had people livin’ out there were rich? — and steered them in almost the total opposite direction of where they’d been going. He’d pulled out his own phone to check Google Maps while Cece had been talkin’, ignoring her jibe about how he didn’t know where they were. He did know where they were, thanks. Now, anyway.

Truly, Winn needed to stop makin’ friends this way. First Noah, now Cece? He knew he had a loveable, almost bartenderly air about him, but he wasn’t Ted Danson or anythin’.

After a flaccid attempt at getting instructions, during which Cece was nigh comprehensible, he took — well, had shoved — Cece’s phone from her. Winn was half-expecting it to not have even been an iPhone that he’d been given — would be just his luck, really. But, no, blissfully, he knew how to operate this particular piece of hardware. He held down the side button for a moment, Siri’s electronic voice chiming in. “Siri,” he said, “What’s my address?” He took down the address into his own phone and thanked the assistant for her services, before putting Cece’s — haha, kinda sounded like Siri — back into the woman’s jacket pocket.

“Alright, I’ve been keepin’ up my side of the conversation, and we’ve still got a bit of a walk ahead of us. I know you said we weren’t talkin’ about you, but I’m curious. So…” He let the vowel hang in the air, waiting for a genuine response... or a prompt “fuck off” from the woman. Either/or.

Cece began staring up at the sky as Winn fiddled helplessly with the technology. The sky sure was pretty that night. Even if it was cold as balls outside and Cece wanted nothing more than an electric blanket and a hot cocoa machine. Despite her upbringing, the travels around the country had allowed her a surprisingly fond appreciation for the beauty of nature. But fuck it was cold. That ruined the mood. She missed the always sunny, excessively smoggy, annoying warmth of LA.

“Me? Oh there’s not so much to me.” Cece waved him off, but then immediately began laughing hysterically. “PSYCHE. Buckle up buttercup.” Cece cracked her knuckles for dramatic effect. “Well, I was a cheerleader in high school. It was way fucking boring and not important to my life at all,” Cece admitted, forgetting why she had brought it up in the first place.

“Whatever. When I was sixteen I left LA and started moving around the world with my hippie family, traveling from place to place. Took some breaks to go to school, transferred schools a lot due to the moving. Then one year there was drama, blah, blah, blah. I wanted an out and went off on my own. I was 25, it was about time. Ended up on the East Coast and then just sort of stumbled into Maine. Saw a posting for my current job and applied for it.” Cece clapped her hands with finality and smiled triumphantly. “There you go. My whole life story. Badabing badaboom.”

She could tell that Winn had shifted directions for them and decided to withhold judgement to give the tall man a chance to get them to the right place. She was proud of herself, drunk rambling to a hot guy without even a mention of witchhood. Someone was going to get to keep all their memories of the night. And Cece was trashed, so it definitely wasn’t her. “Questions?”

Winn walked along, bobbing his head occasionally at what was probably supposed to be a brisk monologue. Whether Cece knew it or not, though, she stopped after about every sentence — or fragment of one — and stared off into the distance before starting again. Winn figured she was thinking and the brain was workin’ a little slow. But… It was easy enough to pick up on. Didn’t feel right tellin’ her she sounded goofy.

“Hmm. I was a jock in high school, though not sure the hockey team ever got cheerleaders of our own. Other than some real nice parents with orange slices. My parents were, uh…” He scrambled for a word, figuring Cece wouldn’t notice the pause. “Worldly? We darted around a lot, but always came back to the South. Had my own drama year, fucked off to Europe, and here I am now.”

He got the distinct sense, given the space between the “blahs,” that maybe there was something more to Cece’s story. But that wasn’t something Winn wanted to take advantage of and, besides, it wasn’t like Winn wasn’t hidin’ his own secrets. “And no, no questions. Other than, well… This is your place, right? He stared at the cabin. Nice place, though a little too close to the rest of the town for Winn’s taste. But nice. “You think you can get the door open and get to bed safe?”

Cece listened intently on what Winn was telling her. Or at least, she tried to listen intently. Admittedly, her mind kept wandering astray. Drunk Cece found the most mundane thing interesting. A flickering street lamp, the strange noise that echoed when the wind blew against the bundle of trees. Everything distracted her. And everything was spinning.

“Oh yeah, you totally have the jock look going for you.” She nodded, at least catching onto that part. Every now and then a keyword would stick out to her. For example, worldly. Which she assumed implied rich.

“My home!” she exclaimed upon seeing it for herself. “Good work, Winny!” She gleamed, reaching back and patting him on the chest without turning to look at him. “I got it from here, my dude. Thanks again for keeping me company.” Realizing that he had to walk back to the bar by himself now, she eventually did turn back to him. “If you need a place to stay you can crash here. But strictly the couch for you.” She pointed at him and then went back to fiddling with her front door.

Winn waited until she got into the cabin, listened closely for the sound of a woman falling down a flight of stairs, and, when he was satisfied that she’d make her way to her bed, walked back to the bar in silence, missing the company.

#wickedswriting #para #Cece #A Staggering Revelation

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inklingleesquidly · 5 years

Text

Yo-Fest

Chapter 6

Lee Squidly gets a special call by the headpriestess of Knifefish Shrine to take part in special preparations for one of the biggest holidays celebrated by Inkopolis’ ghostly neighbors, Yokai. Yo-Fest is only a week away and it’s up to Lee to make sure the fesitivies go off without a hitch.

He’s not alone though; joining him is his pals Guist, Juddinyan, and his many Yokai friends who are just a dial away via his Yokai Smartwatch.

Featuring the characters of @askvincent

Chapter 5 available here

Word count: 6,208 words

Lee jolted up with a sharp gasp. From the sheets pooled around his lap, he recognized where he was. He wasn’t home but instead was in the common room of the main pavilion of Knifefish Shrine.

Through desperate pants for air he wondered if what happen to him really happen? Was it a dream? He touched his face and then his chest as a cold sweat rolling down his cheek. Did he really, truly go to the Yokai Realm? What happened after? By now he was desperate to collect his frantic, fragmented thoughts.

Clutching his Yokai Smartwatch, there was something amiss; there was an unshakable feeling that dominated his mind. Before he could give it a moment of thought, the room’s door slid open.

The startled Inkling screeched and squeezed his eyes shut from the light of the outside flooding into the solemn room. Standing there was Lyra, the shrine's head priestess who greeted him with a deep sigh of relief. “Thank goodness you’re finally awake.”

“Miss Lyra?” He groggily questioned? “Miss Lyra!” Suddenly remembered everything that had transpired, he darted up from his futon bed. Without sparing a thought he threw his arms around her waist, elated to see the shrine maiden unharmed. “Miss Lyra are you okay? What happened to us? I-- I—where is everyone? Guist? Juddinyan? A-and--.”

Stern and pragmatic as she always was, Lyra informed him of the grim news. “--They're all gone.” As she politely pushed him back, he got a look at her remorseful stare. “I can’t feel any sort of spiritual presence anywhere. I don’t think King Inkma was kidding around; I believe every Yokai on earth has been called back to the Yokai Realm.”

This feeling Lee had. Everything around him felt so—still, so lifeless, so strangely dismal. Was this a result of all the Yokai being gone? His thoughts raced a mile a minute so he could only babble out his words. “B-but they have to come back! Yo-fest! T-The-They can’t miss it, we--.”

The holy woman silenced him with a hand on his shoulder. “With or without them we'll continue with the ceremony and boffer—ahem, excuse me, offer the bamboo feast as we always have.”

“B-But—But--.”

“No buts.” Her hand fell from his shoulder to her side. “Everything else is out of our mortal hands now. We can only keep going as we always have.”

There were hundreds of things Lee wanted to say and questions he wanted to ask. There was so much he didn’t understand and so much more that troubled him.

In the end all that he could say was, “What do you need me to do today?” The brooding in her voice told him all they could do was accept the outcome fate had dealt to them.

Lyra said, “Today is the harvest. You've done the job I asked you to do so today I'd like you to dake the day off—I mean take the day off.”

“Are you sure?” Lee asked? “Can’t I help you with it at all?”

His offer was expediently declined. “The harvest and preparation of the bamboo is only to be done by the women of the cloth.”

“But--.”

“Lee,” she countered with that firm and strict voice, “You've done more than enough. You risked your life for this shrine, for your friends, and most definitely for me. It’s high time you did something for yourself so do whatever you want before the festival starts. You've earned it.”

As she spun around to leave, that signified she wanted the end of the conversation but Lee couldn’t just leave it at that. “But what about you though?”

The priestess stopped at the door's threshold. It took her a moment to analyze and reply to that question. “Returning to my duties will help me.”

Lee believed her, he really did; she had so much pride in the work she devoted her life to. He kept that in mind yet he couldn’t shake that there was a startling sadness in her voice.

Whatever I want? As much as Lyra suggested he relax, it just wasn’t in Lee to sit around doing nothing. To alleviate this, he resolved to take a stroll around the property.

Making his exit, the first sight he encountered was the normally empty plot of land across the street from the shrine. It was already filled by early rising vendors. The vacant lot belonged to the shrine and was used for events such as tonight's festival. Yo-Fest may have been the main event for him and Lyra but Olden Days, the celebration of Inkopolis's history was also to take place. From here he could see all manner of trucks, trailers, and currently bare stands readying to dispense food and fun.

Food, Lee thought.

He thought back to the first time he came to Knifefish Shrine. “Both fests going on at once is how I get double Tofu Takoyaki,” Juddinyan had said. His shoulders sank when he thought about that so he walked away.

He didn’t get far before coming upon a dry divot in the soil. Days earlier it had been filled with water, making it the sight of one of Leakina's tricks. He thought back to how she made him step into puddle with only his socks on. That moment had previously made him furious but now…

“Huff.” The troubled teen could only let out a sigh. The rest of the day was exactly like that. No matter where he went his mind was flooded with memories he had made during his week at the shrine.

There's the sunflowers the Moleymoreys really liked.

The shrine of the Misty Maiden. It looks so empty now.

That's where Leakina and I both talked.

Everything was so quiet, and so lonely. If not for the gentle lapping of water from the stream it would've been completely encompassing. He wanted to hear Guist cheerfully blather about how good the weather was, to see Juddinyan hop and bound through the tall grass, or even for Leakina to flick water in his face.

Anything...

Maybe some food would help clear his mind? A trip to the convenience store just a block away was in order. With a bag of sour cream & onion chips and a bottle of cola, the smallest of smiles found its way to his face as he returned to the shrine.

RRROOOOOM

A bus rolled by him, coming to a halt at the weathered wooden bench just below the stoop leading up to the shrine. That was the same stop where Kakkonyan and Wanderzan arrived.

Seeing that made Lee weakly toss his half-empty containers of food in the trash, his appetite gone. That pit in his stomach just couldn’t be filled by junk food.

Being so preoccupied with his thoughts, he failed to notice how the collection of the bamboo had been proceeding. At first he wondered how long ago were the morning prayers? No matter how much time had passed he was still impressed at how the entire field was almost completely cleared away by all of the shrine maidens.

There was one particular scene that caught his eye. It was two Inkling girls, the youngest of the priestesses in-training that he was familiar with. From his distance, Lee couldn’t tell what they were talking about but he could see one of them holding something out in her hand for the other to see. She then threw whatever it was up in the air with a hearty laugh.

Seeing that made him hang his head low; remembering Guist haphazardly throwing seeds everywhere when they first started. Heaving another heavy sigh, he solemnly brushed his tentacles out of his face. No matter where he went it was just impossible not to think about them, and miss them.

“Ohh Lee.”

ACCCK!

He failed to notice someone had approached him. “Wha--? Oh Kaitlyn,” he breathed with ease, “I'm sorry I was just kinda, umm, thinking.”

The quiet anemone aologized cordially. “I'm so sorry for scaring you.”

“Nah,” Lee interrupted with a wave of his hand, trying to play it off like she didn’t actually startle him.

“Sister Lyra has a special surprise for you.” She grabbed his hand and jerked his arm, hurrying him along to follow her. “Come on, we can't keep her waiting.”

They found the head priestess at the rear of the base of the shrine where she was giving directions to other maidens. “Fantastic, we have even more than we did last year.” She said, pointing to the harvest crop piled high in plastic buckets. Tapping at a tablet computer’s screen she then gave further instructions. “Okay, take them to be boiled and don’t forget which batch is for frying and which is for stewing.”

Turning around, Lyra jolted at the sight of her trainee with the high-strung Inkling. “Ohh! Oh it's you two. Kaitlyn what have I told you about sneaking up on people? It's rude!”

“Forgive me Sister Lyra.” Kaitlyn said in that hushed voice of hers, bowing her head, “But I found Lee just like you asked.”

With a modest wave, Lee asked, “You have a surprise for me, Miss Lyra?”

“Yes actually,” she confirmed, “And here it is.” He never would've expected her to slide an apparel box into his arms. The priestess exclaimed, “It's a token of thanks for everything you've done. Go ahead, open it.”

Lee was rather hesitant at first; due largely to how beautifully wrapped the rectangular package was. The paper was a smooth muted brown color that hadn’t a mark or blemish on it, and the whole thing was secured with a green ribbon tied in an ornate bow. When he looked up to see Lyra giving a hurrying gesture, he tore the packaging apart to unearth his gift inside.

It was some sort of cloth; colored black and gray with what he noticed were pieces of silver speckled material stuck to the gray portions. He removed it from the box to watch as it unfurled within his hands. He marveled at his gift with an awestruck “Oh my stars,” only to dumbly ask, “Is it some kind of bath robe?”

That managed to get Lyra to snicker. “What, that? Well you’re close, it's a yukata like they wear for festivals in the east. The girls all pitched in to help sew it for you.”

“I made the collar.” Kaitlyn declared.

Lyra clarified, “You helped with the collar.” She then revealed, “We each gave our own blessings when we were making it so keep that in mind. Every time you wear it you carry a little bit of all of us here at Knifefish Shrine with you.”

With an inquisitive smile and a twinkle in his eye, Lee breathed out. “I love it.” He did inquire after slipping it on, “Is there a special way that you're supposed to wear this?”

How he tried to cross the right side of the garment over the left got another little chuckle out of Lyra. “No,” she said, covering her mouth with her palm. “Kaitlyn, please take him and show him how to do it right.”

Kaitlyn quickly agreed, confirming with a submissive bow. “Yes ma'am.” She said, grabbing at Lee's wrist again in spite of protests he gave.

“W-wait, isn't there a guy who can show me how?” His modesty against the opposite sex fell on deaf ears as Lyra returned to her work. In that moment he really analyzed how she conducted herself with him and her subordinates. Maybe it was true what she said; returning to her normal life really did do the trick for her. She was back to normalcy despite such an unfathomable event. Or so he thought…

It did not take long for him to be fitted into his festival garb and he was quite relieved when Kaitlyn suggested he could wear his clothes underneath. With a feel-good spring in his step he rushed to meet Lyra again to show her only to be informed that she had retreated to the bathhouse. Sure enough he did find her there, alone and mysteriously crouched on the faux-stone floor.

“Miss Lyra?” Lee whispered.

Whipping her head around, Lyra gasped. “Ohh, Lee!” She stood up sharply, a handful of rubble from the statue clutched in her hands. “I was just,” she sputtered unsurely before clearing her throat, “I can’t believe I've been gone less than a day and nobba—ahem, not one girl here comes to clean up this mess. I'm going to have them all spit shine the entire shrine from top to bottom for this.”

Her shortness of breath, the somber look in her eyes, the way she so tightly held the statue’s broken pieces; despite her best attempts there was no hiding how troubled she was. The priestess was quick to realize he saw through her façade with the downtrodden stare he offered her in response.

Carefully approaching the subject, Lee inquired, “What's on your mind Miss Lyra?”

“We went to the Yokai Realm, Lee. No living mortal is ever meant to pass into that world.” He failed to comprehend the true weight of their experience as the grave look in her eyes shown. “We both saw things not meant for mortal eyes and yet here we both are. It makes me think. Who am I? Where am I even going? I know my purpose is my faith,” she clutched her chest, “I know that with all my heart but deep down I feel there's so much missing.”

Confused, uncertainty, utterly lost; we had felt those exact feelings before, himself. Due to very recent events in his life he was making greater strides to find himself on his own terms. As for Lyra had been marinating in those thoughts longer than he had so what could he hope to do to even attempt to help her? The only thought he had was to extend his hand, literally reaching out to her to signify their common ground.

Just as he tried, the bath water suddenly began to drain away. Lyra panicked but watching as the rising steam gathered together, Lee knew precisely what that meant.

The portal to the Yokai Realm was opening!

YA HA HA HA!

A laugh echoed from beyond; a mirthful, mischievous laugh one might mistake for malicious.

YA HA HA HA!

It sounded again, that ghastly laugh ringing louder in their ears as it drew closer. Whatever this mystery was it was solved in an instant as none other than Leakina herself came soaring through the open gate.

Both Inklings were utterly astonished to see her, so much that neither could follow her movements as she twirled her ghostly body around Lee.

“Heeeey Leeker!” She squealed with boundless joy.

His eyes spun with dizziness in trying to follow her, so much that he could only stammer out his response. “Wha-bhu-ahh, Leakina?”

“Lyra!” The watery specter fastly turned her attention to the priestess; uncoiling herself from Lee and circling her arms around the young woman's neck. Their eyes met, Leakina grinned from ear to ear as she hovered closer and closer within Lyra's space.

Her sudden proximity caused the maiden's cheek to become flushed. “Leakina,” she whispered. “Water you-- whudder—what are you doing here?” Her brow furrowed, remembering the damage she had done and how she was furious with her. “You're supposed to be ban—UMMF!”

Was it the spontaneous, unpredictable nature of Yokai? Perhaps it was the feelings Leakina held deep within her heart? Whatever it was, Lee lurched back in surprise as he watched Lyra be silenced with a kiss right on the lips. Was it as much a shock to her as it was to him? He was unsure because she didn’t appear to offer even a hint of resistance or displeasure from it.

Before he knew it someone else came barreling through the portal. “Cowabunga dude!”

“Guist!” Lee gave a joyful gasp as he watched the squid spirit soar toward him.

“Cus!” Guist cried through emotional, misty eyes.

Neither needed to exchange any more words; Lee held out his arms to the pint sized poltergeist as he flew straight into a squeezing hug.

That wasn’t all though; an excited MRROW sounded from the coolest cat in the Yokai Realm and the Mortal World as he came bounding into the bathhouse.

Lee called out breathlessly. “Juddinyan!” The agile feline jumped onto the teenager, climbing his way under his shirt, and up his body. Though those razor sharp claws painfully dug into his flesh again and again, Lee could only laugh to the point of tears from his happiness.

Popping his head out through Lee's collar, Juddinyan inquired, “Did you me'iss us?”

“Only a whole lot!” Lee answered straight away, shrugging Juddinyan off his back but catching him in his arms in order to embrace both him and Guist and never let go.

There was so much happiness and most especially love in the bathhouse as the Yokai and mortal Inklings were reunited. It didn’t last long as one more entity stepped out, the very aura that they emitted causing every eye to be upon them.

Lyra was the first to point them out. “Lord Inkma!” She threw herself to the ground, followed by everyone else in observance of the arrival of the Yokai sovereign.

As he made his approach he declared, “Arise. I have important matters to discuss, and they have to do with you.” He pointed an accusatory finger to Lee.

“Me?” Lee pointed to himself.

Inkma began to explain. “It is forbidden for mortals to enter the Yokai Realm.”

“But I--.” Lee tried to start.

“—I know you came to rescue your friend.” Inkma finished for him, “But good intentions do not excuse breaking the laws of our world.” Glancing around at the other occupants of the bathhouse, nobody had an argument to offer, especially not with what Inkma said next. “You are also guilty of multiple counts of a crime of harboring escaped criminals.”

With a snap of his fingers three clouds of black smoke appeared beside him, dissipating away to reveal all three of the Yokai criminals along with those attached to them.

Boss Moley spoke on behalf of himself and his assembly of Moleymoreys. “We had our fun but we got a bone to pick with that skunk.”

With a hand on Tropicanna’s shoulder, Dehydreaded said, “I just wanted my little flower back. I’m ready to serve out the rest of my time.”

“I’ll come visit you every day, Daddy.” Tropicanna added with a hug around her father’s waist.

Finally, Paranumbra complained, “There’s too much light here, even at night! I want to go back to my dark prison cell.”

King Inkma walked forward, speaking directly to Lee. “The law of the Yokai Realm is that fate should fit one’s character so this will be your punishment.” He stopped in front of him; despite their similar appearances, King Inkma’s firm, statuesque stance trounced Lee’s nervous and hunched demeanor. The Yokai King gave his judgement. “Because of your kindness and ease of friendship towards others you will become the Ambassador of Mortal and Yokai Affairs. Whenever there is trouble between worlds you will be the one to answer the call.”

The Ambassador of Mortal and Yokai Affairs? Lee could only stand there, dumbfounded as question after question arose in his mind. There was one in particular that King Inkma seemed to answer of his own accord, leading Lee to wonder if the monarch was psychic?

“If you refuse then look into the celestial mirror to see what will become of you.” He held up the mirror that hung around his neck. “What do you see?”

“Mm-Myself,” Lee answered. It was a mirror after all.

“What else?” Inkma replied.

He peered closer. Was there something he was missing? “I don’t see anything.”

“That’s right,” revealed Inkma. “If you refuse then you will spend eternity in purgatory. You will not receive judgement for your deeds in life, and you won’t even become a Yokai.”

This ultimatum brought about a stunned silence to everyone present. Even the Yokai criminals were at a loss for words.

The king asserted, “What’s it going to be?”

Now all eyes were on Lee. How was he possibly going to answer? The vague weight of such a responsibility placed upon him by the most intimidating Yokai of both worlds was unfathomably insurmountable

“That sounds fair, I’ll do it!”

Nobody had known the frustration this last week had brought him; how he felt so miserable that he contemplated dropping his smartwatch in the river. He wanted to be done with Yokai forevermore. In spite of that that though, the mere hours not knowing what would become of the friends he made felt so much worse. He didn’t want to go through again.

“Do I get a badge or something?” The eager boy queried while shaking his clenched fists.

Inkma answered with a stern, “No.” He folded his hands behind his back and lifted his head in contemplation. “Now that that’s settled there’s the matter of this new portal being opened. We’re going to need to find a guard to watch it.”

Straight away, Leakina pushed Lee aside, eagerly waving her hand. “Ooo, me! Me! Pick me! I’ll do it!”

“The job is yours,” Inkma decided without a second thought. “There’s also the problem that our new Ambassador needs a chronicler; someone to be in charge of receiving and recording all of your assignments.”

This time Guist was the one to rush in. He cried out excitedly, “Dude! I’ll do it!”

“Done, you’re the Ambassador’s Chronicler.” Inkma tapped his chin, puzzled by one last order of business. “Now you just need a savvy partner knowledgeable of both worlds to shadow you on each endeavor.”

“Meow?” Juddinyan raised a single paw.

That was well enough for King Inkma who said, “Excellent, glad we could make this easy.” It was all happening so fast, Lee could barely keep up. What’s worse was the Yokai monarch decided their business was finished. “Now then, I’m returning to the Yokai Realm with these criminals. We’ll be in touch for your first assignment, whenever that will be.” With that, he returned to the three convicts, all disappearing In the same puffs of smoke as they arrived.

He might have strong armed into the job but what did Lee really get himself into? That thought was shaken out of his head as he suddenly felt Leakina leaning all of her weight on his shoulder.

“YA HA HA HA, isn’t this great Leeker?” She laughed right into his ear. “We’re gonna see even more of each other than ever.”

Guist hovered in front of Lee, happily wiggling not only his tentacles but his whole body. “This is mondo cool Cus, we’re gonna be chillin’ so much too!”

Finally, Juddinyan hopped up excitedly, eager at what was to come. “We’ll be able to go to the Meowkai Realm whenever we want. Isn’t that great?”

“Yeah,” Lee readily agreed, “That’s all great!” He meant that sincerely, he wouldn’t want it any other way. However, he had something to address with the Yokai. “If we’re going to do that though I think we need to set some ground rules first.”

Later that night...

The time had come at last; with the sun setting and the shroud of night rolling over the city, the celebrations were ready to begin. Creatures all throughout Inkopolis gathered at the humble Knifefish Shrine for Older Days Fest. Unknowingly, they rubbed shoulders with their invisible poltergeist neighbors who were assembling for their most beloved holiday of all, Yo-Fest.

Paper lanterns and fiery torches decorated the shrine, a clash of old-fashioned aesthetics against the modern trucks and carnival rides a mere walking distance away. Acting as a makeshift stage, everyone turned to the main pavilion as Lyra stepped forward to address the crowd.

“Welcome one and all.” She spoke into a microphone that amplified her voice into speakers arranged around the main hall. “Thank you for coming to Inkopolis’s annual Olden Days Festival. Now, Olden Days as we know it is a celebration of our city’s long and wonderful cultural heritage. From the very first settlers who came from the east, our history is rich with the stories of many different species but there is another side to today’s celebration.”

The head priestess extended her arms outward, elaborating further. “Today we honor the spirits that coexist in our world and impact our lives in ways we can’t possibly imagine. Whether they be the souls of the dearly departed or even the spirits of the smallest pebbles beneath our feet, tonight is the night to remember our connection to the world that neighbors our own.”

With that, her subordinates and even Lee filed in with the prepared bamboo. One by one they settled down plates, bowls, and baskets filled with prepared meals in front of main hall. As they did, Lyra continued with her address. “To guide and appease the spirits we offer this sacrifice of bamboo as a testament the longevity of our union to each other.”

Spirits? Neighboring world? Sacrifice offering? To many in the crowd she was speaking utter mumbo jumbo, old-age religious nonsense that they boredly awaited her to finish. Onlookers in the crowd thought the priestess to be crazy as they watched her look to her side and hold out an open hand to nothing.

Of course, those like Lee and Kaitlyn could see that she wasn’t reaching out to nothing. Leakina had been standing beside her the entire time and when Lyra stretched out her hand, the watery wraith silently but tenderly rested her hand in the young woman’s palm. Only they could see the two turn to each other as Lyra enthusiastically stated, “As head priestess of Knifefish Shrine I declare Olden Days started!”

The crowd dispersed and the festivities went into full swing with Lee joining the collection of hundreds of mortals and yokai with Guist and Juddinyan at his side. Over the music and merriment, they finally had a chance to inform their friend of what had happened after the battle with Goredinator.

“The king-dude was seriously cheesed off about the whole thing, he was totally about to blow his lid but then we reminded him that it was almost time for Yo-Fest.”

Juddinyan added, “He was meowly excited bout the bamboo feast.”

“But not nearly as hyped as getting to see his Pops like he said.” Guist let out a laugh as he bobbed in the air. “How d’ya like that Cus, Yo-Fest totally saved our bacon!”

Lee could help but join them in chuckling at such happenstance. “Heh-eh, you know what, I do like that.”

Even though he did laugh, Lee couldn’t help but dwell on that thought about King Inkma and his pops. He had wondered this entire time what was Yo-Fest all about and he was starting to figure out what.

Yokai as he knew them always caused trouble for mortal creatures. It was in their nature to cause mischief yet all around him he saw them calmly hovering over them. From families to single visitors, some had yokai that stuck to them like glue, even if they couldn’t be seen. Those visiting the nearby cemetery were a sight to see.

The young Inkling had a strong feeling he knew why and he suspected it had to do with what Lyra said about the unity and harmony between yokai and mortals. As joyous as it was to see all kinds mingling together, and for him to be back with his best pals there was a longing in Lee’s heart that he couldn’t shake. It was something that seeing all of this made him yearn for even harder.

“Lee! Lee! Oh Honey, there you are!”

Was his mind playing tricks on him? That voice he heard, it couldn’t have been who he thought it was? He focused forward, searching through the crowd. There was; waving her hand above the crowd, eyes twinkling with delight as they spotted each other.

“MOM!” Lee nearly screamed. He took off, dashing the short distance into a waiting hug.

Squeezing her son with all her strength, Janine happily greeted him. “Ohh Sweetie, even though it was only a week, I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too Mom.” His grip around her did not loosen, even as hers did.

“Everything here looks great,” she said, finally managing to peel him away. “Of course it would be with you helping out.” He modestly shrugged his shoulders, unable to take the praise knowing all of the preparations weren’t his doing. His thoughts were shaken by her brushing his tentacles out of his face and dusting the front of his robe. “That yukata makes you look so handsome, is it really handmade?” She continued inquiring. “Did you have a good time while you were here? I bet you're itchin' to come home, huh?”

Honestly? “I had a great time!” That wasn’t untrue but he decided it would be best to omit all the details about his numerous brushes with death, and going to a parallel dimension. “Actually,” Lee added, “Could I stay one more day? Just to help clean up when the festival is over and hang out with my friends a little more?”

Janine's face gleamed with a shining smile as she replied, “Of course Honey. I'll swing by and pick you up tomorrow, but before that I brought a nice picnic dinner for us.” In his excitement, Lee didn’t notice the wicker basket cradled in the crook of her arm until she slid it into his grasp.

Gingerly opening the basket, he let out a dramatic gasp upon inspecting its contents. “Haa-- heh-- h'oh my stars,” he stuttered. “Salmon Bagel sandwiches, mom’s macaroni & cheese, and-- and--,” he was too taken in by one other thing to pay attention to the plastic container of steamed greens. “I-is that chocolate cake?”

Janine anticipated he would be fonnd of that as she clarified, “Baked it this afternoon. I even brought your favorite ice cream too.”

Hearing that couldn't stop his lips from quivering and his eyes from watering. After a week of delivered dinners and gas station ramen, one of his mom's home cooked meals was like a gift from heaven. “Ara ara,” she giggled, “I’ll be right back with it, I left it in a cooler in the car. We'll find a nice place to eat and you can tell me all about this week. Love you, Sweetie.”

“Hiff, love you too Mom.” Lee tried his best to control his sniffling, unable to believe he was so emotional over food.

As she walked out of sight, Leakina hovered over with a look of awe on her face. “Whoa, is that your Mom, Leeker? Good choice, you picked a real pretty one.”

Her inquisition made Lee chuckle. “Heh-eh, I didn’t choose my mom.”

“Really?” Leakina wondered. “I did. Yokai pick their own families and speaking of which, my sisters are coming right now.”

“Your what?” Lee repeated.

Right before their eyes, he watched as a bevy of yokai that looked just like Leakina rise out of drinking cups strewn about the festival area. His eyes darted all around as he watched them appear. There was a pink Leakina, then white, orange, and finally cola colored one that appeared before them.

“THERE'S MORE OF THEM?!” One was more than enough. And the prospect of several Leakinas made Lee scream. “AHHHHHHHH!” He ran in the opposite direction but not before reflexively hurling the picnic basket up in the air.

It was safely caught by Leakina who curiously asked Guist and Juddinyan. “What's wrong with him?” Their answer was an unknowing shrug of their shoulders.

The rest of the night went on without a hitch for mortals and yokai alike with fun, food, and frolics. It was soon time for the midnight fireworks. Janine had already gone home to Shee-Booyah for the night , leaving Lee to his devices at the shrine. He exited the main hall after setting his phone down to charge only to have Guist spiral in front of his face. “Sup Cus! Peep this, the whole crew is here to watch the fireworks tonight with us!” There on the stoop was Juddinyan laying on his back, Leakina, and surprisingly Kakkonyan and Wanderzan to.

“Hiiii-nyah,” Kakkonyan waved a candied apple he held in his paw.

Meanwhile, Wanderzan coolly greeted, “Sup Homie.”

Lee grinned, “Heh-eh, glad you guys could make it!”

As he sat down, Guist eagerly danced about in the air. “Woo-hoo, this is gonna be the raddest, most excellent thing ever! I never saw fireworks before.”

As the pint sized spirit babbled, Lee felt a nudging at his arm. Leakina offered a candied apple, whispering, “Psst. I snagged the last one of these for you Leeker. If I didn’t then the fur ball would have gotten them all.” Upon closer inspection, Juddinyan was soundly sleeping with a satisfied smile on his face, holding his swelled belly with four discarded sticks at his side.

“Hey thanks,” appreciating the gesture with a nibble on the sweet, crunchy treat, Lee took a seat on the wooden veranda. It felt so oddly quiet despite all of the activity going on at the festival grounds. To Lee, this silent stillness was a reprieve from the craziness he had endured the entire week. However what should have been relaxing was blanketed by a sudden strange feeling though.

The unnerved boy caught Leakina sitting beside him out of the corner of his vision, and she was oddly staring at him.

“What?” He asked curiously?

She swiftly answered, “Oh nothing, nothing.” After a momentary pause she added, “It's just pretty amazing how you came through for everybody and saved Yo-Fest.” Lee could only throw her an unsure look so she elaborated further. “You helped out Lyra, all those bad guys who gave us a hard time, and you kicked that big red jerk's butt!”

Ever modest, Lee replied with a shake of his head. “I didn’t really do a whole lot, you guys are the ones who did all the heavy lifting.”

That answer made Leakina tap her fists against her hips and grimace at him. "Well Mr. Modesty,” she snapped back, “If there’s one person you did a lot for its me.”

“What?” He muttered.

“Yeah, I mean look at me now; I’ve got my own home to haunt, I got a job, and I even got a girlfriend!” Leakina proudly proclaimed all of the things she had achieved.

“Girlfriend?” Lee repeated with keen interest.

There was a moment of backpedaling. “Well-- Lyra’s not quite there yet with the whole idea but she’ll come around. Why wouldn’t she? Who could say no to all this?” She made a gesture of presenting herself, the act of which made Lee unable to keep from eyeing her with a scoffing smirk.

Once she finished, she returned to the main topic. “Don’t even try to deny it.” The watery woman leaned toward him, her weight on one arm. “You did a lot for me, and it means a lot that you did, so thanks for everything Leeker.”

That genuine appreciative tone in her voice; it seemed as though she really meant what she said. All he had to do was give a simple “you’re welcome” but instead it came out as a nervous stutter. “W-well, it wasn’t anything really, ee—really I--,” he was then left at a complete loss for words. He felt a gentle, damp sensation on his skin as Leakina leaned in to give her hero a kiss of gratitude on his cheek.

Though he was stunned by that act, he was somehow able to find the words he was looking for. “Gosh Leakina, it was nothing, really, but uhh, watch where you're putting that water bottle.”

“What water bottle?” She asked with a sheepish grin, pulling her hand away and discreetly trying to hide a leaking bottle of water.

That battle ended before it began; segued by a series of explosions signifying the beginning of the long-awaited fireworks show. Guist gave a roar of a cheer as he pumped and wiggled his pale tentacles with so much excitement, almost stealing the show himself.

As Lee reclined back on one arm, he found his mind wandering as he really took in everything around him. To one side he could see Kakkonyan circling his arm around the shoulder of a glaring Wanderzan. On the other side was Juddinyan, wearing away the time in a peaceful, gluttonous slumber. Above him was Guist who served as a beacon of wonder and excitement as he fluttered about with so much earnest joy in his heart. Finally, right beside him was Leakina; someone he had endured variably endless, cruel bullying and humiliation from. Now, according to her he completely changed her afterlife around for the better.

He had heard a mantra once before; “When a Yokai enters your life, it will never be the same ever again.” For Lee he didn’t want to fathom what life would be like without the friends he had right here, the friends he was glad to stay with forever.

#splatoon #splatoon 2 #nintendo #yokai #fan fiction #lee squidly

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ikesenhell · 6 years

Text

Tidal

This is part two of To Honor And Protect. You can find all other IkeSen works of mine here.

Her reputation was accurate: she was very sharp. Complicated concepts came easily to her. She grasped on to history lessons with the kind of wonder reserved for fairy tales, took to matters of diplomacy with grace, and completed all of her work accurately and well. Mitsunari couldn’t help but admire her.

“You’re an excellent student,” he noted one day. “It’s impressive.”

She smiled at him. “Thank you so much, but your smiling at me right now is praise enough.”

Was he? Mitsunari touched his cheek, realizing all at once that he was. “Oh! Well, of course I’m smiling. It’s very pleasant, doing these lessons with you.”

Summer bloomed and wilted, and fall swept in from across the Northern Sea. A chill wind slipped between the flagstones and the houses. Already they were putting blankets on the horses and securing windows, readying for the inevitable storms off the coast. Still--every other day, Mitsunari would go about his training, wash up, and pull a thick cloak over his shoulders before heading up to the palace. The fire bloomed hot in the study now, the door propped open to watch the grey churn of the ocean.

“I love the fall,” she commented one day.

“The storms don’t scare you?” He asked, surprised. “Most here don’t like them much.”

“No, I like them. It’s an incredible sight, watching the rain and waves. Besides, I like a little chill.” Her eyes flashed with her smile at him, and he felt his heart lurch staccato in his chest. How odd. He kneaded his skin lightly, wondering where that came from. “It’s soothing to me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Princess.”

They received the news on his off day. A delegation from the Southern City was coming within two weeks, with a ball held in their honor. A thousand security concerns at once lay before them. Who would protect the incoming royal party? Who would secure their lodgings and such? Were there any threats they needed to address? Mitsunari stayed up into the small hours of the night often now, dragging himself from bed only with a few sound shoves and a huge mug of Hideyoshi’s special tea. Still--occupied as he was with his work, Mitsunari noticed something odd. No matter how worn he was from his breakneck schedule, whenever he stepped inside the Princess’ study for their lessons, his heart eased and muscles relaxed. He made a note to investigate that when he had time. Perhaps she had a particularly relaxing candle hidden away somewhere. A pleasant scent did bloom in there.

“They’re going to work you all to death.” The Princess furrowed her brows as she patted a drenched Sasuke down with a towel, ignoring his meek protests. “We shouldn’t push you all like this.”

“Oh, it’s nothing.” Mitsunari tried to assure her. “We’re all very used to working hard! I’d daresay Kenshin feels better busier than not--he gets bored without anything to do, and then he starts doing wild training sessions, and someone gets hurt--usually Yukimura.”

“No, it’s just--” She flung the towel onto the chair nearest the fire, and all at once Mitsunari saw something simmering just below the surface. Something was wrong. “We don’t need to be going to all these lengths. And then there’s the ball, and all that--”

“You aren’t excited? I find the idea fantastic. All the colors and sights, the music and lights. Those don’t happen often.”

“No, they don’t.” But there was something bitter and hard in her voice. “But I just can’t be excited. Not when--”

Silence. She stiffened before the fire, her back stony and rigid in that dark green dress, and Mitsunari wondered if he should stay seated or go to her. Neither option felt safe. Safe--he considered the word. Why had he thought of that one, of all things? What was he scared of?

“Princess?” He asked, uncertain of what he couldn’t name.

“I’ll be right back.” She turned on her heel, but no matter how swiftly she left the room, he still saw the tears threatening those bright eyes. Her feet pattered up the stairs, the quiet click of a door echoing after her. Sasuke sighed.

“Well then.”

“Is something wrong?” Mitsunari asked. The bodyguard pushed up his glasses and sighed again.

“I imagine so. She hasn’t taken well to the arrangements, though she’s accepted them as best she could.”

“Arrangements?” Nothing made sense. “What’s going on?”

“You haven’t been told?” Sasuke’s dark stare peered straight through him. “I thought all of the Nine knew. The Princess is betrothed to the Southern King, Kennyo. They seek to announce it at the ball.”

Mitsunari didn’t know what he expected, but he certainly hadn’t figured in the stone-hard drop of his stomach. “Since when?”

“She was notified yesterday.”

“She had no say in this?”

“It’s for diplomacy purposes. Surely you understand?”

He did. The Southern Kingdom had long been a rival of theirs, encroaching on their territory and stirring dissent for decades. Unfortunately, their power made it impossible to truly engage them. Shingen himself knew of their power; once upon a time, he was lord of a kingdom now swallowed up by them. It stood to reason that the City had no interest in seeing themselves invaded and subjugated similarly. Even so, Mitsunari tried to picture the Princess married off and his mind faltered. How odd. He’d never been one to stray from reality before.

“I understand.” But Mitsunari paused anyway. “Is there anything I can do for her?”

“I don’t think so.”

“When are they due to meet? Have they met?”

“They will be meeting for the first time in a week’s time. I understand she’s to provide him with a tour of the city herself. His Highness requested it.”

And one didn’t deny a request from the King, especially not when he was your father. Mitsunari tried to swallow, his throat suddenly dry. “I see. Well, hopefully she’ll come down soon, and perhaps a little learning will take her mind off things.”

She didn’t. When he left that afternoon, the sound of soft sobs echoed through the stairwell.

She requested him personally as her bodyguard for the day.

“Well well well,” Mitsuhide snickered, that chameleon smile leering across the breakfast table. “Someone has endeared themselves to the Princess.”

“I suppose we’re friends.” Mitsunari beamed. “It’s an honor.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“To think,” Shingen clasped a hand over his heart with all his dramatic gravitas, “that a Goddess like herself has passed over me. I suppose I can only honor her command.”

Kenshin scowled at his friend. Despite their bickering, it was obvious that the two men were close. “Keep up your ridiculous blathering and I’ll see to it that your soul ‘passes over’.”

“Ohh, death threats before breakfast? My word, Kenshin. Shouldn’t we wait until after five? That’s a good, respectable hour.”

Hideyoshi, for his part, passed Mitsunari a steaming mug of tea and fussed out the lines of his silver and blue dress uniform. It felt strange, having a former bandit lord so occupied with his state of dress, but Hideyoshi was an honorable man, so Mitsunari let him do as he wished. “You’ll do just fine, but remember to watch her back, okay?”

“Of course.”

“And don’t allow her to run too far ahead. Keep her within a good distance, arm’s reach is preferable.”

“Certainly.”

“And--”

“Make sure that you test all of her drinks, to ensure they’re a proper temperature so she doesn’t burn herself?” Mitsuhide teased.

Shingen snickered and joined in. “And brush all the pebbles out of her path, lest she stub a toe.”

“Move all tables, especially the ones at calf height. They jump in the way, you know.”

Hideyoshi scowled at them. “Am I the only one taking this seriously?”

“He’ll be fine,” Kenshin huffed. “Ishida knows his way around a room. Let him be.”

The air was crisp and the wind strong, but the sun was out, so that was on their side at least. When he arrived at the tower, Sasuke ushered him up to the Princess’ personal chambers. She perched on the edge of a stool, combing the last of her ringlets before a mirror.

“Hello.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “You look sharp.”

Mitsunari bowed elegantly. “Thank you. I love wearing the dress uniform. I hope I do it proud.”

“I have no doubt you will. Would you help me with something?”

“Certainly.”

She held up a small bracelet of silver, extending the clasps to him. “Could you please put this on me?”

Mitsunari took the piece from her hands, turning it in his fingers. It was fragile and old, no doubt about it. He appraised the ends with skeptical eyes. “If I may, Princess, the clasps aren’t very strong.”

“I know.” She sighed. “But it was my mothers. When I’m feeling nervous, I wear it. I try my best not to lose it, but I can’t find anyone in the kingdom who can fix a piece this old, so...”

“I see.” He smiled at her reassuringly. The Queen Mother had died long ago, when the Princess was very young, and no doubt she needed that love and courage today. Silently, he took her hand--was this the first time he’d touched her? It was, and his heart raced--and affixed it around her small wrist. “There. I’ll keep an eye on it as well. You won’d lose it today, at any rate. I promise.”

This time, her smile did reach her eyes, and it made his pulse beat straight out of him. How strange! Were her nerves rubbing off on him? Without further ado, she stood and swept a dark woolen cloak off a stand, drawing it about herself. “Shall we face the music, then?”

“After you, Princess.”

Kennyo was waiting for them with his own retinue at the base of the tower. He was older than expected. A streak of grey graced his black hair, a long scar slashed over his features. Still, his smile was kind, and when the Princess stepped before him, he had the decency to bow before her.

“Princess. I hear you will honor me with a tour of the city.”

“I shall.” Mitsunari had never heard her so formal before, but he supposed that was normal for a diplomatic tour. She bowed in return to them, taking Kennyo’s offered arm after a moment’s pause. “Shall we?”

“We shall.”

She guided them through the markets dripping in fabric and teeming with people, sweeping her hand across the stalls and vendors. They walked the long, green paths of the public gardens and fountains. They slipped through the housing districts, the humble people of the city dipping their heads as they passed, and after a long day, when the sun was at its zenith, she guided them all down the slick, obsidian-cut stairs to the docks at the rear of the city.

“This is where our navy and fishermen alike congregate.” The small group padded across the broad beams of the pier, the wood creaking beneath their boots. “A very old enchantment changes the level of the docks with the waves and the storms, ensuring it never falls below the water.”

“Magic is long forbidden,” Kennyo commented. “Who performed that ritual?”

“We don’t know. It predates our history, so I can only assume it was long before the banishment of magic.”

“Then these docks are ancient indeed. They’ve held well.” He cast his dark eyes across the Northern Sea, squinting out into the distance at a small island off the coast. “Out there, what is that?”

“That island? That is the first of the Trinity Islands. I hear tell there was once a fishing community out there, but the waves are difficult and the rocks sharp. Few attempt to traverse it now. And out that way--”

Mitsunari watched it happen in near slow motion. She stretched her arm out to point at the second one and a shimmer caught his eye. The bracelet! It loosed from her wrist and flew into the air, sailing over the water and sinking into the waves.

Without a second thought, he ripped his sword belt away, slamming it into Sasuke’s chest, and dove into the ocean after it.

The water was freezing. He’d learned to swim long ago, but the shock of the cold held him for one long moment before he recovered himself. The weight of his armor tugged him down, down, down, the tide swirling heavy around his boots, but--there! There it was. Sinking slowly to the depths, there was the shimmer of her bracelet. With singular determination, Mitsunari swam forward and caught it, forcing his way to the surface.

“You fool--”

He gasped and clutched onto the dock’s edge, too winded to tug himself up. The Princess flung herself forward. “Mitsunari!”

“Princess.” He grinned at her, realizing all at once that he’d lost his glasses in the waves. Well, too late. “You should get up. The dock is wet, and it’ll soak into your cloak.”

“Hang the cloak! Are you alright?”

“Of course, my lady.”

“Come on.” She offered him her hand, but he shook his head. How could he? She would just get wet. Besides, there were more important things. Without ceremony, he lifted his clenched fist and carefully secured the bracelet around her wrist.

“There you are, Princess.”

And then she smiled at him, and--oh, he swore to himself in that moment that it was worth diving into the Northern Sea a thousand times for that smile. It radiated so pure that he half expected to go blind. “You didn’t have to.”

“I swore I would, Princess.”

“Come on.” Sasuke stepped forward from seemingly nowhere, extending an arm to Mitsunari. “Let’s get up.”

He dragged himself from the tide, squelching to his feet and realizing that his leather boots were doubtless ruined. Accepting his sword belt back, he secured it around his waist with a smile, slicking back his hair. The world was hazy without his glasses, and Lord Kennyo was staring at him, but all he could see was the Princess, smiling at him still. “Shall we carry on?”

“While you’re in that state?” Kennyo half-laughed. “You’ll drip everywhere. Certainly you aren’t prepared to walk in the chill like that?”

“Of course I am!” Mitsunari adjusted his clothes and bowed back. “I made an oath to protect. A little water won’t stop me from that. Please, continue.”

The retinue looked at each other, but he supposed they accepted his logic, because they all passed back up the pier toward the mainland. As she walked by, the Princess offered his arm a little squeeze, and his heart leapt up into his mouth.

Early the next day, a courier came by with a small package for him. Enclosed was a new pair of glasses, complete with a note. “Since you lost yours in pursuit of my bracelet, I thought it appropriate to find you a replacement. Thank you so much. I send my affections-- Princess.”

Mitsunari thought about pinning the note to his bedside table, but thought better of it. Without understanding why, he slipped it inside his pillowcase.

95 notes · View notes