#(again however if this is how you wish to read it to bring you joy then do so)

[corviiids]

[...]

[sadburntbread]

BATFAM X NEGLECTED! MALE READER

----- Warnings before you read ----- Child Neglect, Bullying, Death, Violence, Slight swearing, Angst

"My child, my pride and joy" your mother's voice was soft and quiet, she touched the side of your cheek still chubby with baby fat "should there ever be a day when I am not here with you, then you must learn to care for yourself. You must never give your heart to those unworthy". Her words carrying the weight of years of personal experience. She was the wife of the Bruce Wayne, although it was because of an unwanted arranged marriage. her long hair framed her face as she sat in the bay window, overlooking the rain falling down on Gotham, the moonlight casting a soft glow on her face.

"Mama?" your confused face caused her eyes to soften, she picked you up and sat you in her lap. She casted a sad look at you and hugged you tightly.

"M/n, listen to me" Her voice turned stern, you nodded and focused your childish doe eyes on her "you are only eight my boy, you do not yet understand how cruel this world is.", She let out a sigh "I pity you; your father is a busy man, who never spares us the time of day. Your mother is weak in both will and heath. You only have Alfred to truly rely on". Tears were streaming from her eyes as she looked out the window, no longer being able to look you in the eyes. "I wish for you to break out of these chains that bind me. Live a life where you can smile freely. promise me that, m/n".

Over the next few years Bruce brought in many children. Dick was nice, he was cheerful but never had time for you, much like father. Jason was the best brother, you two always spent time together, however, one day he died. Tim... was ok... you were still grieving from Jason's death, and Tim never cared to look your way. Cas and Steph were just... there, Bruce was always training them, and they didn't think you were worth their time. After all, you were simply the spoiled young master Wayne. Lastly, Bruce, he never spent time with you other than at galas. When you went to the galas with your parents and adopted siblings, Bruce would treat you as his precious son. However, your mother could never look at the scene for long, knowing the true neglect that you didn't even know you were experiencing. Aside from that, life was fine. You still had your mother who loved you more than anything, and you had Alfred. Alfred thought of your mother as his own daughter and treated you as his grandson. You did good in school, always wanting to see your mother's smile when she saw your grades.

However, your whole life turned upside down the year you turned 12. Your mother died; her health had been deteriorating ever since you were born.

"Baby..." her voice was shaking, you held the had she reached out, watching as her dazed eyes couldn't find you. The only other person in the room was Alfred, " 'm sorry" Her voice broke into a sob "I'm so sorry for bringing you into this terrible place, please... Please forgive me". Her hand trembled in your grasp; tears streamed down your face.

"I could never blame you mom" you promised, at your words she smiled. With the last of her strength, she spoke again.

"Remember.... don't give... your heart to... these people". Her voice faded and her hand went limp in your hold.

"MOM!", you yelled "MOTHER PLEASE!" Alfred pulled you away from your mother, you cried in his shoulder. Your sobs echoed through the halls of the manor.

Your light was gone.

Her funeral was miserable. Bruce and your adopted siblings came, but only for appearances. As soon as the basic courtesies were over, they all left. You stayed there for the whole day and deep into the night, until Alfred made you get some rest.

After your mother's death, Bruce had you train like all your adopted siblings, it was grueling. He never taught you one-on-one, he had you watch him train the other then practice on your own. He always got so disappointed when you couldn't match pace with the others. However, you wanted to please them. Make them proud. "Foolish child" you could hear your mother say

It was around this time when Jason returned, you were so excited. finally, someone who you could spend time with, you were so lonely. But he was never the same boy you once knew, he was now cold and distant. He looked at you in annoyance... Just like the rest of them.

Days in the Wayne manor passed slowly, you followed your regular routine day by day. Wake up, got to school, go home, do schoolwork, do night watches, sleep and repeat. Things changed when father brought in your half-brother, Damian. Sure, at first you were upset that your father cheated on your mother, but now you had someone you could spend time with and relate to. You thought he would go through the same neglect, instead, he was loved, welcomed. Nothing like you.

"He's had a hard life", they'd say "you wouldn't understand, you've had everything handed to you and all the love you could want". It repeated in your head, all you did was ask why he got more love than you.

It wasn't fair... IT WASNT FAIR!

No... Calm down, take a deep breath. Hold it. Release it. Repeat.

Your mother taught you that when you'd start throwing fits, she was right. There was no use in getting upset over something you couldn't change... You'd just have to prove them wrong, be the best vigilante there ever was.

Damian was the worst. He thought of you as competition, you just wanted to be his friend.

"You know", Damian began, you had asked him to hang out, he was your younger brother after all, and you have to be a good brother like Jason used to be "It's your fault your pathetic mother died".

"...What" It wasn't a question. It was a dare, "Say that again. Do you have a death wish?" Now you were standing right in front of him, your frame towering over him. The empty living room became even more silent.

"I said", He didn't back down, instead, he stood tall "You caused your mother's death. I mean, think about it. If you hadn't been born than your mother wouldn't have fallen ill". you pushed him against the wall, pinning his shoulder with enough strength to break it, if he were a normal person. "Never mind, it wasn't your fault" Oh? was he back down? No... his smirk spread "it was your mother's fault for being so weak"

WHACK

you punched at his face; he moved but you still hit the side of his cheek, then he started punching back. it became a back and forth of fists. The two of you scuffling on the floor before a voice rang out.

"What the hell is going on here!?", you both looked over. It was dick, he was followed by the rest of your adopted siblings. Both of you let go of the other, your breathing ragged. You noticed Damian's breathing was steady, as if he hadn't just been fighting. Monster

'"He-" You tried to explain yourself, but Dick cut you off. He stormed up to you, his expression was furious, and he smacked you...hard. You stood shocked, your head turned to the side and your eyes wide in disbelief, you put your hand to your burning cheek.

"You are older than him! I don't care what excuse you have, you should know better!" Dick yelled, he grabbed you by your wrist and began pulling you. "We're going to see Bruce, you can explain yourself to him". Dick dragged you to Bruces's office, his grip was painfully tight. When you two stood Infront of the doors to his office you felt dread fill you. It wasn't your fault. It was Damian's. you repeated in your head. Dick pushed the doors open quickly, Bruce looked up at his arrival, waiting for an explanation. He always just ignored you; he'd say that he was too busy and to come back later. "He was fighting with Damian. The kid just started punching him." Dick explained. You froze as your father's disapproving eyes turned to you.

NO! that's not how it happened! You had to defend yourself, say something...ANYTHING. "He-he said mother was weak! That I was the reason she died!" You stuttered as you tried to explain. He'd understand, surly. However, your hopes were crushed when Bruce's expression didn't change, when it didn't soften in understanding.

"Dick, Leave us. I'll talk with him". Bruce instructed. Dick sent you a quick disappointed glare then left, the door closed with a slight slam. The office was quite before Bruce let out a sigh and rubbed the bridge of his nose in annoyance. "I understand that you were upset. However, that is no reason to hit your younger brother". His gaze turned to you, then back to the papers on his desk. "Aside from that, I've been meaning to talk to you".

Oh? He wants to talk to you? That has never happened before. You felt yourself getting excited, forgetting all about the scuffle with Damian.

"I have decided to make Damian the heir to the Wayne Enterprises". Bruce didn't even look at you. He never does.

"...What?" You couldn't stop the question from slipping out. No, you had to defend your position, Mother's position. Consequences be damned. "No, you can't! He is an affair child; I am supposed to take over the company!"

That was a mistake. Bruce glared at you, his piercing eyes shutting you up quickly. "Do not fight with me child. The decisions already been made. Now go get ready for your night watch". That was it. The conversation was over. When you walked to your room you passed by the living room full of your adopted siblings, all joking with each other. You watched them for a moment before made eye contact with Damian, then, he smirked.

After it became public that you were no longer going to take over Wayne Enterprises, people outside the manor stopped being kind to you. After all, you were no longer the heir to the company, why should they care about you?

That leads us a couple years in the future, to tonight, the night was hauntingly beautiful. On this night Batman and his crew of sidekicks were all out because the Joker had gotten a new toy. Some beasts with something akin to tendrils. You all had to split up, Cass and Steph, Dick and Jason, Tim and Damian. you were sent off on your own, like always. But it was fine, you were used to it. You had gotten stronger, both emotionally and physically.

but tonight was different, you couldn't handle it. you and Batman were in the same general area; however, you were both distracted with your own fights. Then a quiet voice could be heard, one that was not the joker's, you looked over and saw an elderly lady in the middle of the shopping district you were fighting in. A tendril flew at you before you could run to her, you blocked it and turned to the lady.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?", you yelled at her, she looked at you, a helpless look in her eyes. She was confused. "EVACUATE!" At your yelling, Batman looked over to you two, his eyes widened as he noticed the lady. Batman quickly finished off the beast he was fighting then turned to the lady, a tendril rushed towards her. Batman rushed to grab her first, it was close, but he successfully caught her and dropped her nearby safely.

However, the tendril turned and rushed towards you. Too fast for you to react, all you could do was yell. "DAD!" The first time you had said that in such a long time.

It was too late. The tendril pierced through your stomach.

It went quiet. You couldn't hear or see anything. Couldn't hear Batman's yell of your name, couldn't see him rushing to you. All you could see was the black tendril in your stomach. your vision got hazy, and you dropped.

You were caught, but you couldn't see who. It was terrifying, the cold you felt. Did mother feel the same way?

There was a voice... Who's? Their tone was begging. Was there anyone who cared enough to beg you to stay?

You were so, so tired... Then you saw her....

Mother

"DAD!!" Your voice cut through the air; Batman looked to you. His eyes widened at the sight of you being pierced through.

"M/N!!" Batman didn't even know he could sound so desperate. His son was going to die, just like Jason. He rushed to your side, pulling off his cape to wrap the wound. when the cape was tight enough, he grabbed you, carrying you to a distant building, one untouched by the enemy. He had to fight his way through the area, it was difficult with you in his arms, but he made sure you didn't get hurt any more than you already had. "Don't you die on me, m/n! I promise to treat you better. Don't leave me, not like your mother". He mumbled pleas as he carried you, and even more after he set you down. After he was sure you were still breathing (Although shallow and rough) Batman spoke into the communication device all of his children shared. "M/n is injured. Clear your area and hurry to [-----]. I have him resting safely in an abandoned building, we need to take him back to the manor, I'm not sure how much longer he'll last". It was less than a minute before multiple worried voices came though the mic, promising to be there soon. Batman pushed the hair from your sweaty face, "I won't let you die". With that he rushed back to the thick of the battle.

It was less than 20 minutes later when the rest of the Batfamily arrived, with them all working together they were able to take down the beasts and the joker relatively quickly. As soon as the battle was over Nightwing turned to Batman.

"Where is he!? Where is M/n?!" Nightwing's voice was rushed and out of breath from the fight, the others behind him listened closely for Batman's answer, they were all in a similar state as Nightwing. Batman pointed to an abandoned building, still untouched by conflict. No words needed to be spoken; they all took off in that direction. However, they paused as a laugh cut through the air, they all looked over to the source, it was the Joker. In a weak voice, Joker spoke.

"Boom" At his word many nearby buildings exploded, including the one batman set you in.

"NO!" Red Hood yelled, he felt terrible, he took his anger for Batman out on you, his baby brother. The same brother he swore to protect. They all took off, rushing to the building, holding onto hope that you somehow survived. The building you were set in was completely destroyed, but they all keep searching, they needed proof you were truly gone.

Damian paused his search, before quickly moving stones. His sudden hurry caused the others to all join him. they found something...

bits and pieces of batman's cape, then.... an arm... your arm...

You were gone, and they never had the chance to apologize, to spend movie nights with you, to take you out to eat, to celebrate your birthday.

It only took your death for them realize they failed you.

TO BE CONTINUED

[boy-eater11]

-Paper Confessions-

- Kurt Wagner/nightcrawler x Shy!Reader

- After Kurt receives two anonymous confession letters, written in slowly improving German. He comes face to face with their quiet author. -

- CW: fluff, bad German, references to insecurities, Gn!reader

The first time it happened, Kurt didn't know what to think. Messy handwriting, horrible grammar, and other blatant mistakes led him to believe the note must have been some kind of elaborate prank.

It seemed honestly quite rude, that someone he knew would go through the trouble of translating an entire fake secret admirer note into German, just to mock the idea that someone could honestly have feelings for him.

Compliments like, 'Der netteste Mann, den ich kenne' or 'der schönste Mann, den ich je gesehen habe' read as cruel insults instead of words of appreciation.

Needless to say, the following day, Kurt was visibly disheartened. You however, were quite proud of yourself. The days before, you had spent countless hours reading and practicing German, in an earnest effort to learn it.

Ever since you had developed feelings for Kurt, you had been painfully unable to communicate how you felt towards him, any attempt to have a genuine conversation resulted in stammers and awkward silences, so you opted to appreciate him from the sidelines. Spending quiet hours in each other's company.

Yet, it had been months since then, and the need to express to him how you felt was becoming too great, so you crafted an idea. You would write him a note, something truly meaningful, to get the stress of hiding your emotions off your chest, even deciding to write it in German, in order to show Kurt just how much you cared.

Your efforts were seemingly in vain however, as the first attempt went incredibly poorly, so poorly you trashed it, where without your knowledge, it managed to find itself into the hands of the very person it was written for.

Kurt had been in the library when he found the crumpled paper with his name on it. He thought it was odd of course, but figured its author wished him to receive it. He regretted that decision after reading it. A cruel insult to all the effort he had put into seemingly as kind and approachable as possible, not wishing to be seen as a monster.

You were of course, confused, when Kurt was inexplicably downtrodden the next day. Everyone could tell, yet any attempt to comfort him was brushed off. When approached, he just claimed to be tired or unfocused.

Observing this, you poured yourself into your books again. Writing, practicing, translating, anything you could do to perfect your skills. Finally, nearly three days later, you had finished your note. Imperfect, but unlike your first failed attempt, you felt confident in your progress. You slipped it under his doorway of course, anonymity was your saving grace.

Despite your original plan, you couldn't bring yourself to admit the confession, leaving it unsigned. You hoped that at least getting your feelings off your chest would help you relax.

Kurt however, was only further confused. This second note, properly addressed to him, left for him to find, was much less demeaning. Still imperfect, in fact it was painfully clumsy in his eyes, but a vast improvement. If he had read this note first, he would have been over the moon with joy. Yet, the cruel doubt etched in him from the original note, clouded his mind from the possibility of sincerity.

He thought through his suspects, Logan, Storm and Jean, seemed like obvious no's, Remy, Scott, or even Rogue seemed more likely, yet he had a hard time believing any of his teammates would do this.

Then you crossed his mind. Painfully shy, but confident in a fight, you seemed far from anyone who would do this. Yet part of him hoped it was you. That he had gotten this whole thing wrong, and that you had been secretly reciprocating his affections.

Kurt had liked you for months, after you patched him up after a seriously bad mission, he felt comfortable around you. When you first arrived, Kurt assumed you were scared of him, you always seemed to avoid him, and never seemed to want to keep a conversation with him. Yet, when he asked if you found him monstrous, you were honest. Saying that you found him quite kind, but that you simply struggled to make friends, and had been intimidated by his forwardness.

So, Kurt took his time. He let you approach first, he was constantly welcoming, and you two had found yourself in a pattern of spending quiet afternoons in each other's company. Not talking, or even really hanging out, just being in each other's presence.

That's when he developed feelings, the quiet moments you shared, seemed like the most relaxed Kurt ever got to be. You were beautiful of course, but being near you reminded Kurt of a warm blanket or a cold towel on a hot day. gentle, and refreshing.

So, that's what Kurt hoped for. That his assumption was wrong, and that you had been writing these for him. It seemed unlikely, and part of him truly believed he was wrong, but it made him feel giddy to think you could feel the same.

You, on the other hand, and only dig yourself a deeper hole. Your work was pointless, you still felt overwhelmed by your wish to confess to Kurt, and the fact that you had put so much time into trying to escape it, weighed you down like bricks on your shoulders.

"You've got to tell him properly. Right now he's probably thinking he's about to get swept off his feet by the girl of his dreams, and you're too scared to admit it's you." Jean teased.

"You're right...I know....I just can't even bring myself to look him in the eyes." You signed, running your hands through your hair in frustration.

"Then don't, hell if you don't want your work to go to waste, just actually put your name down this time." Jean rolled her eyes in response.

"Are you sure that's a good idea though? I mean I can hardly talk to him now, what if after he finds out he doesn't even want to be around me?" Jean patted your back and you rubbed circles into your temples.

"He won't. You two just need to communicate for once."

So, you wrote again. One last letter, rambling painfully about how much you cared for him. Detailing every way he made you smile. Reading it back made you want to almost vomit with cringe, but you didn't know how else to say what you felt.

So, as you had done days prior, you snuck to his room, slipping it under the door frame. However, this time, as you turned to flee, you were treated by a familiar *bamf*

"Mein freund... This was... You?" Before you know it, you're face to face with the fuzzy blue boy of your dreams.

"I... Uhm..yeah." you nod, staring down at your feet, a bright red blush stinging your cheeks.

Without another word, Kurt begins to read your most recent note. You shift uncomfortably, debating whether to run, or to freeze in place.

"You've improved quite a bit Schatz... I am glad." He looks down at you, a wide smile, and indigo blush gracing his features.

You chuckle awkwardly, unable to formulate a genuine response.

"Ich liebe dich auch." He rests a hand on your shoulders, calming your fidgeting, and freezing you in place.

"y-you.... Really?" You stare at him, wide eyed in disbelief.

"of course, meine Liebe. I have for quite some time. In all honesty, I had been wishing it was you."

Without thinking, or saying a word, you pull him into a hug. Burying your face in his chest, wrapping your arms around him.

"good."

- end. -

[mysteryshoptls]

Sebek Zigvolt Shared Lines

Tutorial: Follow me, human. It would do you well to come gaze upon my liege.

Level Up 1: Did you see how well I improved!?

Level Up 2 / Buddy Level Up: With this, I will be even more capable!

Level Up 3: Mhm, not bad.

Level Max: I wonder, have I become someone my lord would be even the slightest bit approve of? ...No, I can't get complacent. I must cast aside all unnecessary thoughts and devote myself even more. Here I go!

Vignette Level Up: I never expected a mere human as underwhelming as you would be so dependable. You constantly astound me.

Spell Level Up: What is this newfound power...? My lord! Did you see... Oh, he's not here. Urk, that means I am nowhere near worthy.

Friendship Level Up: From the way you keep trying to talk to me, I can see that you’ve nothing to do. I’ll allow you to join me for training, then! …Why are you declining…?

Friendship Level Max: I’ve gotten used to listening to you ramble on. From now on, you’re free to call on me whenever you want. …I can’t promise that I’ll always listen though, you understand?

Uncapped: In order to become a retainer worthy of serving my liege, I will become even bigger, smarter, and stronger!!!

Groovification: What joy, how exhilarating! I feel fantastic! You would do well remember my amazing efforts!

Lesson Select 1: Human! I've decided to take class with you today. Which are you choosing? Hurry and pick something.

Lesson Select 2: What is with that worrisome look? What good is it if you were to not tackle your weakest subjects head on?

Lesson Select 3: Lilia-sama taught me that taking class is just another form of training. I will give my all, no matter the subject.

Lesson Start: I'll do my best today, as well!

Lesson Finish: Knowledge is my flesh and blood! I'll continue my endeavors.

Battle Start: I’ll swallow you whole.

Battle Won: This win is for my king!

Trouble 1: Hey, human! If you wish to stop me, do so after you hear my side of the story!

Trouble 2: …Yes, I’m afraid I must have gotten a little too hot-headed there, for you to have interfered like that.

GIFT CALENDAR 2023: “How will you be spending the day?” I plan to read the book I ordered from the Mystery Shop the other day. It’s a book that I’ve been eagerly awaiting. Grandfather was the one to recommend it to me, so I must read it over and over again and tell him my thoughts on it!

Birthday Login Message 1: Human, can it be that you are giving me a birthday gift too? I see… I thank you! A moment ago I received some well wishes from the Young Master as well. I AM THE LUCKIEST PERSON IN THIS SCHOOL!

Birthday Login Message 2: Human! What are you doing, running around like that…? …Eh, you were searching for me so you could celebrate my birthday? Humph, how unsightly. Fix your disheveled hair. Seriously, this is why humans are so troublesome… I WILL NOT RUN NOR HIDE. COME! CELEBRATE ME WITH ALL YOUR HEART!!!!

Birthday Login Message 3: What, have you come to celebrate my birthday? Hmph, I suppose I should at least thank you for that. …What? You mean to say that in lieu of a gift, you will listen to me talk about my liege for as long as I wish today? Are you pulling my leg…? So you do know how exactly to bring me joy! Now that it’s settled, let us retire to some place where we will be able to sit and relax for a while.

Birthday Login Message 4: …WAAAH!? WHAT’S WITH YOU, HUMAN!? DON’T SHOUT SO LOUDLY IN MY EAR SO SUDDENLY!! I am, of course, grateful for your birthday wishes. However, I can still hear it perfectly well without you raising your voice as such. …What? You only sought to imitate me? Heh, that was a rather exaggerated imitation. How amusing.

Birthday Login Message 5: Am I enjoying my birthday, you ask? Of course I am, today marks the first day of a new year for me! Both Riddle-senpai and Silver advised me to continue my diligent training. I needn’t hear that from them, I plan to grow even more than they expect! Hm? You have a present for me? What’s this… Oh, these are riding socks! Hm, not bad, for a human. I was just thinking of purchasing a new pair, myself. Perfect timing, too, I’ll wear them to equestrian club practice after this. You have my thanks.

Requested by Anonymous.

[etheries1015]

In memory of the Apology Mug Story (and because I walked past a super old building recently; guess what it had on the facade)

Reader who knows how to carve rocks into specific forms and is very skilled in it makes Malleus a gargoyle for his birthday. He's so happy he ends up accidentally confessing his love to them.

Bonus points if that was Lilia's idea because he got tired of seeing them dance around each other and wanted things to happen already

This is really cute <3 for those who aren't certain what the apology mug story is; the link to that is Here!

A special birthday present for our favorite draconic prince <3

Being in Ramshackle with a limited amount of entertainment (being unable to afford many electronics) you had to resort to other forms of entertainment. Reading, cooking, sewing, board games, long walks outside, musical instruments, and your most recent of endeavors; rock carving. You had learned a few things here and there from Malleus, he was an avid crafter of gargoyles within his club and was more than happy to teach you a thing or two. Although most of your attempts seemed to fail in his eyes, you were actually secretly incredibly skilled at this. You were leaving your skills to set up a surprise present for the fae for his birthday; January 18th.

It wasn't hard to figure out what you were planning on doing for his birthday, Malleus was incredibly easy to read. Although money was scarce for you, using your skills to handmake something would be much more worth receiving than any amount of money could pay for. At least, that's what Malleus had said when you inquired what he would like at his celebration.

"A present is not necessary," He told you with a graceful smile, "Bring yourself, and your smile. That is enough for me." ...you were not going to take that as the final verdict, thus began your journey to create a gift he was surely going to enjoy.

His birthday came upon you, and your gift was finally completed. You did not hesitate to rush over to Diasomnia for the celebration, bringing over two things; A homemade ice cream cake, and your gift box. The cake was pretty much the start of Malleus's excitement, ice cream cakes exist?! It wasn't common in Twisted Wonderland much to your surprise, so sharing your handmade cake with his enjoyment of icecream implemented already sent him over the moon. The joy that was written all over his face was the easiest text to read, soon pouring out of his mouth in a theatric novel after unwrapping his second gift from you- two gargoyles. They were miniature and made for décor less than actual function, however, his excitement seemed to explode off the tip of his tongue.

His bright green eyes were sparkling, his mouth ajar, and a blush painted across his pale cheeks.

"It's us! See, one has your horns and the other-" Malleus immediately wrapped you into his embrace, much to the protest of Sebek nearby, yet the smiles of amusement of Silver and Lilia quickly hushed the student. It seemingly seemed the words held inside had burst at the seams, and Malleus had begun setting free the things he had been eager to share for some time now.

"I am in pure infatuation with you," Malleus blurted out, "I have not received a gift so heartfelt and beautiful," it almost sounded like he was holding back tears of happiness.

"Two gargoyles representing you and I, shall I take this as a declaration that you wish to be my pair?" He did not await your response, the tall fae was already shooting off at the mouth. "I reciprocate. Your beautiful craftmanship will forever be my treasure, next to you, of course." You could not hide the clear redness from your face, and the dumb smile that planted permanently at his sudden confession.

"it's about time!" Lilia laughed, "Now, let us celebrate not only our prince's birthday but also the union between these two lovebirds!" Malleus pulled away from the hug and smiled again at the gargoyles you intricately designed, turning to face his dormmates.

"Yes, let us resume the festivities. We shall celebrate all night long, this will be a birthday well worth remembering. Come now, my dearest." Setting down the Gargoyles in a safe place, he grabbed hold of your hand dragging you into the joyful celebration <3

Happy birthday, Malleus!!

[crsssie]

i'd stay, cancel my flights, change everything just to be in your life

word count: 11.3k

summary: parallel lines holding hands, side by side til the end of time

"You're leaving?" You raise a brow, watching as Leon, sweet 21-year-old Leon, pulls his suitcases to the door with all the boxes of his things.

"I have to." He frowns. "You won't move to Raccoon with me, and it's—"

"Landlines cost a fortune to use. I know." You close your eyes. "Will you write to me?"

"I can try." He doesn't dare to look you in the eye. You know he doesn't want to leave. He knows he shouldn't just break up with you like this. Is this the end of your relationship? All because the two of you refuse to do things to stay together? Is this selfishness... or is it something else? Did Leon ever really truly love you?

"Trying is too much. If we're truly meant to be, may we cross paths in the future once more." You hum. "I'll help you move the boxes."

"Will you visit?"

"Depends if you invite me." You crack only the lightest of jokes, boxes put into the back of his car as he closes the trunk with a thud, fiddling with his fingers as he looks at you.

"I guess this is goodbye?"

"May our paths cross again." You hold your hand out, and Leon pulls you in instead, arms wrapped around your waist as he squeezes, heart racing painfully against his chest.

He doesn't like that he has to make this decision.

"I'll see you again, I promise." He mumbles.

You watch Leon Kennedy drive into the sunset, stuck staring from your place in the suburbs as his car eventually loses itself in the light. You wonder if that is a sign of something. Is it possible to blind yourself from the light? Is it dooming to force oneself into the sun? May his wings not burn off, you decide. No matter how far, you hope that he will be kept safe. That is all that matters to you. And when he is inevitably too close to the sun one day, may the embrace of the stars catch him and hold him close. The sun is a star, after all.

Yet, the sun gives warmth to life, and when you're stuck staring at the two lines on the test, you think the sun has burned you for getting too close.

You only ever receive one letter from Leon the entire time the two of you are apart.

Signed two days after his new beginning, delivered five days after the destruction of Raccoon City, you are given all of the details of what had occurred during the time that Leon had been in that place.

Don't come find me, as I no longer hope our paths cross ever again

Heed my words, LSK

You decide to do what Leon knew you did best. The story of Raccoon City is turned into a bestseller, people crowding to read more about what your mind could conjure about the mystery of Raccoon City on the news, desperate to get some sort of twisted release. You do not heed Leon's words. You do not answer to the desperate public. Instead, you disappear after the release of the novel. You're sure that Leon's more than happy to see you disappear from the public as he had instructed you to do so. You would become a thorn in his side�� or something. You're not quite sure. Do you care all that much? You wish you could say no. You know nothing more than the fact that Leon survived. However, from the fact that he knew so much, you can only assume that he ended up working somewhere in the twisted political system. Perhaps not politics... perhaps government.

Your daughter is born, a sweet girl that you decide should take your last name instead of his. It is a curse, that last name of his. His sweet girl should not have to deal with everything that comes with being of his blood. Your sweet girl belongs to you rather than to him. She will be raised and loved and cherished until she knows that it is not worth it to throw your life away simply because you have fallen in love with someone. She will be the new light in your life, and you will choose to bring joy to her life to the best of your ability.

When you catch Leon at 27 on the news after saving the president's daughter from Spain, you do not feel anything.

You hope not to feel something. Are you supposed to feel something? Is there anything left to feel for a man who has not been part of your life for over 6 years? It would be pathetic to mourn over what could have been. It is truly not your problem. You do not get the luxury of being in his life anymore. Perhaps, he did not want the luxury of being in yours. "I no longer hope our paths cross ever again." Are you supposed to just move on? Leon, the man that you are.

Your daughter asks you how work was when you pick her up from elementary school, and you tell her that you had caught a government agent returning home after a particularly hard mission. She asks you if you have a story to tell her, so you tell her the story of how you met Leon, his youth and yours entwined as you promised to stay together until the stars in the sky burned out, but you don't tell her that it was her dad. You tell her that it was a story you heard from a friend because you would rather bear the guilt of lying to her than let her know that her parents were cowards — that you were a coward.

At 28, you catch a glance of Leon in the window of a coffee shop in the capital, eyes meeting his for a second before he turns away first and decides that you are not worth the time.

It hurts more than you'd like to admit.

Instead, you continue on your way to your interview, wondering if you should just ditch now that you are aware that your blind guess had been correct. Leon Scott Kennedy was in the capital of the country, and you would be stuck in the vicinity of him at all times if you took the job. Though, you really can't pass up on such good pay. What right do you have to complain if you receive a pay far better than anything else? Who are you in a capitalistic system that will inevitably drive you to ruin one day?

You wonder why there are so many rhetorical questions that spin in your mind.

Yet, you stay in the capital because you know it is better to move on face to face than to mull over the shadow of what it could have been.

What use is a hypothetical in the face of reality?

Besides, it mattered more than you had a child to feed.

When Leon is 35 (you're still counting), the two of you meet at a press conference. You stare at him and he stares at you, and the two of you exchange a nod before you both go your own ways. You are here to help someone just as he is — only in different ways. Leon is to serve with his body, and you are to serve with your mind. What difference does it make if you both are serving someone in the end? What difference does it make if it's the body or the mind? Can you truly say that the two of you are different at all?

You wonder if Leon is truly healing when he looks so distraught over something. Perhaps he's busy with whatever the government is tasking him with. If he's by the president's side, then surely he's someone of higher ranking now. You think it's been a long time since you've seen his face properly. Age has wrecked through his body, fine lines in the corners of his eyes and lips, facial hair so much more defined than when you had first met him. Time is ticking, yet you are stuck in place.

Your daughter moves quickly, high school starting as she gets to tell everyone that her mom is a major journalist, at the frontier of covering big issues regarding the rumors that spread around. She treats you like her hero, and for the first time in a while, you let out a sigh in relief that makes your whole body relax. It is as if the tension that you would accidentally let the frustration of raising her alone ruin her life has finally been lifted from your shoulders. You will be alright. No matter how much the two of you would fight, you will be fine because you have survived for so long and you will continue to.

At 38, you watch Leon return after a mission abroad with the rest of the press, staring at the bandages on his cheek, watching as he passes you with a glance, movements never stopping once. You are stuck in place, you think. You are moving at the same pace as Leon when you could be running ahead, and it will inevitably come back to destroy you. What use is there in matching someone's pace when they do not think of you? Are you stuck in place? Will you be stuck here forever? You thought moving to the capital could change things, yet you are back where you began.

The world is moving too fast for you to keep up.

At least someone grounds you.

One day, your flip phone becomes a smartphone, and your cents charged for the landline become a monthly phone plan that you pay at the beginning of the month with your rent and just about everything else. The world is moving on, so why are you stuck in place? Maybe it was you who needed to be caught in the stars and not Leon. Who will catch the moon when it collapses from the sky? What chasing is there if the moon will never see the sun?

What does it take to break a cycle of destruction?

Not much, apparently.

When Leon himself is banging at your door at the crack of midnight, you know better than to open the door, but you do it anyway. If you are to die, then you might as well let it be at his hands.

"I'm sorry." He's gasping for air, on his knees.

Leon Kennedy, a grown man in his forties, kneeling at your open front door.

You wonder if you should just cut it right here.

"Do I—"

"You don't need to." He heaves, breathing heavy as he dares not to look at you. "I'm sorry."

You stare down at him, and you wonder if this is the universe's way of apologizing to you.

"You can crash the couch. If you leave tomorrow morning, then I'll take all of this as a mistake you're making while drunk." You let him in, and you know he'll be gone in the morning.

Leon was not one to go against his own words.

Yet, in the morning, you find yourself staring at Leon as he serves you breakfast, terrified of talking to you or something. It makes you raise a brow, but you thank him as you start on breakfast. He wants to say something. You wonder if he hasn't changed at all since you've last seen him. Maybe somewhere deep down, he's still that rookie who had his first day in a zombie-infested city.

"I really am sorry."

"There's no way you're deciding this now." You don't bother looking at him, sitting down as he hands you a plate of food for breakfast instead. Always an action. Always an act of service in order to remind you that he loves you instead of speaking up. You wonder if you're the one being stubborn in that case. Maybe the reason your relationship went downhill was all because of you. It is always you, you find.

Yet, despite all odds, your daughter is in college now.

"I heard you have a daughter." He laughs dryly, leaning against the kitchen marble as you raise a brow at him.

"Yes. I do."

You stare at Leon as he sucks in a breath, and you refuse to tell him. Even if he asks, you will lie through your teeth to make sure that the wound in your relationship would be severed. You do not understand why he still insists on checking in on you, but as you start eating, you do not complain. If he wishes to drag your severed limbs through the mud, then let him do so. If he would have to exist in your life only to wound you over and over again, then let him do so. If you should exist only to be hurt back because you had hurt him first, then let it be so.

"Is she mine?"

You stare at Leon, and then shake your head.

"Who's the... father?"

"Hookup. I forgot to take the morning after pill." You start at the breakfast, humming quietly as Leon stares at you apprehensively. "You didn't burn the bacon this time."

"That was once." He points.

Yet, you finish the food, watching as Leon still lingers. He stays. You don't know what prompts him to stay, and quite frankly, you're too scared to ask how he managed to get your address, but you keep quiet. You do not want to know. You should not want to know. You aren't someone in his life anymore, so does it really matter if you know or not. Maybe you should let your daughter know that her biological father has decided to crash at your apartment door at two am on a Monday all in the name of apologizing. You're sure that she'd be disappointed after you had told her to never take a man back unless he groveled.

"Why are you really here?" You stare up at Leon as he slides you a mug of tea, and he sighs.

"Wanted to know if Leona was mine. She..."

"Don't delude yourself." You press the mug to your lips, and Leon exhales.

"Do you want the truth?"

"Should've started with that."

"You're on a wanted list of potential conspiracy theorists."

"What the hell?"

"Leaking government secrets... or something. That book you published."

"Ah." You mumble. "All over the book?"

"Too accurate of a retelling. The government didn't cover up the nuking, but they did cover up the zombies, so—"

"So they think I somehow am convincing the masses with the book that there were zombies."

"It's a national security concern."

"Which involves you? I thought the CIA covered that."

"I asked the president personally to be put on the case... didn't wanna fly international again. Also, it was you." He swallows slowly.

"So, if I get caught, you go down with the ship too, huh?" You laugh dryly, sliding him the half of breakfast you didn't touch. "You need to eat too."

You wonder if it mirrors all the times that Leon had been too tired after a day of drills to even respond to you when the two of you had been together, but even then, he had threaded his fingers between yours, telling you to sleep well before he headed off to bed himself. Age or PTSD? You can not imagine the trauma that goes into shaping Leon into who you see before you now. The blonde he used to dye his hair has faded out into a darker color — damaged hair making it a lighter brown rather than the one you had been used to when you first met him. Are you overstepping your boundaries? Is he overstepping your boundaries? You can not tell.

"Old habits die hard, huh?"

"It's been nearly twenty years." You mumble. "They shouldn't be habits anymore."

"Trust me. Some of them are just embedded into your soul." He glances at the door as it rattles, and you pinch the bridge of your nose.

"I'm home." Your daughter, Leona, pauses when she notices the man in the kitchen. "Who's this?"

"Leon Kennedy." You don't give her any more details beyond that, exhaustion written all over your face enough to tell her to save the question for another time. "How was the trip?"

"It was fun. I'll show you photos after I unpack. Hi, Mr. Kennedy."

Leon nods in response.

"Of course, baby. Did you eat yet?"

"I had a bagel in the morning, but I'll need lunch. Did the stuff in the fridge go bad?"

"No. I'll make lunch for us today."

"Thank you, ma."

You smile, waving as she tugs her luggage with her into her room.

"She's the spitting image of me." Leon stares down at you, brows furrowed. "How can she not be mine? Everything matches up."

"I cheated on you with a blonde man with blue eyes before you moved, or something." You half-ass it, standing up as you close your eyes and watch him eat. "What's next? I go to the town hall? I turn myself into the CIA?"

"No, I just need to monitor you regularly. That's it. You've been inactive in terms of writing for years. They just want me to keep you in check." He hums. "They moved me in next door. Let me know if you need anything."

"For how long?"

"Only a couple of months." He nods. "Can I meet Leona sometime?"

You glance at her open door, wondering if you should treat this a little more seriously.

"Make us lunch."

"Hm?"

"Lunch. We can talk about this over lunch. Dinner is too formal." You sigh. "Are you trying to be back in her life?"

"So she is mine." He mumbles. "I had a daughter all this time and you never bothered to tell me?"

"Didn't feel necessary. It would have stirred up too much press. Can you imagine me yelling at you that you have a daughter? The government would go insane. Now, answer my question. Are you trying to involve yourself in her life, or do you just want to introduce yourself to her?"

"You'll let me co-parent her?"

"Leon Scott Kennedy." You seethe. "Answer the fucking question."

"I don't know, but I think introducing myself would be a good start."

You pinch the bridge of your nose. "Shakshuka for brunch."

"Shakshuka?"

"We have the ingredients for it. You're on cooking duty. I trust that you haven't just been living off of store-bought food this whole time."

"No, I picked up cooking recently." He looks up a recipe on his phone, searching for the ingredients in your pantry as you knock on your daughter's door.

"Hm?"

"Leon will join us for brunch. Is that alright?"

"It's fine, ma." She smiles. "I have an idea on what's going to come out just... based off of his face."

"It wasn't to hurt you."

"I know." She nods. "I'll mull over it later when my insomnia hits, but I'll mull over it. I know you didn't do it to hurt me."

You glance at the souvenir she's decided to bring back and raise a brow. "Is that a mug?"

"Isn't it cute?" She grins. "Found it at a local potter's place while there."

"It is." You take it from her, tilting it to get a good look at the colors as she starts explaining the rest of her little trinkets.

"This one's for you." She hands you a mug that looks the same, and you raise a brow at the design.

"XOXO Gossip girl?" You raise a brow. "My coworkers are going to love this."

"Did you call off work today?"

"Yeah. Leon crashed last night, and I told the team that I wasn't able to make it."

"PTO?"

"PTO." You hum. "Thank you for the mug, baby. Did you see anything fun?"

"Met the president's daughter."

"On the trip?"

"Yeah. Our sorority was introducing ex-members, and she was one of them. She brought up how I reminded her of the dude who saved her that one time she got kidnapped... said we shared a name too."

"Ah, is that how?"

"Felt like a strange coincidence more than anything." She places her two bags of trinkets on her desk, and she hands you her mug. "Did you name me after him?"

"Partially. I just wanted you to be brave like your name." You listen to the way that the kitchen hood turns off. "Brunch is ready."

"How long did you date?"

"I'll tell you that after I've had my first glass." You hum. "I need one if you're going to ask me all of these questions."

Leona laughs, lips curled upwards as you take her out with you. She's taller than you, yet she is still your baby. Your sweet child whom you adored so much has grown up so much. The spitting image of her father that you had grown to be thankful for rather than get haunted by in the narrative. Your sweet daughter that you adored.

"Brunch is— oh, you both are already here. Your mother requested shakshuka."

"Oh... it's been all over my Tiktok lately." Your daughter mumbles.

"And I saw some bread, so I toasted some slices." Leon nods. "I figured I should introduce myself. I'm Leon—"

"My father." Your daughter is curt, nodding as Leon takes her hand. "Nice to finally know who you are."

"Trust me, had I known earlier, I would have come running. Your mother is insanely good at keeping secrets."

"Yes, ma has always been like that." Your daughter sits back down to start eating. "What do you work in?"

"Government."

"Like administrative or politics?"

"Security."

"Like FBI or internet?"

"I'd say it's closer to FBI, though, we don't do the same missions. I've been protecting the president lately."

"So like... bodyguard."

"Something like that."

You plate your daughter's food first and then Leon's, and yours last. You watch as your daughter makes small talk with him, surprisingly unbothered by the sudden intrusion of her biological father in her life, getting to know him over brunch. Though, you know your daughter better than anyone. She's not getting to know Leon, she's just making small talk so that Leon lets his guard down around her. You can't say you blame her. It's hard to accept a man who's been missing all of your life as soon as he comes back.

Your daughter turns to you as you hand her the plate. "Can I drink?"

"Careful, Leon can arrest you for that." You bite into your slice of toast, giving her no other answer.

"You let her drink?"

"It's safer to know what her tolerance is than to have her find out on her own. The answer is no, though. Not today, at least. Maybe when Leon isn't here."

"Tough luck, I'll be here pretty often from now on."

"What?" Your daughter raises a brow at you, and you give her a look that can only mean you'll tell her later.

"There won't be a later." Leon hums.

"If you write this in the report I'm going to burn you alive." You grumble. "Mom's under suspicion from the government because of a book I published years ago. A fiction book."

Your daughter raises a brow, and realization strikes her.

"Oh my god, it was true?"

"Leon wrote all of it in a letter to me." You hum. "And yes, it's what Leon does."

"You eradicate zombies? Like The Walking Dead?"

"Well, not as dramatic—" He pauses. "Alright. Sometimes it gets that dramatic, but it's nothing super big. They're moreso mutated biological weapons than zombies—"

"You fight bioweapons for a living. That's huge." Your daughter mumbles. "Do you know the biology behind it all? What are the—"

"Even if I did, I wouldn't be able to tell you. The government would suspect you next."

Your daughter huffs, going back to her egg instead.

"Are you in college? What are you majoring in?"

"Biology. I'm specializing in bioweapons"

"What."

You hold back the laugh that threatens to break onto your face, eating quietly as you watch Leon blink at your daughter twice.

"Biological weapons?"

"More specifically, I study gene mutation. I study how they come to be."

Leon turns to look at you, and you shrug. "Her choice. Whether she uses it for good or bad ultimately depends on her."

"They teach that?"

"GWU does." Your daughter shrugs. "Can I continue unpacking?"

"Of course, baby." You nod. "I'll keep chatting with Leon."

"Thank you for brunch." She nods, heading off.

"You're letting her study something that dangerous?"

"It's not dangerous unless she decides it is." You wipe your mouth, staring at the last egg. "What am I expected to do?"

"Not much." Leon hums. "I just need to report your day-to-day."

"Alright. I'm gonna rot on the couch all day, so you'll have nothing much to do. Is this your job for the next couple of months?"

"Don't worry, you'll have me all—"

"If you say another word, I'm going to shoot myself."

Leon laughs in response.

You find that having Leon around isn't the end of the world. You still exist in your day-to-day life, Leon hanging around your apartment while you're at work and your daughter is in class, and it makes for an interesting icebreaker when people ask how your weekend went. (It isn't "my ex moved next door to me", no, it's "a government agent paid me a visit over the weekend"). Yet, life goes on, and you find that despite your brooding over how the end of the world was coming because Leon had slipped back into your life, it's very much not the case. If anything, Leon sort of just exists in your life.

At the very least, someone cooks for both you and your daughter when you return home.

"What's the menu tonight?" You raise a brow, your daughter coming in after you as she kicks off her slippers.

"Beef stew."

"I'm surprised he knows how to season his food."

You hold back a laugh, sliding your heels off as Leon feigns a look of offense. Your daughter peels her tablet out, settling on the couch as you sit next to her, yawning.

"How was work?"

"Leon, stop acting like we're married." You grumble.

"Yeah, but you like coming home to a home-cooked meal, no?"

"Caught red-handed." You put both your hands up, watching as your daughter does some sort of witchery with her ochem homework. You don't wish it upon anyone, ever. Though, the idea of Leon trying to figure it out does amuse you just a little bit. You decide a short nap would work in your favor, telling the two to wake you up when dinner is ready, eyes closing as your daughter tells you good night.

Good night means you wake up at two am in bed, Leon knocked out on the couch, and just about a hundred question marks floating over your head. You glance at the pot of stew that sits in the fridge and a smaller bowl portioned out for you, and you jump in your skin when you hear Leon move.

"Awake?"

"Yeah." You reach for a can of beer, cracking it open as you sit back on the couch. "Why are you still here?"

"I was going to take you to bed, but I remembered you don't like your outside clothes on in your bed. I can't change you anymore since... yeah." He pauses at the beer. "Drinking on an empty stomach isn't going to feel so good in the morning."

"Wow, how kind of you."

Leon has not forgotten you. You're made aware of that at the very least, eyes still full of a sincerity and warmth that you had grown used to decades ago. It makes you sick to the stomach that you had such an effect on him despite the two of you ending on good terms. It was not good terms. It was surface-level good terms, but both of you had secretly wished the other would say something about sticking together. Both of you are cowards, now that you think about it. He probably would have stayed had you let him know that you were pregnant, but you didn't wish to hold him back. Maybe it was selfish of you.

Yet, you do not regret all that you have done for your daughter.

"I never moved on." Leon speaks slowly, light in the living room dim as you raise a brow at him. "I... I thought about you all these years, and—"

"If you're staying back to tell me all of this useless stuff, I don't see a point in you staying back."

"You're not ready for this conversation?"

"Leon," You glare at him. "This isn't a conversation we should be having at all. Our feelings mean nothing now. You're here to monitor me casually, nothing else. Imagine if the government found out that you were being so lacking on the job."

You watch as Leon's voice gets caught in his throat.

"We're too old for this."

"We aren't." He tries.

"We are." You leave it at that, shaking your bottle as you realize it's half empty. "Leon, we're in our forties and both have jobs—"

"You can't just say shit like that to hurt me!"

"Keep your voice down. Leona's a light sleeper." You grumble. "It's fine. Let's just end it at that."

Leon stays quiet, and the look behind his eyes tells you more than enough that he wants to continue the conversation, but he learns to keep quiet. It feels the same as before. It was always petty squabbles that could be fixed the morning after once you've cooled down, but you don't want to. It's a conversation you refuse to have with Leon. It's a conversation that's been rotting in the display case of your heart — something you refuse to let go of all because it would feel foreign. You're selfish, you find. You used to care for Leon's heart as your own, but the rotting has consumed your heart and mind. Maybe you will only hurt him if you stay close.

"Morning." Leon hands you your cup of tea and your daughter her flask of water, waving to her as she rushes off for her 8am.

"Morning." You press the mug to your lips.

"Ready to talk about it?"

"I told you the conversation was over." You hum, turning to stare at the clock. "I have work in an hour and a half."

"We should get breakfast by your workplace."

"Sure, mister bodyguard." You mumble. "Didn't feel like cooking?"

"You need to diffuse."

"I'm very good at separating personal life and my work life." You hum. "You're paying."

"Yeah, yeah." He grabs his jacket from the rack as you hit the button to lock the door, clicking on your phone as you start the security system.

"You driving?"

"I'd have to pick you up from work, no?"

"Leon... I take public transport to work. Leona uses the car."

"Oh." He pauses. "... I have a bike?"

You raise a brow.

When Leon said bike, you were expecting more of a... bike bike rather than a motorbike, and as Leon steps on the gas and you're chanting quiet prayers in your mind to stay alive, something feels all too foreign yet familiar. Leon wanted to get a motorbike when the two of you had first started dating years ago, so to be able to see Leon have his own and drive safely was interesting. You are watching him grow. He has changed in little parts of his life. It is comforting to know that the pace you had been matching was moving at the very least. Perhaps you can not see how far you've come if no one can show you how far you've gone.

"Ugh, my hair." You huff, fixing your hair as Leon pays for parking.

"Is this a date?"

"If you somehow remember my order." You brush at the loose strands, following behind Leon as he guides you around the uneven pavement. You wonder if you'll bump into someone you know. It's a popular brunch place even for government workers. You follow Leon in, blinking as somehow a table clears up and the two of you are seated. It makes you raise a brow, but you don't think too much, looking at your emails as he orders for the two of you. You wonder how much of you he does remember.

When one of your coworkers comes up and asks you who you're with, you glance at Leon and tell the guy that it's your neighbor. He was plenty of trouble already, and as Leon raises a brow at the man that only means trouble, you worry for the poor guy's health. Leon's going to decimate this guy, even if it's unintentional. You can only hope he doesn't go around telling everyone you're hooking up with your ex again. Though, it's not like they knew you had an ex. You could play everything off. Perhaps this was the curse of working in journalism with men whose temper breaks at the slightest aggravation.

"If you're just neighbors, then this should be fine, right? What, you won't date me because your daughter's still young? She's an adult now. You should be honored that—"

"Hey, man, I wouldn't go that way if I was you." Leon raises a brow at the man, and your coworker raises a brow.

"Shut it, neighbor."

"The father of her child begs to differ."

That's all it takes to shut up your coworker, his face red as he storms off, and you grin into your palm, eyes meeting Leon's as he hums.

"Didn't even need to pull out the badge."

"Now, that would have been a power move." You thank the waiter as the food comes and eat. "You keep it on you?"

"Required at all times. It's helpful when out, definitely." He glances at the food. "Will you have leftovers?"

"Definitely. Can you take them back for me?"

"Of course."

When you arrive at the company, you're bombarded with questions — unsurprising considering everyone here is an investigative journalist of some kind, and you wave all of them off. You don't want to talk about it. He is the father of your daughter. That's all. He's not someone you're allowed to love anymore, and you should leave it at that. It won't just take a handful of months for him to somehow get you back. It would have to take more than that. No one pries further when they notice you refuse to budge. Perhaps time would tell.

When you return, you note your daughter's text about staying over at a friend's place and step home.

"Where's Leona?"

"Out with her best friend." You hum. "House is just me for the week. Don't try anything funny, though."

"Do you still have the old photobook?"

"Of before we broke up?" You raise a brow, pulling out another can from the fridge.

"Can I get one?" He thanks you as he catches it, nodding to your question.

"Yeah. It's somewhere in the study's cardboard boxes. Why?"

"Wanted to look over them."

"Well, haven't you grown sentimental?" You crack open the bottle, holding it out to clink bottles with him, pressing the drink to your lips as you hum.

"Maybe I just miss you."

"I'm right here."

"Sometimes I worry you aren't."

You laugh in response, brows knitting and resembling a sneer, but it isn't malicious. It's the same smile that Leon knew you put on when you were annoyed that someone had read you like an open book. It wasn't fair. Leon hadn't moved either, and the two of you had been stuck matching pacing in life only to stay exactly where the two of you had started. It wasn't fair. It was never fair. Were you stuck where you began all because you had been fixated on your past? Unfair. It was unfair.

Leon stares at the can in his hand, sighing.

"What's wrong now?"

"I should have looked for you earlier." He mumbles, grimacing at the taste of the alcohol on his tongue. "I should have known."

"I didn't expect you to."

"You had been nauseous the days leading up to my departure."

"And? I kept her from you."

"It was not your fault. I left you with no way to contact me." He mumbles. "I should've... worried about her instead of someone else."

"It's not your fault. You didn't start the outbreak, and you didn't choose to join the government."

"How did you know that?" He turns to look at you, and you hum. "Despite our cutting news, we also take bribes. One of the first archival information I was given was that you had been forced into your position because of your stellar behavior in Raccoon City. They threatened you with that other girl.,, Sherry, was it?"

Leon grimaces. "I ended up seeing her so little because of my position."

"It wasn't your fault." You tap the rim of the can, blinking slowly as Leon meets eyes with you.

"You haunt my world."

"Good to know." You swallow slowly, staring at Leon as he meets eyes with you. You wonder if he's actually drunk or just taking the opportunity to be honest with you. Regardless, you appreciate the attempted honesty. Shall you bait him? Tear your soul bare all for him to look at you and touch your heart all over again? Shall you present yourself bare to the bone to Leon so he could feel that you were finally being honest with him? How unkind of you — to think that way.

"Leon, did you love me?"

"I don't think love could even begin to describe how much I adored you." He runs his hand through his hair, laughing as he takes another drink. "I couldn't sleep without you for months after I left."

"Really?" You think back to all the nights you had woken up in need to empty out your stomach, grimacing at the memory. "But you moved on, no?"

"Hm?" Leon turns to look at you completely now, eyes going half-lidded as you get the idea. "No, sweetheart. I never did."

"I guess those shitty bedroom eyes you give me when you want something hasn't either. Couch is all yours. I'm locking the door tonight."

"I love you." Leon manages, swallowing as he stumbles out of the chair, reaching for your wrist as he ends up on his knees again. "Fuck, I'd rather die than live without you again. I'm already here begging for you — what, what else do I need to do? I'll—"

"Leon." You stare down at him, brows furrowed as you seem to remember this scene all too well. "We're both adults with jobs—"

"With a daughter." He swallows. "We're parents too, you know? We're also our own people. Why do you keep stopping me from making choices to put you first?"

"You work for the government. As much as I despise it, you keep all of us safe." You mumble. "Let's talk in the morning if you remember anything about this conversation at all."

"I'm not drunk." He mumbles, and you drag him back to the ouch, helping him get comfortable as you stare down at his closed eyes.

You've hurt the two of you more than enough, you think.

You check your daughter's location, fingers clicking on your keyboard as you wonder if you should take a trip out too. It had been a while since you've actually taken paid vacations and not sick days. You wonder if you'd get your ass kicked if you just decided to take PTO off a day in advance, but considering the lack of news going around lately, it wouldn't be impossible.

A break. You need a break to collect yourself.

So, you leave Leon a note, refusing to diffuse too quickly out of a fear that you'll snap, and you call the head office right first thing in the morning to let them know that you'll be taking two weeks off for personal reasons. You assure them anything left to you will be handed in on time, just... you wouldn't be able to make it to the office. It's not PTO, the more that you think about it. You're really just working remotely.

You leave in the morning with a suitcase, ticket booked for the middle of nowhere. Anywhere but home, you decide. It is not that home is where your belongings are. Your home is where your heart is, and for a long, long time, it has been with Leon. You can not recall a moment in which he hasn't been the place your heart was, but you wonder if it was possible that at some point, your heart had just shattered and broke in your chest instead of staying with him.

You step out onto the sunny beach houses of your company's private island given as a bribe and think you're in utter bliss. Though, the story that would have sold was worth a couple million dollars, you guess. You don't care at that point. It had been a long time since you had last taken a while off for the sake of your body. You draft things to discuss when you get back. You're sure Leon will probably find you somehow, but it really isn't your problem. Until you're nice and warm from the inside out under the sun, it is not something you'll care about.

You should probably have a talk with Leona once the two of you return as well.

Your days on vacation are nice, sand in your toes and drink in your hand as you abuse company privileges, checking your phone to like your daughter's photos as she sends you updates about her day. You're glad Leon doesn't have your number (though you're sure that he could get it if he really wanted it). You trust that he lacks in nothing when it comes to stalking you down.

Which is inevitably true when Leon finds himself on the same island, texting Ashley a thanks as he steps up to your beach chair, covering you from the sun as you stare up.

"Took you long enough."

"Still haven't changed that awful habit of yours, huh? Running away when you need to have a conversation?" He takes a step back, taking a seat on the beach chair next to you.

"It took you a while this time."

"Yeah, well, it isn't exactly the small town bar we used to visit, no? I can't believe your third place has become a private island only certain government workers can get into."

"Yeah, but you're here, no?" You sit up, taking your sunglasses off. "Let's talk."

"I'm sorry."

"I still don't understand why you're apologizing if there's nothing to apologize for."

"I feel guilty that I left."

"We weren't in a place where we could decide where we wanted to go." You pause. "The child would have slowed you down. Leona's great, but if I told you that you had a daughter, you would have left everything behind just to return. I did not want to tear that away from you."

"I—"

"You couldn't have raised a child with your job." You hum. "I don't despise you for it."

"And then? Did you love me at all? You never let me decide what I wanted and didn't want to do." He grimaces. "I would've put you two first. You know that. I loved you even while I should not have. You should know better than anyone that I would have been hung up over you. You can not replace my first love in my heart and then not tell me about Leona."

"It's unfortunate I did, then."

"I... still love you." He mumbles. "It's fine if it's not mutual, but please don't cut me out of your life again. Let me make the choices this time. We're both at an age where we can."

You finally look at Leon, and you sigh. "I won't stop you, but do not expect anything back from me."

"I won't."

You wonder if you should fear getting used to being taken care of by Leon. You play cards with him by the pool, drink with him at the bar, lie with him under the warm sun, and you wonder if you've gone back in time for a moment. Is this it? Is that it? Is that all there is to this? Is all it took a sincere apology from him? You feel like you should apologize as well, but there's just something stuck in your throat whenever you try and bring it up.

"Hey, Leon, did you ever hate me?" You glance at the wine in your glass, and Leon raises a brow from the hotel room. You wonder when the two of you had become close enough to share a room again. Is this some weird form of being roommates? You're too old for this, you think. You're far too old to be having a moment like this.

"No. Well, I was hurt when you told me to leave, but I never hated you." He hums.

"Good, since I feel like I still owe you an apology and all that." You mumble. "Sorry for forcing choices upon you. I just... I always feel like you can do better."

"Oh, honey, you are better." He mumbles, raising a brow at you from his bed as you frown.

"Sure, but I'm still sorry for being a terrible person." You mutter. "I can't guarantee anything from your efforts, but I appreciate you a lot."

Leon raises a brow at your words, but he doesn't speak up.

"Anyways. Maybe I'm just some control freak who needs to know everything that's going on like some maniac." You tuck your legs under your chin, staring out at the ocean as Leon seems to remember something. You don't know what, but you feel too vulnerable to find out, opting to stay in place and blink instead. The waves crash against the sand gently, and even when the lights are turned off and you're stuck in bed, you wonder if something's wrong. There's always something wrong.

You step out of the room, stepping on the beach as you wrap the robe around you tighter. The waves are higher now, and as you dip your feet in the cold water, you wonder what it'd be like to float off into the distance. Right. right. No, you have a daughter who would ruin her life in order to fix yours. You wonder how you managed to raise her to be the way she is without a father in the house. Maybe you sold your soul in order to do that.

The waves eat at your ankles, night breeze rustling your hair, goosebumps snaking up your calves as you continue staring into the distance. You don't know. You wonder if you could just keep playing stupid and not knowing. It had worked until Leon stumbled back into your life. Well, stumbled would be the wrong word. He kind of... crashed into your life again. You still wonder if his mission was truly a mission. He was always the type to make harmless jokes when it came to you.

It probably isn't. You saw him working on his laptop before you tucked yourself in.

"You're up." Leon's voice emerges from behind you, and you take a step back to turn.

"Yes." You hum.

"Couldn't sleep?"

"No." You close your eyes as the wind blows again.

"What's wrong?"

"A lot." You mumble. "Though, not much of it is my choice. I'm wondering if I can just go back to playing stupid."

"You should see a therapist." Leon cracks a smile. "Mine's pretty good."

"No wonder you've changed so much." You sport the same smile, stepping out of the water back into the sand. "Let's go back."

"Will you be able to sleep?"

"Time will tell."

You aren't able to, but at the very least you catch three hours of rest before you emerge from bed with bedhead you hadn't seen since your youth. Leon laughs as he brings you breakfast, and you sigh, raking your hands through your hair.

"How's Leona?"

"I think she went to Amsterdam or something."

"How are you sustaining her lifestyle?"

"I know this is hard to believe, but our company actually pays a livable wage for all of us since we know too much. The government has compensation for our work too. We're basically entangled with the government at this point."

"And you don't pay for your life?"

"No bad sides. I don't know which senators and people of the cabinet decided to bomb the city. I just know it was bombed. It's why you received such a vague order."

Leon puts your breakfast down by your legs.

"Thank you." You hum. "How'd you sleep?"

The look on Leon's face implies something along the lines of getting the best rest in a while.

"That's good." You start at breakfast, staring at the lower tides before glancing at Leon. "Did we ever go on a beach date? I forgot."

"Us and what beach? We were landlocked."

"True, huh." You think to yourself, eating absentmindedly as Leon changes in the bathroom. You glance at the robe on yourself, and you wonder if you should just go naked or something. No, you'd probably get sniped or something. Shorts it is.

You place the tray on the table as you finish, wiping your mouth when Leon steps out of the bathroom.

"Wowwwww..." You grin. "Stay in shape, Agent Kennedy?"

"Government-mandated." He chuckles. "When do you go back?"

"In like, two days. You gonna catch a flight back with me?"

"How else am I going to get back?"

"Not sure." You hum. "Maybe swimming?"

"On an island in the middle of the Atlantic? Tough luck." He hums.

Leon settles back into your life after that. You wonder if this would categorize as co-parenting or being roommates, but you don't put a label to anything. It's not worth the time and effort. The PTO was good for your soul, but you return to being a corporate slave in the end anyway. Only, you wish Leon would stop stirring up more trouble when picking you up downstairs at your office each day. Would it kill him to be a little more secretive? Well, not like you told him about it. You used to like it when he did that while dating.

"You got me flowers?" You raise a brow, taking them from him as he nods.

"How was work?"

"It was fine. If you think this is all it takes to win me back, though? Not happening." You glance at the flowers. "Though, thank you for the flowers."

You're sure your coworkers are going insane over this. You don't know how long you had been single when most of your coworkers had gotten married and hitched. It really wasn't something on your mind after having Leona. So, for you to be going through the whole courtship thing again from Leon was a little strange. Well, not that you mind being pampered.

"Are you driving us home?" You raise a brow.

"I promise not to crash." He shows you the car keys, and you sigh. Well, if you die, you die.

You yawn as you get on behind him, arms wrapping around his waist as he takes you home. You wonder if Leona's home by now. She's probably unpacking again. You're not really surprised when you get home and she has her stuff sprawled out in the living room. Well, as long as it's not hurting anyone.

"What's this?" You pick up a keychain with a rabbit. "Miffy?"

"Miffy! The Dutch rabbit that Japan loves." Your daughter hums. "Isn't she cute?"

"Yes, she is." You hum. "Should I..."

"Don't check my credit card statement, please." She mumbles. "I've made some bad decisions."

"As long as you can pay it off." Your brows furrow as you contemplate. "Yeah, as long as you won't end up in debt."

She gives you a thumbs up. "You can have the one you picked up. There should be another one in blue for Leon."

"You got him something?"

"Appreciate it." He picks up the keychain, glancing at the doll. "The agents are about to have a field day when they see this keychain."

"Too out of character?"

"No, last time I had a keychain was in Spain." He hums. "I ended up giving it to Ashley."

"She still uses it." Leona speaks up. "I was out with her this time."

"When the hell did you get so close to the ex-president's daughter?"

"When I went on my sorority trip. She liked me a lot since I look so much like Leon."

"When are you going to start calling me dad?"

"Never." Leona deadpans. "You've been missing all my life. Don't push your luck."

Leon pouts, squeezing the keychain gently to calm himself.

"Yeah, she flew me over. She's great. Saw her texting Leon on the trip, though. You wanna explain that?"

"I was looking for your mom." Leon hums.

"Oh, the flowers." You remember, kicking your shoes off as you rest them on the counter.

"Yeah, I told her you're my biological dad and she told me about some agent you were flirting with in Spain."

"Not a government agent." He clears up. "She's someone I met in Raccoon City."

"Kissed?"

He grimaces as your daughter takes it as a yes. "If you cheat on mom, I'm going to ruin your life."

"How?"

"You'd be surprised how many senator's children go to my uni. Stay keen, and don't be an ass."

Leon settles into a schedule of picking you up after work, a different trinket in hand each time he picks you up, and you always take it, placing it in a box in the living room, the three of you eating together for dinner. You wonder if Leona has ever considered having a dad. Maybe she gave up a long time ago when you explained to her that her dad was someone in your past. Well, that statement sure came to bite you in the ass. He's not so much of someone in the past now, is he? You wonder if Leona would have something to say if you were to start with Leon again.

Yet, you don't tell her what happened on the island for the time being, her busy with her studies before the start of summer. So, instead of calling her and keeping her up, you let her tend to her own watching as she grumbled over all-nighters and classwork that wasn't ending. Despite her running around for her break, she wasn't gonna be able to run from her finals.

"Can you lobby so my professors get fired and I have no exam?"

"Tough luck, baby." You laugh. "I'm not in that line of business."

"I am, though." Leon hums. "Who do you need gone?"

"Leon." You warn. "No."

"His name's—"

You sigh as the two of them get into hypotheticals about taking out her professor with a sniper rifle, and you wonder where Leona had learned all of that. Though, from the stuff you had seen on the shared desktop before she got her own laptop, you think you know. It's whatever... it was probably from Twitter or one of her fanfictions. You wonder if the unrestricted internet access as a teenager was worth it — well, not your problem. She's gotten off boyfriend-free and kid-free so it's fine. There are worse things that could happen.

You wonder how much more help Leon could have been when she was going through that fic writing phase of her in middle school. You're sure all that knowledge of weapons could have helped her a lot. Well, not that you mind it anymore. It's nice to see the two of them get along. She is her father's daughter, after all. It makes you wonder if this could have happened under different circumstances. Well, what point is there in moping over a universe that isn't yours?

"What's for dinner?"

"I made a reservation for a place." Leon hums. "It's pretty basic so you wouldn't need to dress up."

"Well, if anything, you'd be the one who needs to dress up." You raise a brow at Leon as he glances at the two of you, nodding slowly.

"It's just a family restaurant that gets busy around this time." He stares at his t-shirt and jeans.

"You know, Leon." Leona raises a brow. "I'm sure you don't just wear this while on duty. What do you wear normally?"

"It depends on the occasion. Most of the time it's a suit."

"Government agents in suits is crazy." You mumble. "And when you're out on a mission?"

"It's typically some sort of body armor and a compression shirt with cargo pants and combat boots."

"What brand does the government use?"

"There's a variety of suppliers, but the material stays the same. We aren't just sponsored by one."

"Democracy, or something." You hum. "What time is dinner?"

You wonder if Leona has ever entertained the idea of having a dad in her life. She had been adamant about letting you know as a teenager that she didn't care if she had no dad as long as you wouldn't disappear or just die, but you had a feeling that she had just lied at the time to make you feel better. Well, she had grown up without a dad, so it wasn't super surprising that she had ever wondered what it would feel like to have one. You wonder if you should have just dated, but there was no way you'd be able to with such a young child. Maybe you shouldn't have—

"Whatcha thinkin' bout?"

You space back in, striking the hammer one last time as the tent is set up properly. The insulation is set up thanks to Leona, and you start the grill outside in the camping zone. The stars are starting to show, and the moon sits high in the sky as you grill the meat. Leona refreshes for her grades, chewing on her bottom lip as you serve her dinner. She only lets out a sigh in relief when her grades all come back as normal.

"You alright?"

"My GPA will live." She huffs. "Thanks for dinner."

"Of course."

"It's been a while since we've done this." Leona stares up at the stars in the forest as you crack open a can of beer for the two of you. "Is this about Leon?"

"You don't need to call him that." You hum. "I thought I'd get your opinion. I'm your mom just as much as I am my own person."

"I'm fine with it." Leona hums. "You've... I don't know. You've grown softer since he's joined us. Ugh, I'm not good at this like you are."

You laugh, adjusting the blanket on her as you turn to face her.

"You won't be mad?"

"No. It'd be... nice to experience having a dad. officially. I can't lie and say I've never once wondered what it's like to have a dad." Leona huffs. "Though, please let me punch him at least once when he officially asks you out."

"In the face?"

"I might break my fist, but hey, at least I broke his nose."

You wonder what universe you saved in a past life to deserve a daughter like this. Though, not that you complain of it. Leona lets out a sigh in relief when her grades come out unscathed, and you press the can to your lips as she catches you up on what was going on. Sorority drama sounds like a lot to you, but Leona handles it all just fine. She likes it there, and while the people around her have their flaws, you're glad she can see past most of them. At least she knows how to stay sane.

You can tell Leon's trying. He spends less time on his laptop at night, typing less and less details on your day-to-day life before it completely is voided, and when you try and ask, he tells you the mission is over. You wonder if that means he'll go back to his work clothes. Yet, for some reason he stays in the apartment next door, taking you to work each morning as he insists it's "on the way" (it's not). He always takes you back with flowers, your coworkers getting unbearable to a certain degree as they pry into your day-to-day life. You tell them that he's just trying to court you.

"Water," Leon hands Leona her bottle as she waves goodbye, handing you your bag as you follow after her while doing your hair. You stare at the mirror by the door, smoothing it out as you blink at Leon's crooked tie.

"Tie." You don't think, fingers sliding under Leon's tie as you unravel it, tying it properly as he holds his breath, daring not to move as your fingers smooth over the clothes, patting his chest as you turn back around you make sure your hair is fine. Leon tries to calm his racing heart as the two of you step into his car, his heart beating so hard he's sure he could throw up on command. Intimate. Too intimate. You can feel it too. The last time you had done that was when the two of you were young. Much younger. The racing heart makes Leon think that the two of you really haven't changed all that much.

"Have fun at work."

"Thank you." You step out of the car, waving as Leon watches you enter the building before driving off.

You calm your racing heart, ears ringing all the way to your floor as you exhale. Habit. You hadn't done it for Leon in such a long time, but the familiarity of reaching for his crooked tie and fixing it was like second nature to you. Maybe you haven't changed. Maybe neither of you changed, and at the rate that things were going, you think it's fine that neither of you has outpaced the other. The two of you are parallel lines, holding hands all the way as the two of you move through life. It's fine. You're fine. You'll be fine.

Leon picks you up after work like he always does. You stare out the window the whole time, silence pooling in the car as you think. You think too much while you think less and less these days. What are you doing here? Why are you here? Is the only thing stopping you from dating him your own flaws? Why are you letting them get in the way when you could be peeling back your skin and laying bare to him? He won't hurt you, you know that much.

You know what comes next. You have the feeling, you always do. You know that at one point Leon's going to try and confess to you, and you wonder if he could possibly outdo himself from last time. You wonder if he'll show up with flowers and a teddy bear to your apartment like he did the first time. You wonder if you could skip the formality and just confess to him first. It would be funny and catch him off guard, you think. When you spot your favorite for dinner, you think you will.

"Leona's gonna have dinner with friends." You sit down, thanking him as he hands you a plate.

"I know. She texted."

"Mhm." You wait for him to sit down before eating, lips curled upwards as you grin. "Leon, will you go out with me again?"

He's caught off guard, fumbling with his fork as he blinks at you. "Pardon?"

"Will you go out with me again? I have a lot of flaws, but—"

"Yes! Yes. Oh, my god. Yes." Leon blurts. "I was supposed to confess first, my god. I feel like this is our first date all over again— I'm still in love with you despite everything, and I'm begging you for the chance to date you again on a clean slate. This time, we both make our own decisions without regrets, and we talk it out when we have disputes. This time, I won't leave no matter what, and if I need to leave, I bring you with me. Please go out with me— I will kneel and beg."

"There has got to be a better way to say that." You laugh, watching as Leon slides out of his seat to grab something behind the counter for you. "And if I say no?"

"I imitate the meme that Ashley's been sending me with the text messages and fall on my knees and beg."

"Sounds really tempting..." You tap your chin. Leon grabs your hands, frowning at you gently as you reach up instinctually to smooth out the crease between his brows. "I was kidding. Please treat me well."

"I'll make sure you never need to think again." He mumbles, pressing your fingers to his lips as you hum. "Please accept the flowers."

"Will you get me flowers once a week?"

"I'll make sure you never have to lift a finger to do housework. I'll retire for you."

"Are you really sure you'll be allowed to do that?"

"As long as the president orders it." He mumbles. "I'll just say I can't work anymore and fake a doctor's order."

You laugh, raising a brow. "You'll do that for me?"

"And much more." He mumbles, lowering his head into your lap. "As long as you give me the chance."

"Then be sure to hold on."

"Forever and ever, always."

The door to the apartment clicks open, and Leona stares at the second bouquet on the living room table.

"Ma?"

You nod.

"Leon, how sturdy are you?" Leona raises a brow, tossing her backpack to the side and ditching her jacket.

"I'm mostly muscle. Why?"

"Leona's gonna swing at you, give her a second." You take a step back with the flowers, Leona winding up her arm as Leon blinks. "No, you're not allowed to dodge. Think of it as playful fighting. It's to welcome you into the family."

"Please be gentle. I've seen your arm muscles, and there's a high chance it'll bruise or kill me." Leon clenches his jaw, wincing as Leona lands a hit on his cheek, sound making the two of you blink. Leon rubs his jaw, laughing as he winces.

"Sorry, dad. Had to do it." She grins, shaking her hand as the words punch Leon a second time.

"Say that again."

"Hm? Sorry?"

"No, you called me dad."

You hide behind the flowers as you laugh, watching as Leon grabs Leona by the shoulders and beams.

"Say it again."

"Alright, old man. You're pushing your luck now." She rolls her eyes, kicking her shoes off and falling back onto the couch to escape his grasp. "We've got plenty of time. Also, you're paying for my tuition now."

"Oh my god, I'm a dad."

You squat to the ground as you laugh, back shaking as Leon stands there, dazed.

Leona takes the chance to slip away, and as the living room fills with your laughter, you think it'll be fine.

[agustdiv1ne]

❦°｡9:51 p.m. (m) — choi soobin

genre: dark content, mdni!!! ageless blogs dni!!!! serial killer!soobin, fem!potential victim!reader, thriller, light smսt

wc: 3.5k

warnings: talks of murder (but none actually occur), slight coercion, oral (m receiving), drugging, violence, weapons, blood, general insanity....

this fic contains dark content. please heed all warnings above and read at your own discretion.

soobin’s favorite color is red. 

he’s quite obsessed with it, really. his favorite shirt is a maroon button-up, his phone case has crimson details…he tries to look for it everywhere when he’s out and about, he surrounds himself with it at home. his favorite time of year is when the humid summer fades into mild autumn, as the change in seasons brings with it ruby leaves and dying trees — oh, death. in addition to the fiery shade, soobin finds himself enamored with eternal rest. it’s just oh so freeing, an end of a cycle, a path to purity. there is nothing more pure than the act of shedding the mortal skin to find a higher meaning — to be reborn. 

soobin likes helping people be reborn just as much as he likes the color red. 

but only people he finds worthy: the innocent ones, the ones who have placed too much trust in a world that is wrought with cruelty and had their hearts ripped out in the process. those are the ones who need saving, he thinks, and he finds great happiness, an overwhelming sense of pride, in being the one who can save them. it’s fate that brings him into these people’s lives, after all. something has chosen him to guide these people towards a greater path, to help the weak and downtrodden, the ones looking for betterment. there is no doubt in his mind that would cause him to think otherwise.

he adores helping people, but he wishes that they were just a bit more sympathetic to his cause. it’s not as if he enjoys hurting them, but his methods are the only way that any of this can be accomplished. no matter how much he tries to explain, they always scream and cry and beg to be let go, they always try to run away even if they’re bound…they don’t understand that all he wants to do is take them to a better place, yet they make it so difficult for him to be nice, to keep his composure. they always make him resort to extremes — but at the same time, he can't be too disappointed when they struggle. 

blood is unequivocally beautiful to him, after all.

the city has faded into darkness since he’s begun unwinding from the work week. soobin’s office job provides him with little joy and nothing to look forward to, so he often spends his nights taking walks about the city. sometimes, he’s looking for something, someone; and sometimes, he simply allows the cool air to soothe him, wandering without a particular goal in mind, just living. breathing. being. 

tonight, however, the former rings true. it’s been too long since he’s last aided a stranger. his previous succor occurred over three months ago, and the empty, unfulfilled feeling within his chest has chipped away at flesh and bone until nothing but a gaping cavern remains. it’s time to fill that aching void up again. he loves people, he loves helping them. it’s the only thing in his life that makes him feel truly alive. doing this is as vital as his need to breathe, to eat.

as he continues to stroll along the fog-shrouded road, he eventually spots his next potential project: you’re stumbling along the sidewalk in front of him, sobs ripping themselves from your throat so loud that he can hear them despite the significant distance separating himself from you. dressed in a creamy white coat and light wash jeans, you look like an angel from behind. he wonders what your face looks like, fresh with tears and red-rimmed eyes. where are you headed at this hour — alone, no less? more importantly, what’s gotten you so worked up? do you need his help? evidently, you might. it wouldn’t hurt to check on you.

quickening his pace, his long legs begin to close the distance between you and him. despite his intentionally loud footfalls, you do not seem to acknowledge his presence behind you as he approaches. you should be more careful; you never know who could take advantage of your vulnerable state, although he is grateful that he is the one to find you. he has only your best interests in mind, unlike the rest of the selfish population of this city. you don’t turn around even when he’s finally a mere few feet away, so lost in your own little world that its real counterpart has all but fallen away. 

“miss?” he calls, deep voice ringing out into the chilled air. an air of friendly concern is apparent in his timbre, and it’s not a lie. he really is concerned for you. “are you okay?”

your entire form jolts, feet coming to a halt as you spin around to face him — and oh, you poor thing. streaks of watered down mascara mar your cheeks, eyes round and bloodshot and glinting with tears beneath the streetlight above. your hands come up to wipe under your eyes in a weak attempt of hiding your current emotional state. evidently, it fails, gray spreading further across your face as he blinks at you, wrinkles forming between his brows while he waits for a response.

“i’m— i’m fine, thank you.” while your words are meant to placate his worry, your quiet, warbly tone is less than convincing. he decides not to pry too hard — you look halfway ready to flee as it is — instead opting to remain in place as he drinks you in. indeed, you look like an angel. even with your puffy eyes and kicked puppy expression, he finds you lovely, your voice soft and delicate like wind chimes. the overwhelming urge to wrap you in his arms, to keep you safe from the world, flashes through his body. he pushes the feeling away. he can’t scare you away if he wants to learn more about your situation, whether or not you are worthwhile. 

“are you sure?” he gently asks. for a second, your eyes blink up at him, less guarded now. soobin is well acquainted with his effect on women, the softness he holds in his voice and gaze, the openness of his features that must scream trust me. he can tell that he’s got you when you toy with your bottom lip for a moment, gaze trailing off towards the side of the side as you decide to continue this conversation with him. you easily could have walked away, or even told him to leave you alone, but you don’t. you don’t, and he feels his heart pound in excitement because of it.

staring down at his shoes, you murmur, “yeah, it’s just— it’s stupid, actually, nevermind.”

“well, it surely can’t be that stupid if it made you cry.” and your upset mask cracks just the slightest bit. so pretty. so, so pretty. your smile causes every single nerve ending in his body to tingle. a smile forms on his own face, and something in the air between you changes in that moment. a mutual understanding that you won’t be explaining the reason behind your tears right now, but some company would be nice. 

a convenience store lies maybe twenty feet up in the road, and he falls into step with you once you ask if he’d like to grab something to eat there. he quickly learns that you prefer the veggie triangle kimbap over any other flavor and that you have a borderline strange obsession with banana milk, but he still hasn’t learned your name. as you continue talking, the realization eats at him. he likes you, he thinks that you’re sweet and kind — too kind for this world. you deserve better. if he continues to get close to you, maybe you’ll be understanding enough to accept what he’s trying to do here. soobin can be quite patient, after all, and you seem more than worth his time. however, his first step in this plan is to learn your name. 

leaning against the counter next to him, you beat him to the punch. “i never got your name.”

fuck, your voice sings so prettily in his ears, and you look so shy, so demure just asking that. how sweet you are. all he wants to do is wrap you up and protect you, hold you close and shield you from everything terrible. instead, he swallows down a mouthful of ramen and gives you a charming smile. “soobin. choi soobin.”

“that’s a nice name,” you say, innocent eyes peering up at him. the redness has receded to the edges of your scleras, the puffiness of your face slightly calmed down. he’s made you feel better, but he knows he can eliminate all sorrow from your life, if you’ll allow him to.

“i’m sure yours is prettier,” he says, voice trailing off at the end. with a playful roll your eyes, you provide your own, and his grin grows wider. “ah, i was right.”

the flustered press of your lips is enough to tell him that his plan is working so far. your naivety is endearing to him. it makes everything easier — even better, when he asks to walk you home after citing potential danger, you accept without a single hint of doubt, eyes wide as you comment that you hadn’t thought of that. so sweet, so trusting. no one else will be able to hurt you now that he has set his sights on you.

“would you…like to come in?” you ask as soon as you reach your building, shyness returning in full force. hope drips from each word, your fingers nervously fidgeting at your sides. he can’t help but accept your offer. he’d honestly be a fool not to.

your apartment is a modest one-bedroom with a small living room, a living room in which he finds himself in as you busy yourself in the kitchen. trying not to stare too hard at your form over the small island that separates the two rooms, he busies himself with picking at a loose thread on the couch. for some reason, nerves eat at his stomach, festering there like a swarm of wasps. he’s never had someone invite him into their home so early on. this is new, different — he’s not sure what to do with himself. 

“could i offer you some water? or tea?” you call. he swivels his head to find you looking at him while waving a teapot in the air. the moment you realize what you are doing, you drop your arm, your free hand coming up to scratch your cheek. 

holding back a chuckle, he offers a kind nod. “tea sounds wonderful, thank you.”

this seems like the correct choice, if your wide grin is anything to go by. would you look the same if he tells you what he plans with you? would you understand? he’s not sure yet, but he will learn with time. so far, you’re his favorite, even if he’s known you for less than an hour. you are the closest to being untainted. perhaps it’s a selfish desire, but keeping you around for a bit longer than the others wouldn’t be so bad. he ponders if he should just take you with him now just as he did with all the others. he’s got a packet of pills in his trouser pocket waiting to be used, it would almost be too easy to slip one into your drink given your acute lack of awareness. at the same time, he has learned from his past mistakes; patience will bring his plan to fruition. this is just the beginning.

a mug of tea appears before his eyes, and he swallows down a flinch before he’s reaching out to take it from you. your fingers just barely brush against his, nearly making him drop the mug. your skin — it’s soft, warm. he wants to feel it more, have his palms run over every one of your curves, feel your chest against his as he takes you…he swats those thoughts away as he shifts uncomfortably. 

silence fills the space between you, a blanket over his head meant to suffocate him. he takes a sip of the steaming hot tea, a dark, cloudy amber in a pompompurin mug that just seems so you. the tea itself blooms sweet on his tongue, notes of honey and lavender coating his taste buds, his muscles relaxing into the couch as he continues to sip the liquid, eventually downing the rest. he glances over to find that you have shrunk into yourself, sock-clad feet curled up onto the couch while your hands grip your own mug close your chest. 

“i’m going to go to the bathroom, i’ll be right back,” you say suddenly, placing your mug on the coffee table before scurrying off. the bathroom door slams shut, the lock clicking immediately after, leaving him alone. he stares at your mug. the item taunts him. come on, put something in there. mix it up and take you now. 

he shouldn’t. he should be patient, but the opportunity is right here for him to take. you’ll be understanding once he explains everything to you. you’ll be different from the others. 

so he slips a pill from his pocket and drops it into your mug, watching the capsule dissolve into the transparent liquid. the slight change in color and opacity doesn’t worry him — it’s not as if your perception is that acute. when the sound of your approaching footsteps forces him back to his side of the couch, his heart begins to pound against his ribcage so hard that he fears it may burst. keep it together. you won’t notice. 

instead of plopping onto your original seat, you make the bold decision to sit down right next to him, facing him. biting your lip, your eyes flit to the floor, then back to him. an invisible magnet pulls you closer. once mere millimeters separate your faces, he pauses, staring down at the way your chest stutters, so close to his own. he should stop this — he just met you, but the way you trust him so easily is doing things to him that he’s never felt before. this twisting feeling in his stomach…it’s so sweet, and you’re just so cute. he wants to protect you. he wants to use you. 

it’s unclear who commits first, but his lips are pressed against yours. softness is the first thing that he registers, then the uncertainty that freezes you against him. a hand moves up to cup your jaw, holding you close to him as he moves his lips gently against your own. slowly, you begin to reciprocate, lips parting to allow his tongue to slip into your mouth. slow, soft...it’s everything soobin has wished for in his lonely life. this kind of connection, this gentle intimacy that is now filling that empty hole in his heart that has always yearned to be filled. he has kissed others before, yes, but he’s never felt like this.

the feeling is quickly becoming too much for him, especially now that your hands are sliding their way towards his waistband. pulling away, he grabs your hands, holding them as holds your gaze. “you don’t have to. i know we just met—”

“but i want to,” you pout, wide, pitiful gaze burning through his as you slip off the couch and onto the wooden floor, your hands leaving his to rest on his thighs. “don’t you want it too?”

he shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t, but the sight of you on your knees between his thighs with a cute little pout gracing your lips makes him wonder what you would look like with his cock shoved down your throat, tears streaming down your face as you choke on him. 

pawing at his thighs, you plead, “please, soobin? you helped me feel better, i want to make you feel good too. please?” 

you might just start crying if he doesn’t let you — and he would hate to be the reason why, so he gives in with a nod, helping you unzip his trousers and shove his boxers down his thighs, revealing his hard dick to your eager eyes. your hand looks so small compared to him, barely able to wrap around his girth as you begin to pump him, lips wrapping around his cockhead and your tongue slipping into his slit to taste the salty precum gathered there. he groans, head thrown back against the couch as he resists thrusting up into your mouth. 

“so good, fuck,” he groans, his voice trailing off into a moan as the pleasure begins to build, your hums against his cock sending him straight towards euphoria. suddenly, your head lurches forward, taking as much of him into your mouth as you can, your hand pumping what you are unable to fit. his eyes roll back into his head, staccato moans leaving his lips while you bob your head up and down, your throat contracting around his cockhead before you’re pulling yourself off with a cough. 

he tries to move his hand to caress your hair, to give you some semblance of comfort, only to realize that he can’t. his arms won’t move, nor will his head, or his legs — or anything. wait, what the fuck? what’s going on with him? all he can do is sit there and watch as you continue to pump him faster, licking up his precum at his tip until he cums in weak spurts into your mouth. he can’t even cant his hips, and he can barely feel his orgasm wash over him, numbness spreading across his body. humming, your eyes flutter shut as you swallow his release. when you look up at him again, the glint within them has changed. darker, cunning. 

“i know your secret.”

when he doesn’t respond — his mouth won’t move — your smile grows sharp, predatory. moving to stand between his legs, you lean down to his level, brow raising when his attempt to speak results in unintelligible groans. “aw, cat got your tongue? that’s fine, makes all of this easier for me.”

all of this? what the hell are you talking about? why can’t he move? 

you seem to recognize the confusion swirling in his umber irises, booping his nose with a manicured finger before you’re turning around and reaching for your mug. inspecting it’s contents, you take in the cloudy liquid before your focus returns back to him, amusement apparent in your tone. “you tried to drug me! that’s so cute!”

setting the mug back down, you slink back over to him. 

“y’know, soobin, i thought you’d be smarter than this,” you pout, sitting next to him and throwing your legs over his lap. no matter how much he wills himself to move, he’s frozen. all feeling has left his body, not even the sensation of your nail gliding along his cheek registers. “drank all that tea and didn’t even notice, you poor thing. can’t speak, can’t move, whatever are you going to do now? can’t kill me like the rest of them now…”

oh, fuck. you know — you’ve known this entire time. you’ve lured him into your trap, and he fucking fell for all of it, didn’t even question why you invited him in so easily, why you weren’t worried about a complete, potentially dangerous stranger being in your home. he couldn’t have planned for this outcome if he tried. 

“you got too cocky, baby,” you giggle, right hand reaching between your legs and into the cushions, coming up with a large knife. “never thought someone like me would pull a stunt like this, did ya? isn’t it exciting being the victim for once? i just love the thrill.”

“and you know what else i like, binnie?” you coo, tracing the silver blade against his jawline. muscles melted into the couch, soobin can only emit fearful grunts as you dig in and break skin. blood bubbles up to the surface of the wound before spilling down his neck. fuck, you cut him deep, but he can barely feel the pain.

a snap of your fingers guides his attention back to you. “i love red, just like you.”

swiping a finger through the blood dripping down his neck, you bring it up to your lips and suck, moaning at the iron-rich taste. you’re the farthest thing from the innocent lamb he painted you as. you’re fucking psychotic, pupils dilated and grin so wide your lips may split at the corners as you climb into his lap, knife now pressed against his throat. he’s completely at your mercy — your prey. cornered, nowhere to go.

“i think we’re gonna have lots of fun together,” you coo, pressing a venom-laced kiss against his lips, the bloody blade cutting into him once more. “don’t you think so too?”

masterlist

© to agustdiv1ne. do not copy, repost, steal, and/or translate.

[dorkagedoodles]

And there we have it folks - the end of Empyrean Book I! I sound like a parrot but just ... thank you so much for reading! Also, for everyone's convenience, the afterword is also in text under the "keep reading" bellow. <<< PREVIOUS ✧˖☆˖✧˖☆˖✧Page Archive✧˖☆˖✧˖☆˖✧

(To be continued ... ) AFTERWORD

I’ve been putting off writing this for way too long, thinking I have plenty of time until suddenly: BAM! December was upon me and the final update of Empyrean Book I was uploaded while I had the worst migraine in years and couldn’t even scramble together a last minute afterword. But here we go. I’ll try not to care about sounding professional or eloquent, just so I can get it done.

First I want to say a big thank you to everyone who've read Empyrean, all the way through or just a little bit, I’m grateful nonetheless. And extra big thank you to everyone who’s left comments or nice tags in the reblogs etc. I’m awful at responding, but I’ve seen them all and really, really appreciate it.

I worked on the book on and off for three years and I’m pretty happy with the end result. Of course, this is just the beginning of the story. I have an outline for the whole thing, aiming for a total of four books of similar length which will, as you can guess, take a loooooong time. Which brings me to my second point.

Empyrean will go on hiatus for the time being. For how long? I wish I knew. While Book 2 is all scripted and currently in the sketching stage, I have no idea when I’ll have enough finished pages for an update. Once I do, however, I’ll probably update as I finish the pages, rather than wait for the whole book to be complete.

I don’t think I need to explain much of why this is. It’s simply being an adult. It’s having rent, bills and a cat with special dietary needs. And what Empyrean brings in joy it certainly doesn’t bring in money, so ever since July I’ve drawn almost nothing but freelance work.

Despite that, I still feel positive about the future of Empyrean. It’s already been published in parts in a small Swedish magazine and I’ve met people and opened doors that would have been impossible, had I not created Empyrean. Long time followers might remember how I’ve long wanted to be able to support myself by making art. And right now? That's exactly what I’m doing.

Finishing Empyrean will take many years and, in the end, it might never even get picked up by a publisher. But I’m at peace with both of those things. I draw Empyrean entirely for myself and would continue to do so even if not a single other person was reading it. Though … as long as there’s at least one such person I will keep uploading it too!

Lastly, I’ve been looking into self-publishing and hope to give that a try. No solid plans yet, just counting costs, looking at kickstarters and such. I’m currently neck-deep in a big project, but once that’s over I can start thinking about it again. When the time comes, I will of course post about it.

I think that is all. It got a bit longer and ramblier than I planned but oh well.

Again, thank you so much for reading Empyrean! And until next time! -Hans

[caffedrine]

Matias Asbrink - Fake Lovers for a Day - Event Summary

This is mostly a summary for me - I make no promises on the accuracy of what’s happening. I’m not nearly fluent enough to get half the jokes/innuendo much less accurate plot points.

As a warning - this event goes into some dark things with Matias. Beware.

Matias, the First Prince of Achroite, the Land of Snow and Laws was a serious man who deeply respects the laws. Yes, he has some rather eccentric aspects to his personality, but deep down, he was honest and good. However, when he appears in court as a Judge, he only embodies the face of the cold impartial justice of the law. 

After finishing her role as Belle with no romantic entanglements, Emma went to Achroite with Akatsuki. Akatsuki, too young to be her father, travels around various countries to their bookstores, buying and selling rare and valuable books. 

Since coming to Achroite, Emma has grown accustomed to the sight of snow falling like flower petals, but the sight still makes her heart jump with joy. Snow was rare in her home country of Rhodolite, so she has never had a chance to get used to the fairytale scenery. Then again, the person who truly looks like he stepped out of a fairytale illustration is walking next to her.

Up close, Matias looks even more fantastical, with hair the color of fading twilight and eyes the color of snow in the shadows. His aura is as pure and beautiful as the white snow falling around them.

Matias notes that Emma has been exploring parts of the city and asks if she has some favorite places yet. 

While marveling over how approachable and personable he is, Emma tells him about a bookstore in the center of town. She’s been visiting almost every day and can’t stop. Matias recognizes the place; he’s been visiting it since he was a schoolboy. They both agree that the owner is what makes it so welcoming, with his cheerful, friendly, and all-around decent persona. 

Emma heard recently from the bookstore owner about a museum that specializes in romantic exhibits. She asks if Matias has ever been there.

Unfortunately, no. It’s a relatively new museum, but the owner is an eccentric with particular requirements for people to even enter. For one, all his customers must be in a romantic relationship, and come as a couple. 

Since Matias is single, and unless he misunderstood, Emma is too, they are both out of luck. 

That’s a shame, Emma heard that one of the limited exhibits would be centered around her newest favorite novel (set in Achroite). It’s a shame she’ll probably never get a chance to see it.

(Now she knows what it’s like in Keith’s route when you want to read a romantic book/see a romantic scene but can't)

Matias pauses, deep in consideration. They both want to go visit the museum, but they’re both woefully single. Maybe . . . Maybe they could work something out?

Matias quickly assures her that he doesn’t intend to break any rules. But, if they become a couple for the express purpose of visiting the museum, and then break up right after, that wouldn’t be technically breaking any laws. Right?

Also, Matias isn’t the type to normally rush things, he knows the social etiquette rules around becoming lovers, and he doesn’t intend to have a whirlwind romance. 

After a fateful encounter, they would slowly grow closer over an appropriate amount of time. As they fall deeply and helplessly in love, they finally confess and soon, are united as one . . . 

Emma gives him a good shake, calling his name. This brings Matias back to reality, and he coughs uncomfortably, centering himself. Anyway - before he got distracted - he was saying that he’s not the type of person to push boundaries and rush into relationships. 

However, the exhibit they’re both interested in is on display for a limited time. Without wishing to offend, perhaps they can be lovers for a short amount of time, just to visit the museum?

Honestly, Emma is the only one he can depend on in this situation. As a friend, does she agree?

Emma understands completely. Matias is very popular with the women, and if he were to propose being temporary lovers, she has no doubt it will end with the other person in tears. Honestly, this arrangement works out for both of them. 

Emma agrees to Matias’ proposal. Even though they’ve been friends for such a short time, she knows that deep down he’s a good man. Besides, there is nothing weird about friends being fake lovers. Right?

Matias beams at her, his expression suddenly switching from friendly to sexy. He assures her that he will take good care of her.

Emma thought the princes of Rhodolite had prepared her on how to handle attractive men. However, their collective attractiveness could not hold a candle to the radiant sun of Matias’ charms. Emma has to take a deep breath to steel herself and then bows politely to Matias. She is in his (temporary) care as his lover.

Suddenly Matias holds out his hand to her. At her confused expression, Matias explains that he wants her to hold hands with him.

Wait a minute. Are they starting right now?

Yes, Matias doesn’t think he can escort her adequately on the day of their museum trip without some time to get used to thinking of her as his (temporary) lover.

From this moment until after they visit the museum, he intends to be lovers with her. That should give them enough time to go on at least one outing as lovers too. 

Wow, Matias does not do things by halves. Looking into his earnest eyes, Emma can tell that he is absolutely serious. 

Well then, they’ll be lovers for only a short while, but she will give it her all too. She timidly accepts Matias’s hand, and he grasps her fingers, rubbing them. As her lover, he noticed that her hands were cold, even though she was wearing gloves. He grows worried, Achroite is famously much colder than Rhodolite - is she having any trouble adjusting?

(Now he cares)

Emma assures him that she is fine - it’s cold but she doesn’t mind. The country of Achroite is very beautiful, so to her, the positives far outweigh the negatives. 

Matias is relieved, Achroite is the land of snow, it would be difficult to stay here without enjoying it. So that she can enjoy the scenery even more, he grasps her other hand to warm it in his.

Matias is truly doting on her. Emma looks away bashfully as he brings her hands to his face to blow hot air on them. 

He touches her hands like they are precious treasures. The edges of his mouth lift in the beginnings of a smile as he exhales over them.

Forget her hands, the rest of Emma is growing uncomfortably warm. Maybe it was a mistake, to agree to be his temporary lover. 

They make plans for a date later in the week, and part ways to return to their respective duties. 

On the day of their date, Emma arrives at their prearranged meeting place a little early. She is still surprised by the events of the last few days; she has received a letter from Matias every day since she agreed to be his (temporary) lover. Andrea what Matias wrote . . . Her face grows red remembering. She knew that he was a romantic at heart, but those letters . . . 

Emma is taken out of her reverie by the sound of the people talking next to her. They’re discussing the bookstore in the center of town, and how it is running a fraudulent business. Their book prices are outrageous, and the owner has a nasty temper just because one of the two was a bit rough with his books. They agree to warn their friends to stay away from the bookstore.

Emma recognizes that store as one of her favorites. Yes, the prices are high, but the owner sells rare books. Also, as a fellow book lover, her heart sinks at the thought of a book being handled roughly.

Emma starts to interject gently, telling the two men that there must be a misunderstanding.

The two men immediately accuse her of being an agent of the bookstore owner. They ask if she’s in on the fraud and close in around her, threateningly.

Matias asks if the two men are prepared to make that statement in a court of law. He reminds them that perjury and defamation are very heavy crimes in Achroite, and they will need to be prepared to pay for any crimes. 

The two men fall silent, only now noticing Matias. He continues, that if the bookstore owner wanted to, he had two witnesses to them making false statements. He warns them that while they are free citizens of Achroite, they are still responsible for behaving in accordance with the law.

Emma rarely gets to see Matias like this, as the impartial arbiter of justice. 

Matias ends by adding that he personally will not tolerate continued disrespect to his girlfriend. Who totally loves him, as much as he loves her. Which is a lot.

Smiling beatifically at her, Matias drapes his arm around her shoulders and leads her away from the two thugs.

(Step one of dating - make sure the local thugs spread the news)

After they leave the area, Emma thanks Matias for protecting her back there. Matias assures her that it was fine, besides, she did the right thing back then. Emma is confused and Matias elaborates. Like he said, those men were slandering the store owner. Granted, it’s not a crime if the victim, the store owner, doesn’t report it, but those men were still behaving criminally. He is proud that his ‘girlfriend’ can recognize and call out criminals so quickly. 

Oh, how awkward. Emma wasn’t calling out those men to uphold the law, she just wanted to clear up any misunderstandings about the store owner. She’s not a champion of justice or anything, and probably wouldn’t have intervened if those men weren’t talking about someone she personally knew.

But Matias seems happy with it, and it’s such a small matter that Emma decides to leave it be. She promises Matias that she will do her best to be a woman worthy of him.

After that, they went to the various places Matias had planned out on their date, and Emma’s appreciation for the country of Achroite grew. She tried candy with frozen fruit, admired the intricate woodwork, and freaked out when Matias seemed to look at her too closely. Matias immediately backed down from the last bit, explaining that he’d never had a girlfriend before and that this was a new experience for him as well.

Matias was also able to explain Achroite culture to Emma, which helped her gain a deeper understanding of a scene in one of her favorite romance books. Matias admires the fictional couple, as he too wants to find a love that he would risk his own life for. 

He adds though, that he thinks the male lead is entirely unreasonable, letting the main character get into all these dangerous situations. If he could switch places, he would keep his princess in a safe cage place free from all danger where he could keep her pure.

Matias notices the side eye Emma is giving him and apologizes for saying all that in front of her. His girlfriend. 

No - that’s not the part Emma was worried about. What’s this about a Princess? Is Matias cheating on his real lover with Emma?

Oh, no, not at all. Matias is talking about his future wife whom he has yet to find. 

Matias begins to describe his ideal future wife: a woman full of noble dignity, a warm heart, and an honest appreciation for things. 

As he continues, Emma is amazed at how specific Matias’ ideals for his future wife are. It’s almost as if he’s describing someone he knows.

Eventually, Matias winds down his explanation, finishing up that his future wife would be a lot like Emma herself. 

Emma gives him a puzzled look and Matias coughs uncomfortably. 

Wow, he is really looking forward to seeing the couple’s museum. Isn’t Emma?

They continue their date long into the day as the sun begins to set, dying the town red. 

Suddenly the air around Matias seems to change, and he pulls them both to a stop, staring at the crowd of people. Looking at him, Emma thinks he has gone as cold as ice.

Just as she starts to ask him what is wrong, Matias apologizes and asks her to wait just a moment. Before she can respond, he sprints out into the crowd. He jumps a man walking through the crowd, pulling him to the ground and pinning his arm behind him. Matias has recognized this man as a criminal who intends to break into Ultima Thule, free some of the prisoners, and escape the country. Matias knows everything, and this man will pay for his crimes.

This man has enacted illegal means to acquire restricted information, bribed some of the guards, and, worst of all, had made contact with an individual in Obsidian for his escape route.

The man is shocked at how much Matias knows. Matias tells him not to underestimate the National Guard, they haven’t apprehended him yet only because they were looking for his hideout. Thanks to this man, this criminal, walking through town, the investigation can be brought to an end. 

The man wails that ‘her’ body is failing and that she can’t take it anymore.

Matias nods, the man was waiting for the right time to strike but became impatient and moved ahead. 

Of course, even if Matias hadn’t just found him, the man would have failed. Ultima Thule’s security would have stopped him, no one can escape. 

The man screams that it’s not ‘her’ fault. She was just trying to help someone; she didn’t realize that person was connected to Obsidian. 

In a monotone voice, Matias pronounces that anyone who breaks the law is a criminal.

Matias notices Emma watching and a small thaw in his demeanor appears. He assures Emma this will all be over shortly. 

The man on the ground has heard that Matias has a lover. Matias tells him that his relationship status is none of the man’s business. 

The man shouts that if Matias has a lover, he must know exactly how he feels. The wish to do anything for your lover, even at the expense of yourself.

Yes, the man has committed grave sins, and he will commit them again and again for ‘her’ sake. He will bear any punishment, even if it costs him his life, just please show his lover mercy. 

Matias tells the man not to lump in his girlfriend with criminals. Unlike them, Emma is a pure and righteous woman. 

By this time the city guard has come, and Matias hands the man over to them. Then, as if nothing out of the ordinary happened, he comes back to where Emma is standing.

He immediately notices that she’s shaking and smiling gently and asks if she’s okay.

Emma assures him she is and asks about Ultima Thule.

Ultima Thule is Achroite’s forced labor prison. Criminals who’s crimes are not so bad that they’re executed are sent there to work off their debts to society. It’s in the coldest, most remote, and most desolate place in Achroite. 

Matias apologizes for the scene that Emma just saw. He understands that she isn’t one for violence. Would she mind continuing the date with him and giving him the chance to apologize?

Matias is trying to cheer her up, but Emma can’t shake the realization that Matias is being so kind to her because he thinks she is someone that she is not. Emma isn’t a crusader for justice, if anything, she’s sympathetic to that criminal’s plight. She couldn’t say for sure that she wouldn’t break the law if she and that man’s places were switched. 

Emma is one misstep from being hauled away to prison under Matias’ cold, unforgiving gaze. 

She realizes that Matias is dangerous.

Matias gently strokes her back as if trying to soothe her. He tells her that he made reservations at a nearby restaurant and suggests they head there for a break.

The food, which Emma had no doubt tasted delicious, tasted like nothing at all.

Sweet End 

On the day of the museum date, Emma looks at the exhibits with Matias, but she is still trembling with fear. The joy of the exhibits fails her as she focuses on the man next to her.

Matias stops her from going to the next one - he’s noticed her state and wants to apologize. He understands that what she saw during their date frightened her, and he wants to apologize for subjecting her to that scene. 

Emma thinks that it must be difficult for Matias, who is just doing his job, to have everyone afraid of him. She apologizes too.

Matias shakes his head and assures her that her feelings are natural. It must be a blow to realize how far into the country criminals connected to Obsidian can infiltrate. As a member of the criminal justice system, the fact that the criminal got so far in his nefarious plot is a stain upon his honor. It’s not only her whom he should apologize to but to all the good citizens in the square that day. He came so close to failing to protect everyone.

Er . . . Matias doesn’t quite get how she feels after all. Those words the man had flung at Matias, about having to understand him since he knows what it’s like to have a lover, ring in Emma’s ears. She wonders if Matias was unable to understand that man at all. Matias is nice and fun, but she truly has no idea what is going on in his head.

And that is what she’s afraid of.

In reality, Matias apologizes to Emma for failing to protect her. Emma shakes her head, reminding Matias that she wasn’t hurt at all. In fact, no one at the square was hurt. 

Matias disagrees, as her lover, it’s his job to protect her physically and mentally. And right now, she is full of anxiety and fear. 

Matias wants her to feel safe and have a fun time. He wants her to only feel happiness.

For that goal, he will put everything he has, everything that makes him Matias on the line. He tells Emma to relax and enjoy herself and reminds her of that exhibit she wanted to see. 

Matias wishes she would smile.

Emma is still afraid, but Matias’ passionate speech has touched her heart. She looks at him, trying to shake off the fear, and smiles. He smiles back at her, relief on his face.

And, oh, that smile. Emma can feel her face heat up.

Oh no. Emma can’t take her eyes off Matias. Not just her face but her whole body is heating up. She’s about to explode from the heat boiling up in her.

Suddenly Matias grabs her by her shoulders, and Emma realizes she was listing to the side. He asks if she’s okay, supporting her.

Emma snaps back to herself and shakes her head, trying to return to normal. She assures him that she’s fine and lets Matias lead her through the museum. 

That charm of his is something else.

Emma has seen a few ladies her age standing in a daze next to Matias, but she never thought she would be one of them. Ugh, how humiliating - Emma wishes she could just crawl off into a hole somewhere. As she considers cutting the date short to save whatever is left of her dignity, Matias catches her attention and directs her gaze at a painting.

Oh. That painting. The one Emma wanted to see more than anything else.

Matias had said that this painting was supposed to evoke the feelings of spring love, but that description falls flat. Emma’s heart leaps at the sight of it, entranced in the beauty before her.

Matias nods, this isn’t that far from how he imagined the scene. The man was fine, but he thought the woman should be smaller, like Emma, with long brown hair, like Emma. Hmmm . . . Oh, he gets it now.

(Does Emma have a single/available sister by chance?)

The woman in the book was described as the most beautiful woman in the world, which is why he thought of Emma. 

In Matias’ imagination, her hair would sway in the southern wind, and her eyes would sparkle in the sunlight. She would turn towards him, smiling as if the whole world was celebrating. 

Emma cuts him short - he is praising her too much. Matias disagrees, as his girlfriend, it is no exaggeration to say she is the most beautiful woman in the world. 

Well, Matias sure has a strong imagination of his girlfriend. 

Matias suggests they move on to the next painting. He has created an itemized list and flowchart to look at the paintings he thought Emma would like the best. Emma agrees that this sounds like fun.

You know, Matias was looking forward to the paintings, but he thinks the best part will be seeing them together with Emma.

They walk through the paintings, admiring the exhibits. Before long, they find themselves at the exit.

Emma peers at the exit - it appears there are rules to leave the building. They must demonstrate how their love has deepened before they leave.

Matias muses that the rule leaves it open for interpretation but wonders about the various ways people can demonstrate their love. Emma thinks words or declarations of affirmation would probably be the most popular, though she grows flushed at the idea of saying such things to Matias.

Well, rules are rules. And Matias, who researched this in advance, is prepared.

He wraps a cute, fluffy pastel scarf around Emma’s neck. He explains that even with her gloves on, sometimes Emma looks so cold. 

He also has gloves for her, which match his own. They go past the wrist and are waterproof so should keep her warm longer. 

Matias’ idea to prove his love for her is to protect her, in this case, from the elements. Emma thanks him, now, not only is her body but her heart warm. 

And now it’s Emma’s turn. Her heart is fuzzy and warm, she takes a deep breath and begins.

When they leave the museum, the city is red with the sunset. Matias thanks her for being his temporary lover, he had a lot more fun than he expected.

So much fun that he doesn’t quite want their time together to end just yet. Didn’t they agree that they’d be lovers until the end of the day today? He asks if she wouldn’t mind grabbing dinner together. 

Emma’s heart pounds in her chest as she looks into Matias’ snow-colored eyes. They were endlessly kind when they looked at her, but she has seen them become frozen at a moment's notice. She’s curious about Matias, about the way he thinks. Maybe if she spends more time with him, she’ll find something that will satisfy her and wipe away the fear that lingers in her heart. Feeling hopeful, Emma agrees to spend the rest of the day together.

Premium End

On the day of their museum date, Matias arrived early at their prearranged meeting place and had been waiting for Emma. She apologizes for keeping him waiting and he waives her off - she was waiting for him last time and he hadn’t wanted to make her wait for him a second time.

Emma thinks that Matias really is a nice person. That time at the town square, he had just been fulfilling his duties as a guardian of the law. If anything, Emma should be relieved that he was truly impartial and egalitarian in dispensing justice.

But she is still afraid.

Emma tries to stuff the fear somewhere down in her stomach and smiles at Matias. 

Matias pulls out a notebook from his pocket and proffers it to Emma. He explains that he was researching the exhibits, and thought there were a few that depended on a deep cultural understanding of Achroite. He thought she would like to look up and understand those points at her leisure. 

Emma accepts the notebook and opens it, realizing that it is all in Matias’ own handwriting. Matias explains that while he hoped that it would be useful to her both as a reference for the museum and as something to aid her grow accustomed to Achroite.

Just as Emma begins to open her mouth to thank him, Matias beckons her closer, he wants to give her a souvenir from their last date. He takes out a package and starts touching her earlobes. Afterwards, she looks at her reflection in the window of a nearby shop and admires the wooden earrings. He also gives her a package of sweets from the coffee shop they visited.

(This man is the reason why women's clothes should come with more pockets)

These gifts remind her of the good times they had yesterday and show his care towards her. Really, she had been having a great time until that scene at the end. 

But she’s still afraid.

Emma resolves herself to face Matias without being trapped by fear. The gratefully thanks him.

Matias’ snow-blue eyes narrow slightly and he reminds her that they’re lovers. These gifts should be as natural as breathing. Emma shakes her head, a lover wouldn’t take their partner for granted, and she can feel the time and effort he put into these gifts. She might not have experience with a lover before, but she is certain Matias would make his partner the happiest woman in the world. 

Matias assures Emma that she has been the perfect lover, the time he has spent daydreaming about her has been too perfect for words. 

Uhh, what?

Matias quickly assures her that he wasn’t skipping work to daydream about her, just when he had a quiet moment to take a break. He would picture the smile she would give him, and every moment basking in her radiant prescience.

Oh, that’s what he meant. Yeah, that’s okay then.

The feeling of fear hasn’t left Emma completely, but she thinks that she can enjoy their museum date. Seeing her smile, Matias smiles back. They haven’t even started their date, but Matias is having a great time already. That said, they probably should start making their way over. 

Matias courteously holds out his hand and Emma accepts it without hesitation.

After the museum date, Matias brought them to the dance hall in Achroite Castle. It was completely different from the one in Rhodolite, with soft wood tones and candles illuminating the national crest carved into the wooden floor. 

Matias admits that he hasn’t had many good experiences in this place, but he has always fantasized about dancing here with his lover. He thanks Emma for coming with him and asks if she would like to dance with him. Emma agrees and accepts Matias’ hand. 

Matias is impressed, Emma is a much better dancer than he was anticipating. Emma admits to practicing hard in the past. She is happy it worked out for them, after all, if she couldn’t dance then she wouldn’t be able to be his lover, right? After all, Matias is a member of the royalty, and his beloved would need to be a noble.

Actually, not necessarily. It would be better if his queen could dance, but it would be fine if she learned how to between their engagement and the actual wedding. Achroite is less class-conscious than other countries, so his wife could come from any class. 

Besides, the Asbrink family rules are very vague on the qualification for their wives. The only real rule is that she be worthy of the distinguished Asbrink family. Which is why Matias wants someone he can love and cherish and make happy. Emma notes that Matias looks so happy when he talks about his future wife. 

Choosing his wife is technically one of the few personal choices Matias can make in his life. He wouldn’t be constrained as a keeper of the law, or as the scion of the Asbrink family. He would be able to just be Matias and choose and love someone just for himself.

Emma understands that as both the keeper of the law and the first prince of Achroite, Matias has many responsibilities and rules he must follow. The time spent with his lover is probably the only time he gets to be himself.

Matias begins describing his ideal lover to Emma. Emma nods, she understands why he speaks so enthusiastically about his future lover. Matias adds that since his lover would be marrying a guardian of the law and the first prince of Achroite, the most important thing is that she is righteous and pure.

Emma thinks that his definition of the last bit would be that Matias’ wife would never violate the law no matter the circumstances. Emma doesn’t have it in her to live up to those standards. But she is his lover until the end of the day, so she should enjoy it while it lasts. She asks if they could dance a little longer, and Matias mutters that he wishes he could dance with her forever. She hopes that at least until the end of the day, Matias feels a little bit of freedom.

Suddenly Matias grabs her waist and spins her around. Emma is surprised and impressed, she never thought she’d be able to spin like that. Matias admits to trying it with her for the first time, he’s only read and fantasized about it.

Surprised, Emma asks about all the dance parties he’s been expected to attend as a royal. Matias reveals that he has always tried to keep a certain distance between himself and the ladies. If he gets too close, he will suddenly find it difficult to get away.

While Emma would normally think it’s nice to be liked, she can see the downsides. But with Matias’ seductive aura, she’ll need to be careful too. Subtly, Emma tries to move away from him, at least so she feels less of his body heat.

Oh no! Matias has noticed and asks why she’s pulling away. The hand on her waist tightens, pulling her closer to him. 

His snow-colored eyes exuded such sensuality that it made chills run down Emma’s spine. The shock of his face so close makes Emma lose her breath and forget how to breathe. A heat stirs in her body, and she suddenly can’t look away from his face. 

Her head was full of Matias, just Matias, and she climbed onto him and his heat. She wants nothing more than to cling to him.

A sudden image of a young woman dazed and confused next to Matias flashes through Emma’s head. She remembers that Matias doesn’t like women like that and awkwardly tries to push him away. Emma explains that she’s trying to put a little distance between them. She pushes at his chest again, but the arm around her waist only tightens. 

Matias reminds Emma that she’s his lover, so he needs her close to him. Emma refuses, if this continues, she’ll get in trouble.

With the saddest eyes, Matias asks what kind of trouble she is talking about.

Oh, that did it. The last of Emma’s strength leaves her body as Matias calls her name.

Epilogue

During the last night as Matias’s lover, she and he attended a dance party. Unfortunately, the prolonged exposure to Matias’ seductive aura overwhelmed Emma, and she came close to fainting. Thankfully Matias was able to steady her, and she was able to pretend that she simply missed a dance step and injured her ankle. Which did happen.

Suddenly she is in Matias’ arms as he lifts her. He tells her that they’re done dancing, instead, he’ll bring her to her room. And, since it’s late, he’ll arrange for her to stay in a guest room tonight.

Matias bridal carries Emma into a room and places her on the bed. He fetches a small box of medical supplies and begins tending to her ankle.

Emma apologizes for the trouble, but Matias assures her that he’s used to doing this in the National Guard. Weirdly impersonally, Matias rolls up Emma’s skirt, so her leg is exposed up to her thigh before he starts manipulating her ankle. Emma wants to preserve some modesty and lower her hemline, but she doesn’t want to get in his way.

Looking at Matias, it is clear that he has barely even noticed her state, and instead is focused on her ankle. She reminds herself that this is just a medical treatment, something that Matias is used to and has done to his fellow soldiers before. She tries to think of something else, but her thoughts just keep on returning to Matias bent over her ankle.

After what seemed like a small eternity has passed, Matias pronounces his field treatment as complete. He instructs Emma to keep her ankle elevated so the swelling will go down by tomorrow-

Matias suddenly freezes, as if realizing the position he and Emma are in. He immediately apologizes, explaining that he moved by instinct and had no ulterior intentions toward her. 

Oh, even though she’s his lover, he has gone too far to pin her down to a bed, and even touched her bare skin with his ungloved hands- 

Matias’ panic is making Emma feel embarrassed all over again. She quickly assures him that she understands he had nothing but the best of intentions and concerns over her injury. Honestly, she’s grateful that he was so quick and efficient in his medical treatment. Emma bows her head and Matias snatches his hands away from her leg.

Well, okay then. Matias nods to himself, regains his composure, and sits next to Emma on the bed. Once again, he is close enough for her to feel his body heat.

Well, there’s only one last thing for a couple to do on a night like this. Suddenly, Matias’ face draws closer to Emma’s. She begins to protest.

But why? They’ve just finished their second date, so shouldn’t they do the proper thing? Sit close to each other and talk about the parts they enjoyed and what they want to do next. And, as they talk, the bond between them grows and the feelings they have are reflected in their softening gazes and then-

(Besides, according to the Asbrink family rules, no sex before the third date)

Oh, okay, Emma gets it now. She feels embarrassed - Matias apologized for touching her just to treat her injury, of course, he wouldn’t expect to go further physically. Emma sighs in relief and tries to objectively look at Matias. He seems to really enjoy being a ‘temporary’ lover, to the point that he’s forgotten that there will be no ‘next’ for them. 

Matias asks Emma to tell him more about herself - for future reference.

At Emma’s puzzled look, Matias explains that while they won’t be lovers, they’ll still be friends. Besides, now that he knows her a little better, he thinks they could be great friends. So, he wants to know more about her.

Emma understands that Matias’ words are saying that he wants a deeper friendship, but something about his sensual gaze makes her feel like what he really wants is something else.

Still, Emma agrees, and Matias smiles like the sun reflecting off of ice crystals. Maybe he’s still in the headspace that they’re lovers since the night isn’t yet over.

[n0t-evenhere]

Hello! Nice to meet you 👋, I'm new to the BSH fandom. I apologize in advance for the poor grammar. I'm from Colombia, and my English is VERY basic. Sorry.😅

I found your profile last week while searching for Binary Star Hero content, and I loved it!💕 I love your writing and your style of writing💞. It makes me want to write about BSH too.💌

Can I ask you this question?

I'm creating a BSH MC, also some "One Shots" drafts. I'd like to know how you think Ray would react if, when she reunites with MC, she had a child with Double Vision (which I wonder if it's possible if MC were a woman and the child would be 2 years, more or less) and this was one of the reasons she ran away. What feelings would Ray have for MC's child? I imagine the child with hair like MC and Double's black eyes.

That's all for now. I'll keep reading. I look forward to more of your content, and thank you for your attention.💖

First, welcome to the fandom. I’m glad you are here. I am thrilled that you like my writings and other content! It’s nice, I also love the fact that you are inspired. I love that. It feels good to feel like I actually do something worth while, write things that people take time to read and actually like it and crave more. It feels like a sense of being in that brings joy to others and it feels good. It makes my heart beat better.

As for your question, I’m assuming you are talking about the double ending of the game where you run away with him. The canon thing I’ve understood is that Ray would have killed double or Haley on the spot when they escape with you. Ray wouldn’t let you go like that. HOWEVER, this is your story. You decide, you make the puzzles fit. I think if he saw MC again and with a two year old that looks like double it would have killed I’m inside. Now granted, it’s been two years since he’s seen you. He cares for you yes, he thinks about you sometimes but, I think he would have moved on from MC. Found someone else because there are plenty of people to love out there. Granted, he’d still be hurt. You chose someone else, you picked another person who didn’t love you like he could. He’d respect your decision though since you ‘escaped’ so to speak.

Honestly, I’ve been thinking up another MC character too who’s from another universe, cause honestly I love the idea of Ray taking a ‘dad’ role. Being a step in. Except my MC is his new PR handler and she’s trying to balance work that she was pushed into and balance her four year old. I just never wrote about it cause it seemed a little silly. Anyway, you can create the narrative, you write how you want. I sincerely encourage you to write! Also, I may have opinions, I may have ideas in my head, but your ideas DO NOT have to match mine. My ideas are my ideas, your ideas are yours, we can like each other’s ideas, heck we can disagree. All of this to say, don’t let me decide on your story. Don’t let me be the final say all. Cause I’m not, your writing is your own. I wish you all the imagination I have, and I wish to take all the writers block from you!

Again, thank you for your kind words to me. I feel honored that you are inspired by the writing that I have made. I feel immense joy, and I will be waiting on your success. If you need me for support in away way, I will be here. Waiting for you. 🙂

[medusas-musings]

The Car Ride Home (Brian "Q" Quinn X Reader)

(A/N: Obligatory not my gif and I was high writing it so ignore any possible mistakes, thank you for reading!! 🧡

Summary: After casually seeing Q for about a month, he lets you in on some news (Fluff, semi-established relationship)

I Told Them About Us (Brian “Q” Quinn X Reader)

I think you can tell a lot about someone by what they keep around in their car. If they keep napkins in their car and what kind of napkins they are. If they have a special compartment for their sunglasses or just lay them wherever they’ll fit. Whatever small trinkets or essentials can paint a picture of their normal routine. However, the hula girl on the dashboard of Q’s Jeep throws me for a loop for what it could mean about him.

I see him walk towards the vehicle, and I could see him biting his lip to try to hide his sweet smile until he fully gets in the car. Once he’s closed the door his lips curve into a smile as he greets me. “Hey, Baby.” He reaches over to plant a kiss onto my forehead and rustle my hair slightly, causing me to smile. I lift his hand up to my lips before interlocking my fingers into his. “I think work was good today, how bout you?”

“I had an alright day, a lot of running around as usual. I need to rest my muscles.” I respond, stretching my neck and putting my hands atop my shoulders rubbing out today's stress.

“Well let’s get you back to my place, we can run you a bath and maybe I can get some of those knots out of ya.” Q winks at me as he starts the engine of his pride and joy and pulls us out of the parking lot. “You got your stuff? Change of clothes and all?”

“Yep!” I nudged the canvas tote bag at my feet. I’ve gotten used to bringing this to work by now since for the last month and a half, I have spent countless nights at Brian’s. The moment we bumped into each other at work, there had always been a spark between us. It took about 6 months for him to truly make a move when we got at a bar and got drinks after. Ever since that night, I’ve gotten used to waking up to him in the morning and sharing a pot of coffee.

“What excuse did you give the guys this time?” I inquired to Q, turning my head to see him smile. We haven’t yet made anything official, therefore we both decided to keep our little rendezvous just to ourselves for now. Sometimes I wish I could tell my friends about our late night pizza dates or how he loves to wake me up in the morning by kissing my neck.

“Actually, none.” He gave a glance to me, the smile still on his face, giving an air of anxiety now as I heard his voice. “I kinda let it slip. That I’m seein’ someone.

My eyes widen and I can't help but give a breath of a laugh. “You’re fucking with me.” He gives me a knowing glance, a glance that I know means he’s not kidding. “How’d you manage that?” I laugh a little, this time out of astonishment. I figured if anyone were to accidentally let it slip, it would definitely be me.

“I was trying to show them a picture of Benjamin and it opened a photo of you and I couldn’t think of a lie in time.“ A look of concern crosses my face that Q catches. “It’s not one of those pictures. He smirks at me as the color returns to my face. “They asked what your name was, what you’re like, when they’ll meet you, all that stuff.” Brian trails off.

“So which photo was it? I swear to god if I hate it I’m making you delete it.” Q shakes his head and his face cringes a little. As we stop at the red light he lets go of my hand then pulls his phone up and goes to his gallery, opening up a photo. Not just any photo, one I took a week ago on the set that I posted for Instagram. “Q…I didn’t send you this photo.” I look over to see his head in his hand, a tight grin as he watches the road instead of my smug smile.

“I know..” He says he takes his phone back and puts it by the side of his leg. “I wanted to look at ya, is that so wrong?” I laugh at his admission of guilt then grab his hand again and I place the back of his hand to my cheek.

“I think it’s sweet. But the question is..” I pause, trying to find the best way to ask. “What’d you say to that question about meeting me?” He purses his lips, staring straight to the road. By this point I knew he preferred to look anywhere but me when our conversations got a serious air to them. I guess while he’s driving he has a good excuse to do it.

“Actually I told them I’d ask you.” His eyes meet mine for a moment, then fixes them back onto the road in front of him. I could tell from this small millisecond was his way of showing me he’s ready to take it to the next step. His way of showing me he wanted to show me off to people and was tired of sneaking me off to his hideout of a home. “What do you think?” A smile grows on my face as I look back at him. His facial expression was calm but he couldn’t stop putting his hands on his beard as he drove. “How bout this weekend?” He gave me a small content grin and flashed his eyes at me again, It’s as if Q was carrying a boulder on his shoulders from the moment he stepped foot in the car and it’s finally rolled off.

“This weekend sounds great, babe.” His strong hand reached to my thigh and gave it a gentle squeeze. As we approached his place, There was a shift in the way we looked at each other and the lustful nature that we typically keep around each other is now overshadowed by one of adoration and tranquility.

[charlie-rulerofhell]

Sed Proditionem || chapter I Proditores non laudo

{or read it here on AO3}

So I said fine, 'cause that's how my daddy raised me. If they strike once then you just hit them twice as hard.

* * *

It was cold. The kind of coldness that would not give a shit about the fact that April was almost over. The kind of coldness where one could easily sweat themselves to death at noon, only to be tortured with the ice-shaped fingers of a biting breeze as soon as the sun went down. The kind of coldness that made one wish themselves close to a crackling fireplace, wrapped in a heavy fur coat or a blanket of the thickest sheepskin, with a mug of hot wine in both hands.

Hans was shivering like a cobweb in a storm, and he would have killed to be at some fireplace and enjoy a mug of wine. His growing discomfort, however, had little to do with the coldness and more with this whole plan that was by far the stupidest he had heard in a long time.

When Henry had come back from Kuttenberg and told Hans about his meeting with Žižka, Hans had been overflowing with joy like a trough in the rain. Henry had beamed from the same happiness. There had been worry in his eyes, too, how could there not with the growing political instability in this country, and the two of them, once again, being pulled right into the middle of it? But his mouth had formed a bright smile when he talked about Žižka and Katherine, and the rest of the old pack, and Christ, how quickly that glee had spread over to Hans. The last time they had met up with Žižka must have been over a year ago. Katherine had paid her latest visit to Rattay even long before that, accompanying some trader that, apparently, her and Žižka were after at the time, for some reason only they under­stood. Samuel had stayed in Kolín for the past seven years do­ing God knew what, but Hans didn't doubt that it was highly important, or that at least Sam thought so. Henry had visited him occasionally when they passed by Kolín on their way to Podiebrad, but Hans had always been too tied up both in political and family affairs to join him for a meetup. And Kubyenka and Janosh? Shit, the last time he had seen these two must have been at his own wedding! They had all been there, blessed be their souls, even the Devil, lousily disguised as a fisherman, as half the land was still after him. And what a cele­bration it had been, with the lot of them! Hans couldn't remem­ber half of that night, and there could be no clearer indication that it had been a fantastic one. Žižka had started some philoso­phical debate about the shape of clouds, while the Devil had threatened to crush someone's skull in. Sausages had been men­tioned at some point, though not by Janosh, and then Sam had danced on a table, and Katherine was dressed in a nun's dress, and Kubyenka with two kittens? They had all gone down to the stream to take a naked bath in the moonlight, even Godwin, although he had found a horse somewhere that he had ridden through the water as if he was Saint George himself, and then Henry had almost drowned in that waist-high piss. Katherine had disappeared at some point, and when Hans had later re­turned to his chambers, he had found her there, together with Jitka. Doing girl things, they said.

He had missed these times. Had missed them dearly over the last seven fucking years. Had thanked God for his divine dis­pensation bringing them all back together now. And then Žižka had let them in on the current situation and on his brilliant plan, and Hans had craved nothing more than to return to Rattay right on the spot. To sit down in front of a fireplace with some hot wine. To forget all of this had ever happened.

The Devil was dead. That didn't come as a surprise, Hans had known for almost two years now. He had been a thorn in the flesh of the Kunštát family for a long while, fighting his battles against Sigismund's army and then against Albert IV of Austria, raiding both Austrian and Moravian land, then joining the troops of duke Albert's very own son, a boy hardly of age but already a strong supporter of King Sigismund. Nobody had shed a tear over Hynek of Kunštát's death, Jitka's father Bot­schek had even found it necessary to hold a small celebratory feast when he heard the news, and many toasts were spoken to Hynek's sudden demise. Hans hadn't said a word, because how could he have? To him there was no Hynek, no traitor in the family. The only man that existed for him was the Devil, and the Devil had been a fucking bastard, yes, a ruthless murderer, but also an ally by whose side Hans had fought, someone he had shared more drinks with than with any man at this feast, and certainly more laughs.

So the news about the Devil's death wasn't surprising in the slightest. What did surprise Hans, however, was that Žižka mentioned it at all. He hadn't even breathed a word of it when he last spoke to Henry a few days ago, or back then in Rattay when he had come to see them both, only a week after it had happened. “And what does it even matter?” he had said now, both hands pressed flat on the table, his brow deeply furrowed. “He had been fed up with the pack for a long time before, and he chose to fight his own battles, with or against us. We won't need him for this task, just as we haven't needed him for the last six years.”

Only that he lied. It did matter, to him just as much as to the rest of them, because this cursed affiliation of vagabonds had never been Žižka's, had never called itself Žižka's pack. It had been Dry Devil holding them all together like sticky honey, and now that he was gone, all the burden was tossed entirely on Žižka's shoulders, and he had fallen under the weight like Jesus under the cross. Of course Žižka knew that. It was evident from the way he had fixed his eyes on Henry as he tried to convince the two of them that he did in fact not need the Devil by his side. Christ's wounds, everyone in the room knew it! Janosh was fiddling around with the buckle of one of his belts as if he wanted to knead pastries out of it. Godwin had stared some­where into the distance, his mouth slightly agape, as if he was silently reciting some prayer. Katherine had her arms folded and her gaze on Žižka alone. No matter how hopeless every­thing seemed to become, at least she wouldn't go anywhere, she wouldn't leave Žižka's side.

Kubyenka's eyes had been on his feet that nervously tapped up and down, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, but when Žižka spoke these last words, the Fuck him, fuck the Devil, we will manage just as good without him, if not even better, Kubyenka had finally looked up and his expression was one of anger and pain. “Don't you dare shit on his name like that, Žižka. God knows I love you, like an estranged brother even, but if you speak one more word like that, I won't be hol­ding myself back.”

“What? Is it not true then? Have I lied?” Žižka's voice had been shaking from anger, too, but it wasn't directed at Kubyen­ka. “Has he not been leaving the pack alone, has he not been cuddling up with the very man we fought against lately?”

“So what? The Devil was doing what we all are doing! Ta­king his sword where it is best paid for. This is not about mo­rality, it never had been. And all your late travels to Prague to listen to that Jan Hus preaching won't change that. We are mer­cenaries, first and foremost, and you should understand that better than all of us. Or do you seriously believe we don't know what you were doing up there in our Polish neighbour's lands just some months ago? Cuddling up with the enemy.”

Hans had in fact not known about it, but it made everything a lot clearer. He had been right then. This was a desperate at­tempt of Žižka's to bring the pack back together. Driven by bro­ken pride and a failing search for his own path. And something else. Rejection.

Žižka had narrowed his eyes so much that the left one al­most disappeared completely behind the scar. “Well, the Ger­mans declined my offer.”

Kubyenka had laughed, and it had sounded all shallow, a taunting display of disdain. “Lucky for us then.”

They had exchanged a few more silent looks that were so heated the whole room had felt like the fire of Hell. Then Žižka had glanced over at Katherine, and she had nodded, and he had taken a deep sigh and returned to his explanations as if nothing had happened. With King Wenceslas's sovereignty still being questioned, not only by Sigismund now but by the church, too, and with Poland fighting for its lands in the north, Bohemia was in a delicate position. And in the midst of this chaos, Jan Hus had emerged as an opposing voice against the clergy and a friend of the common people like the Messiah on the third day. Hans had only nodded in agreement. This wasn't new to him at all, he had heard it before, in all different tones and harmonies. Had heard it from Henry, who was affected by Jan Hus's postulations directly as a peasant, and indirectly through his father's support of Hus's side, and through Godwin, who had moved to Prague for this specific cause while still trying to meet up with Henry as often as he could. Hans had heard it from all different noblemen around the country, some showing great interest in Hus's stance against the church, some fearing for their own status and power with the growing unrest of their people. He had also heard it from Hanush, who was more often than not travelling out on his own account these days. Visiting some lords whose territories had been pestered by the plague of war and upheaval. Kindly talking to them and offering help, was what he called it. Threatening and robbing might have de­scribed it better.

In Prague, Jan Hus was still holding his chair as the rector of the university, protected by King Wenceslas himself, but that position was fickle. After his continuing defiance of the arch­bishop's prohibition to preach, and with the growing pressure on the King by both the bishops and the Holy Father himself – one of God only knew how many there were at this point! – the King could not uphold his support much longer. The people, on the other hand, loved Jan Hus and his ideas. Of course they did. More freedom might have been the one principle every human in this world could agree on. And that love made Hus all the more hated by those in power.

“We need to point the way,” Žižka had said. “Make them understand that Hus's theories are the only sensible response to the church's superior power and this whole schism that we are currently stuck in. We need to light a metaphorical and literal beacon of reason in these times. So. The plan is simple.” And then he had proceeded to lay down in great detail a plan that was as far away from simplicity as it could possibly get.

Hans wrapped his arms tighter around his body, letting his gaze wander up and down the gorge that Žižka had selected for this scheme. It had become almost too dark to see, the trees up above them forming a wall of shadows against a clouded sky. Just a few moments ago, some church bells in the distance had tolled for the evening prayer. St. Matthew's church, Hans had thought in a touch of melancholy, and then quickly discarded the idea. The bells of the newly built church in Vranov more likely. If anything, they'd rather be able to hear the church bells of Rowna near Skalitz than those of Rattay.

His eyes wandered over to Henry whose face was now eerily illuminated by the light of a lantern he had lit. Hans had offered to avoid Skalitz on their way to the set place, but Henry had ba­nished the thought immediately. It was the fastest route, he had said, and even though they had used horses until reaching Jezo­nice, just a short walk away from here, they couldn't afford to dawdle. Besides, he had added with a weak smile, he didn't in­sist on spending any more time in this itchy priest's cassock than was absolutely necessary.

Still he had kept his eyes lowered for most of the road that led around the ruins of Skalitz. Him and Hans had visited the place around a dozen times over the past years. To have an eye on the reconstruction of the village that was only progressing at a painfully slow pace. It never got easier.

“So.” Sam's voice echoed through the clearing like a cannon shot. “Can we discuss the plan once more?”

“You want to make sure everyone knows his task?”

The look that Sam regarded his brother with was as dead as that of a corpse. It didn't help that it seemed like he hadn't got a single hour of sleep in the last three days, ever since his arrival in Kuttenberg. “Oh, I do not doubt that. I just wanted to hear it again because I am still certain I must have missed the part that made you agree to this whole stupidity in the first place.”

“It is far from stupid,” Godwin objected, and he sounded like he didn't believe a single word he said. “Playing with the gullibility of people is actually a fool-proof plan, if you ask me.”

“If you manage to lead the conversation to that crucial part where you can play your little magic trick.” Hans took a deep breath, shifting his weight so that he moved a little closer to Sam. It felt good having at least one sane person on his side. The feigned optimism of the others back in Kuttenberg had been unbearable! “And given that you can get this Father Tho­mas to stop and have a little chat with you.”

Henry smiled, and the shadows of the lantern's light turned it into the wicked grin of a mummer's mask. “We are two un­armed priests on a pilgrimage. What could possibly unsettle them about us?”

“I tell you what unsettles me.” Hans could feel the whole si­tuation slowly taking a toll on his patience. “The word un­armed in that sentence of yours.”

“Clearly a priest won't attack other men of the cloth.”

“Well, maybe not, until those men of the cloth start talking about this great Jan Hus fellow that they met in Prague the other day. And about how his words must clearly be guided by God, because he gave them this glass ball, you see, and it glows and explodes whenever someone is using the true words of God, so you can know that it is nothing but the word of God that Jan Hus is preaching!”

Henry and Godwin exchanged a silent look that screamed louder than Hans had. When he turned back to him, Godwin shrugged his shoulders. “Well, we might be able to phrase it a little bit more convincing.”

“What if they don't even show up here?”

“Then we haven't lost anything either.”

Hans shook his head in disbelief. “What if Father Thomas shows up with more than four armed men? What if that little explosion won't make them believe in some divine intervention but in a secret attack on them?” His eyes wandered up to a spot between the trees' shadows that he couldn't make out from down here, but he had seen it before in the fading sunlight, had inspected it closely and shaken his head over it. “What if I don't hit that tiny thing, at this time of night, from that dis­tance?” I know that this is not your battle to fight in, Žižka had told him back in the church attic in Kuttenberg, and I would prefer it if I didn't have to drag you into this. But I need you for this task. After all, you're the best marksman I have.

“You will be here with us,” Henry said, and his voice was so soft and calm that it might have convinced Hans of everything he could have said. “You two will be hiding up there with our weapons at the ready. And Kubyenka and Janosh will guard the other side of the gorge. Six skilled fighters will be more than enough against four mercenaries, and a priest who will be get­ting in their way more than he will actually help them. You might as well have killed them all with your crossbow before one of them even gets the chance to draw his sword.”

“And what if they come prepared?” Sam's fingers were wrapped tightly around the handle of his left dagger as if he was ready to draw it here and now. “What if this Schwarzfeld has guided us right into a trap?”

Godwin straightened the fabric of his priest's robe. He made it seem nonchalant, but the time he took to reply betrayed his whole act. “Katherine and Žižka have both talked to Schwarz­feld themselves, and very extensively, I might add. We know that he is a small German lord who has always enjoyed many privileges from our King, while he has a hard time with the church due to the high charges the bishop imposes on him. So it seems like he has a lot of reason to support our cause. Do I trust him?” He shrugged his shoulders again. It was strange, Hans thought, how little the priest robe he had worn for so long suited him these days, how much weaker and older it made him seem. “What do I know! But I trust Katherine and Žižka and both their judgments.”

Hans shook his head. He could feel the weight of the cross­bow that was tied to his belt and understood now why Sam had his hand placed firmly on his weapon. A little bit of comfort, a shelter in this thunderstorm. “The whole plan is still totally mad. More so than anything Žižka has come up with before.”

“Doesn't feel so mad to me.” Henry smiled again. His eyes were warm and honest. “After all, it's nothing but simple alche­my.”

“Given I can hit the glass, without it being noticed by the priest or his men, and that this paste you smeared on my bolts actually does something to this strange smoke inside that phial.”

“It's finest firedamp, gathered from the mines. And since Sam took care of it, I'm sure it will work.”

Sam let out a hiss through his teeth that sounded almost like he had just exploded himself. “This gas might be the only part of the plan that I am convinced of.”

“We don't need your conviction.” Godwin stepped forward, and his voice was loud, demanding. “All we need is for you both to do as you're told and fulfil your task. Of the rest we take care of. Understood?”

Hans rolled his eyes, shook his head, and answered with a mocking “Yes, commander”. There was nothing else to do. Godwin and Henry were all too adamant about this anyway.

The grass was wet and bitingly cold, as he crawled up the slope to where he was supposed to hide between the trees, with Sam by his side. There was a fallen tree up here, that had de­cayed during the cold winter days, crumbling under his weight as he sat down on it, but at least it would keep his arse dry. Sam seemed to have no need for that and rather stayed in a squatting position a few feet away, one hand still on his dagger, the other wrapped around a sheathed longsword. His father's sword, and Sam's only duty tonight. To throw it down to Henry as soon as the slightest form of trouble arose.

Sam looked like a cocked crossbow himself, Hans thought. Every muscle tightened, ready to snap and jump. Or perhaps not so much like a crossbow, actually, and rather like the very thing a crossbow would be pointed at. A hare, surrounded by the hunter and his hounds. Lips pressed together tightly, eyes squinted. His face was half covered by the shadows of trees and bushes, and the faint moonlight only enhanced the hollow­ness of his cheeks and the dark rings under his eyes. A hare perhaps, but a very tired one.

“This whole plan hasn't given you much rest either, eh?”

Sam kept his eyes solely on the road below them on the bottom of the gorge. He also looked like he was in no mood for a conversation, but that had never bothered Hans before, espe­cially not when his own nervousness made him seek out the comfort of talk more than ever. “What plan? This trickery that is entirely built on the trust in a man we barely know?”

“Well, from what I understand Schwarzfeld is closely tied to this Father Thomas, who is in turn a member of the Prague sy­nod, the very one who stands strongly against Jan Hus, so he seems to be a suitable candidate to perform our trickery on. And since Schwarzfeld knows this priest so well, he should be able to convince him of going through these woods late at night to avoid the robber bands in this area.”

“Or at least so he claims.”

The road below them was empty now, not even the light of the lantern could be seen. Henry and Godwin had disappeared somewhere to the left, where they would wait until the carriage of Father Thomas and his mercenaries would appear in front of them. Only then would they set themselves into motion and act as if they had been walking all this time, on a pilgrimage from Prague, where Thomas was supposed to be returning to. And what great wonders they encountered there in the presence of Hus! What Hans hadn't given to change positions with Godwin now and be down there in priest robes next to Henry. Partly, because he knew how convincing Henry could be, and he would have loved to experience his act up close. Partly too, however, because he hated seeing Henry walk right into danger while being too far away to intervene when it all went to shit.

Above them, bats were screeching on their hunt for the first harbingers of summer, gnats. The air felt more like winter though, so freezing cold by now, that it lifted Hans's breath to the sky in the form of glistening clouds of smoke.

There was no such cloud in front of Sam's face, Hans no­ticed. Maybe all his insides had cooled down to ice a long time ago. “You aren't so keen on trusting, eh?”

“Does it surprise you?” Sam still didn't give Hans the ho­nour of looking at him. If he just loosened up a little bit, it might help him to enjoy something in life for once! After all, the only times Hans could remember ever seeing Henry's bro­ther truly happy was when he was drunk. “I have lived through more deceits and betrayals than you can even imagine.”

“Believe me, betrayal isn't such a strange concept to me ei­ther.”

“I doubt that you can compare that.”

And there it was again, so suddenly that it made Hans's heart stop for a moment or two. A face he had forgotten, a love he had sworn to never feel again, because how fucking much could this love hurt. Only Henry had managed to make him break this oath. Only for Henry had he opened his chest to the threat of being stabbed again, and he hadn't regretted this deci­sion once in the past seven years. And Henry had helped him heal, had shown him that it was not only possible but worth the risk to take down the walls he had built. That it was worth to trust, back then at Suchdol during that damned siege after Hans had found Samuel breaking into his room, and now it was Sam again who dragged these memories out of the deepest pits of his chest so they could torment him once more. The same hol­low cheeks, but eyes like the night sky. It wasn't fair, Hans thought. Because back then Samuel had said something that had proven any comparison to him wrong, had given Hans en­couragement, the sweetest gift ever given to him. He had tra­ded that gift of encouragement for Henry's love. Trust wasn't an easy task, Hans knew that too well. But Sam had taught him a lesson Hans would never forget. Don't make the same mistake I made. As a lily among thorns, so is my love.

Hans shook his head. The distorted face didn't disappear. Maybe it was the moonlight, he thought, that made Sam's eyes seem darker and larger too. He looked away. It wasn't fair, he thought again. Not to Sam, and not to himself. “Let's just agree that we know each other too little to judge that properly.”

The bats were screeching. A breeze bent the tops of the trees above their heads, carrying the smell of wet grass and blosso­ming flowers. The breeze was warm. It felt nice for the mo­ment, until it left a more piercing coldness than before once it was over.

“Look.” Hans could hear Sam sigh in annoyance when he started to speak again, but he would not stay quiet now, not when his hand was shaking and his heart was racing. It was way too cold for a late April night. “I agree with you that we shouldn't put our lives in the hands of someone we haven't even shared a drink with. But it's not really this Schwarzfeld guy that we're trusting here. It's Katherine and Žižka. If they are certain he told the truth, then I am certain of it too. Besides, Henry was right. We're all here to help them. You have his sword ready, I have my crossbow, Janosh and Kubyenka will strike from the other side. There's really not that much risk about this part of the plan.”

“If they appear.”

Hans pulled his knees closer to his body, wrapped his arms around them, hoping it would help him warm up if he twisted himself into a pretzel in the oven. “Well, otherwise we just freeze our arses off for nothing, I suppose.”

“I'm not talking about that priest.”

Hans narrowed his eyes, examining the forest on the other side of the gorge. He had never seen the ocean before, but this was what the authors in his books used to describe it as. Huge and unfathomable, engulfing and dark. The air smelled of grass and flowers and frost. A shiver crept down his spine. “They're clearly there already. We just cannot see them from here, be­cause it's simply too fucking dark.”

“Hm,” Sam made, and it sounded as weak as the wind.

Hans looked over to him again, and now Matej was gone. Too much scepticism, too little hatred. “Where do you think they are? Still in Uzhitz, having had one drink too many against the nervousness?”

“There are many possibilities.”

“Hm.” A sound out of Hans's own throat this time, he could feel it, but the voice was unfamiliar to him.

They sat in silence for a while, watching the emptiness. The bats were dashing across the sky, the leaves were rustling. Down below, the road remained deserted.

“Farkakte drek!”

Hans winced at Sam's sudden jump to his feet. Above them, a bird rushed away from its resting spot in the branches with a protesting caw.

“And this is what I left my people in Kolín for?”

“Keep it a little quieter, will you!”

“Why?” Sam flipped around to him as quickly as a bow­string let loose. “There is no one else here! Not down on that road and not over there in the forest either.”

“They are there.” It was a strange feeling, Hans thought, to always be the sensible one when he was with Sam. And he couldn't help but notice how much this role annoyed him. “The priest will show up too, we haven't even waited all that long. And then …”

“And then what? Then Henry will walk up to this galach and his four men to perform some little magic trick, dressed in nothing but these woollen robes!”

“He is used to such robes, believe me. Did you know that he lived in a monastery once, as a monk?”

“It is not about the robes, Hans.” He took a step closer to him now, his eyes hidden from the moonlight, painting them pitch black. “Žižka is using him as bait. Seven years, and no­thing has changed!”

“Žižka knows,” Hans tried to keep his voice as calm as he possibly could, “that Henry is capable of carrying out this plan. Probably the only one of us who could.”

“Žižka was desperate.” Sam's voice was as sharp as a blade, his accent more clear than ever now, every word coming down like a hammer. “Because the Devil is dead, the Teutonic order has rejected him, and half of his men are on the risk of leaving. If they haven't already.”

Hans took a deep breath. His annoyance about being the voice of reason wasn't helped by Sam reflecting his very own thoughts back to him like a vicious mirror. “You are worried. I am, too. There is nothing wrong with that. But we should not forget that it is Henry we are talking about here.” He tried to smile. It must have looked little convincing. “You might not trust Schwarzfeld. You might not even trust Žižka. Fine. But I think we can both agree that we should trust Henry.”

Sam took a deep breath, shook his head, averted his gaze. The hand that he had wrapped around the sword's handle loo­sened a bit, even as the rest of his body remained tense. It was clear that he wanted to say more, had more doubts, more fears weighing down on his chest, but he kept them to himself. As usual. Sam was right, Hans thought. Seven years, and it almost felt as if nothing had changed. Yet everything has. And we have grown older, we have moved on. Perhaps that was what made all of this so damn hard. They weren't barely matured striplings anymore who would agree to every bold plan Žižka could come up with. There was a family to look after for Hans, a wife, a realm, three children. A home built anew from the ruins for Sam, stepping into his grandfather's shoes, guiding his flock. There was so much more to lose for both of them, as ex­citing as the prospect of new adventure felt. And then there was Žižka. Still a mercenary, still on the search for his purpose in life, still lost.

Maybe that was why Henry had been the first to agree to his proposition, and so eagerly as well. Because in this regard he wasn't all that different from Žižka. Always lost, always loo­king for his path. To Henry, stepping out of Rattay had been a relief, a breath of rediscovered freedom. He could swear as ma­ny oaths as he wanted, and perhaps they weren't even lies, per­haps he wanted to stay by Hans's side until his last day, Hans wanted just the same. But not as his knight, his advisor, not tied up in duties that would bind him to the Rattay court forever. Almost ironic, wasn't it, how Hans would be the one they called little bird, while Henry was right there next to him, al­ways on the search for new adventures and restless as if trapped in a cage when he couldn't find it for too long. And yet he had stayed.

“Believe me,” Hans began as softly as he could while his voice was shaking, “I care for him as much as you do. Ten years ago, I couldn't have dreamed of being where I am now, and I wouldn't even have wanted to. To be the patriarch of the family of Leipa, yes, the Lord of Rattay, that too. But being married, with three children? Delegated to rule over all these possessions, these people, so many problems to solve, so many hungry mouths to feed. My own family's and that of the whole land.” Something rustled in the undergrowth next to his feet, a mouse perhaps, somewhere on the other side a brown owl was calling. Once, Hans had longed for this with his whole heart, the silence, the serenity of nature. Now he couldn't even re­member when he had last set foot outside the Rattay city walls. “But I am happy. Because through all of this responsibility, I always have your brother by my side. To help me make deci­sions, to calm me down whenever I feel like I could never be suited for the role. To give me love, make me feel safe. I never thought I could have that.” He laughed. A sound almost as croaking as the owl's scream. “Much less with a man!”

Sam turned, looked at him. He didn't say a word, but there was a deep understanding in his expression, as if he knew. Maybe he remembered what Hans had said before, sensed what this was about even when he couldn't quite tell why he would be sharing it. Christ, Hans didn't even know himself! To calm them both down, perhaps, take their minds off the task ahead. To lift the weight of memory off his chest, more likely. As if taking parchment and a feather when another poem had been twirling through his thoughts a whole day long, writing it down, relieving his mind. They had come and settled down in his heart now anyway. His words, his eyes, his hatred.

“You know, Henry wasn't the first man I ever had such fee­lings for. Though I was much younger when it had last hap­pened. Fourteen, to be exact.” Hans shook his head at that rea­lisation alone. The ridiculousness, this passing of time. “Christ, I'm twice as old now!”

Sam still didn't say a word, maybe he wouldn't dare to, but he listened, and then he placed the sword on the ground and lowered himself to the tree trunk next to Hans. Not close enough to touch, but close enough to feel his presence, his warmth, smell his scent. Pungent leather and sweet herbs like the incense burned at mass, and something that reminded Hans all too much of Henry. Hot iron perhaps, straying sparks on wood, a smouldering fire.

“He was a stable boy in Rattay. I do not even remember his name.” Nor his face, Hans thought. His hair had been brown as chestnuts, almost red. Like a squirrel, Hans had liked to say and he had meant it as a compliment, and then the other one had laughed and called him straw head, because Hans's own hair had been fair as hay back then, had only darkened a little over the years. “He was much older than me. Past twenty already, although he didn't look like it. I thought he was beauti­ful. I liked him. But I didn't know what to do about this … li­king.” Neither his uncle nor his nurse Vjenka nor any other person he knew had ever taught him about it. He had looked for answers in the tales he knew and loved. Eneas and Pallas, Siegfried and Gunther, Lancelot and Galehaut. It didn't explain shit. “One night, I went to see him in the stables, and then I … I touched him. Carefully. And he returned the touch, and then he showed me … love. Well, it wasn't actually love, it was sex, and it wasn't very pleasant for me either. But it was new, and exciting, and I came back for more. He made me come back. Told me he needed to see me again, because of what he was feeling for me.”

Hans paused for a while. The lies one was so eager to be­lieve when young and in love. Or perhaps it had been entirely his own nature that was to blame. The gullibility of people was fool-proof, Godwin had said. It surely was when that priest they waited for was any bit like Hans. Still as naive as a child, Hanush would say. When will you ever grow up?

A light appeared below on a road, silver in colour, crawling through the gorge like the water of a stream. Just the moon­light. Hans wrapped his arms tighter around his knees. “Our secret meetings went on for quite a while. And then finally, he revealed what it was exactly he was feeling for me. He asked me for a promotion. He wanted to become a knight.” There was a sound to his left, but Hans couldn't quite tell if it had been produced by Sam's throat or some animal or the wind in the branches. “I told him that he was only a stable boy, that he could never be a knight, and that even if it was possible, I was in no position to grant that to him.” Hans swallowed. He had reached a point where the memories were starting to hurt. Sam didn't push him, didn't urge him to continue. He just waited. Understood. “All of a sudden, his touches grew painful. And he began to threaten me. Promised that he would tell the whole of Rattay about us, if I didn't go and convince my uncle some­how.”

Bare, naked, helpless, pressed into the hay in the far corner of the stables. Fingers on his arms bruising. What, you wanna scream? Want them to find you like this? You have any idea what they do to filth like you?

“Of course he could have never actually told anyone. The consequences for him would have been much graver than those for me, I was a noble after all. The worst thing that could hap­pen to me was a slap on the wrist and a scolding from my un­cle, while he would at least end up in the stocks, if not be ba­nished or hanged for defiling me. But I couldn't see that at the time. I was scared. I was only fourteen!”

Hans fell silent again, and for a while he wasn't certain whe­ther he wanted to continue. The shadows of the trees on the other side formed the outline of an enormous wall that seemed to be getting closer now with every other word he spoke, and he felt locked in, despite the cold breeze on his skin, despite the birds and bats and mice, despite the dampness of the wood and the grass. He closed his eyes. The smell. The smell was what he could hold on to. Incense and leather. Hot iron. Familiar. “In my desperation, I went to someone who I believed was close to me. Close enough to confide in. Other than the stable boy's, his name I do remember very well. Matej.” Black hair, black eyes, always narrowed, always wary. He must have been sixteen or seventeen at the time, not quite a man yet, but just as broad as all the other soldiers that he trained with. “He was a squire un­der Sir Bernard. Of course, I couldn't tell him what exactly had happened between me and that stable boy, not at first anyway. I just said that he had threatened me. And Matej didn't hesitate. Went straight to him and threatened him back. Told him that he would make his life a living hell if he didn't leave Rattay at once. Matej could be quite intimidating, you know. The stable boy never stood a chance.”

Drinks and talks and laughter, even though it was rare to get a laugh from Matej. It always sounded wrong. Like a parasiti­cal insect that had clawed its way out of his throat. An occa­sional touch, after enough tankards of wine. A hand on Matej's arms, his neck, in his black curls, Hans's skin burning as if the squire's body was made of flames.

“We got closer after that, Matej and me. So close that it made me start to see things that … just weren't real. And one day, I told him everything. We were a little too drunk and we were all alone, and I felt safe. So I talked about what I had shared with the stable boy. And I talked about my own feelings for him. For Matej.” The black eyes widened for once. In sur­prise and disbelief, that Hans had been able to tell. The hatred and disgust he couldn't see. Too much wine, too much childish naivety. “He was taken aback, of course, that wasn't surprising to me. It also didn't come much to a surprise that he stood up and left. How could he not after hearing such news? But it did surprise me then, how he came back to me the next day. And how he asked me if we could meet up later that night, alone, down by the river.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Sam's hands clen­ching into fists, and his jaw twitched as he pressed his lips to­gether more tightly. This wasn't a happy tale, Sam knew that. Wasn't a stranger to betrayal himself.

Hans turned away, faced the darkness next to them instead, hiding the shame that Sam wouldn't care for, but what would it matter, as Hans himself cared. “I was a fool, yes, but please bear in mind that I was still a child. Naive and hurt from what had happened before and hopeful that this time it could be different. But well, that doesn't change anything, eh?” A dark forest just like here. A short walk away from the city, east­wards, where Hans liked to ride out to every now and then. It had been summer time, Hans could remember that because of how shallow the Sasau had been. Matej had stood there like the dark knight out of Hans's books, but his face had shown no signs of chivalry and love. He also hadn't come alone as pro­mised. “Matej had his dog with him. A huge, black hunting dog. He … Well …” It was too dreadful to say it out loud.

“Farshittn mamzer.”

Hans understood these words without actually knowing them, and the fact that Sam had finally opened his mouth just to growl this curse, made him laugh, despite everything. It was a short laugh, but a welcome, healing one, and it finally lifted the weight of shame and fear off him and allowed him to breathe. He noticed how Sam looked over at him in confusion, and shook his head to him softly, and Hans nodded, with a ge­nuine smile playing with his lips. “True that.”

“What did you do to him?”

Hans had to chuckle again, and Sam lowered his brows sceptically, couldn't understand how good his blunt remarks felt to Hans. “Nothing really. I was too ashamed to tell my un­cle the truth, and I didn't have to anyway. It took me a while to recover from the injuries his dog had inflicted on me. And the ones he had caused afterwards, before he had left me there, bleeding and barely conscious. When I was finally allowed to leave my sickbed, he was gone. Sir Bernard told me he had asked to leave for Sasau, but he didn't stay there for long either. God knows where he went.”

“A kind zol nokh im heysn.”

“A child should …?”

Sam shrugged his shoulders, his face blank. “I hope he died.”

“Ah. Yes, perhaps.” He hated the thought of wishing death upon anyone really. But there was no denying it, some people had it coming. “In any case,” Hans looked up to the trees again, and they seemed much less threatening now, like a rain cloud maybe, or not even that, “all of this taught me a valuable les­son, you see? That I should never trust that easily.” A few of the trees on the left stood out above the others like a bell tower. An outstretched hand, ready to catch those that might fall from heaven. “Then, a few years later, you came along. Back then in Suchdol. I don't know if you remember. But I do. I remember your words very well, because this time it was you who taught me yet another and perhaps even more valuable lesson. That some people are worth the trust. Like a lily among thorns, so is my love.” Hans only caught the last traces of the change in expression on Sam's face when he turned back to him. The faint remnants in his tired eyes. Grief and pain and regret. “Thank you, Sam. From the bottom of my heart.”

* * *

They had sat next to each other in silence for a while after these words, both lost in thought. How cruel people could be to one another. They act out of fear and ignorance, his mame would have said. In the end, it is the heart of those who stain it with such actions that suffers most. But what good would that do? What good would it do to know of the suffering of the trai­tor when his actions led to the pain or death of someone else? Besides, more often than not these words would prove to be nothing more than a nice saying, because these mamzers didn't actually suffer. Málek clearly hadn't suffered. Not until Samuel had taken fate into his own hands and gutted him like a sheep.

Samuel couldn't tell for how long they sat there. An hour at least, two or three more likely. The sky had become even dar­ker, almost as dark as the row of trees, melting into them to form a parchment covered in ink all over, a wall of nothing­ness. The dampness of the trunk had long crept through the cotton of his trousers, and he tried to move as little as he could to not make the feeling more uncomfortable. Then all of a sudden, Hans Capon did something that complicated move­ment even more. He tipped over to the side as if all strength had left his body at once, and rested his head on Samuel's shoulder.

“A rose of Sharon,” he mumbled. His tongue sounded heavy as if he was drunk, but he had only taken a few sips of wine during their wait. Tiredness. Samuel felt it, too. Tired and ex­hausted and scared, and he hated it all. Wanted this to move on, wanted to act, wanted to prove his own doubts wrong. “You never told me the whole poem. A shame, because you made up something so pretty there.”

“I did not make it up.” Hans could barely hold his eyes open. Damn it, Samuel's own eyes burned too, and he wanted to do nothing more than close them, get some rest, but he knew he wouldn't find it, and one of them had to stay awake anyway. “It is a poem of my people. And I only learned of it through,” his lips formed silent words that his heart didn't dare to speak, “someone else.”

“Well, then this someone has a great taste in poetry.”

“She had, yes.”

“Oh.”

Too much, he had said too much. And it hurt, and he wanted to take it back, because already he could feel the cracks ripping into the wall, the blood streaming from them. He had buried it all, and it was for the best. Had left it behind like he had left her grave, never to return. How could he possibly have re­turned after what he had done?

“What was her name?”

“Hannah.” Neyn, his own voice screamed helplessly inside his head. Nit an ander vort!

“A beautiful name. Was she just as beautiful?”

“Even more so.” The cracks tore open, some of the bricks had crumbled to dust, he could feel it in his heart, and if it hadn't been for Hans's head on his shoulder, he might as well have jumped up and ran. Ran where? Back to Kolín? Back to Kuttenberg? To her? There was no back to run to and nothing to run from but his own soul. And he had already succumbed to that chase.

“Was she …” Hans's words were barely intelligible now, but Samuel doubted he noticed. “… the poem …”

“One of her favourite poems. I think she felt that it was able to say things she couldn't. Or wouldn't. Because I wouldn't have listened anyway.” Esthera's hand shaking as she handed him the paper. Some of the words had been slurred, Hannah had never been the most careful when it came to writing. “Ir­responsible was what she often called me. And she was right. I cared more for childish ideas of revolution than for her, and for us. And in trying to do justice to both, I failed both. All my great schemes to stifle the support for Sigismund in Kuttenberg went to shit.”

He had known as soon as he had climbed through that window that something was wrong. That fucking custodian wasn't in his bed where he was supposed to be. And he hadn't heard Hannah's hands and feet on the scaffolding either. The soldiers hadn't worn any armour and they had moved as quietly as rats, he hadn't even noticed them storming the alleyway below him. But then Hannah had screamed and coughed and vomited blood and died. And all that had been left to do for him was to run. “I never got to tell her that I loved her. And in turn, she took her own secret to the grave with her. She only told me with that poem and with the lines she herself had added to it.” And Esthera had confirmed it with nothing more than a silent nod because as Hannah's closest friend she at least had known. I am a rose of Sharon, a lily of the valleys. As a lily among thorns, so is my love among the daughters. As an apple tree among the trees of the wood, so is my beloved among the sons. Under its shadow I delighted to sit, and its fruit was sweet to my taste. He has brought me to the banqueting house, and his banner over me is love. And then Hannah had painted two small ornaments under the words, a flower and a tree, and in her scrawled handwriting she had added: And from my beloved's fruit new seeds have fallen, and the ground where they landed was rich and welcoming. They will bring forth a lily or an apple tree, and me and my loved one shall stand by its side to water it and watch it flourish. “She had been with child.”

His words faded away in nothingness. Hans had fallen a­sleep. No one had heard them, except Samuel himself and the one who always listened. Who knew it all.

Samuel closed his eyes. They burned too much. A single tear broke its way through his lashes and ran down his cheek into Hans's golden hair. Hannah had been a good climber, and sometimes they had found their way up to the roofs of Kutten­berg, had sat there for a while, watching the sunset, dreaming of better times. He had dreamed, that was, she had listened. Had placed her head on his shoulder, just like Hans did now, her fingers entangled in his.

He tilted his head, rested his cheek on Hans's hair, dried his tears. I'm sorry, he wanted to say, but it would have been foo­lish. Hans wasn't her. And he wouldn't have heard the words anyway, just as Hannah would never hear them.

They had bought her body free from the city guards. Samuel hadn't been with the other shomrim, hadn't watched over her body and soul as he should have, hadn't been there when they lowered her into the ground. Hadn't wanted to think about the second soul that he needed to keep watch over. Instead, he had sought out Málek. Málek had begged and whined like a dog, down on his knees to Samuel's feet, his hands reaching out as if he was praying. Samuel hadn't wanted to hear him beg and whine and pray. Had only wanted one answer from him. “Sil­ver or freedom?” he had asked. “What have they offered you?”

“Freedom,” Málek had croaked out. “Please, Samuel, I am telling the truth, you have to believe me!”

Samuel had nodded. Not because he believed, but because it didn't matter anyway. Then he had pulled the moser to his feet to cut him open from pubic bone to navel. He thought it only just.

Esthera had been at Hannah's grave when Samuel had got there later that night. She had seen Málek's blood on him. “Oh, Samuel,” she had breathed out, “what have you done?”

There had been no need to explain himself. She understood, better than anyone else could. She had left, and once he had been alone, Samuel had finally broken down. His knees hitting the heaped up earth, choking on tears and screams, fingers star­ting to hurt, it had taken a while until he noticed why, had only dawned on him when he fell down in exhaustion. Maybe if I stay here, he had thought. How long may it take? And the words from Hannah's poem had echoed through his mind like a prayer, sung in her own voice, a lullaby so that time could pass faster. And the ground where they landed was rich and welco­ming. They will bring forth a lily or an apple tree, and me and my loved one shall stand by its side to water it and watch it flourish.

His wish had not been granted. The sun of a new day had al­ready painted the sky in blood red when Samuel stood up from the grave and never returned. Esthera had waited for him at the mikveh as if she had already expected him, and not a single word of horror or condemnation was uttered, even as she no­ticed the earth underneath his fingernails. This time, she hadn't left him alone. She had stood outside the mikveh while he bathed and cleansed his body of blood and soil, stood watch as if she herself wanted to perform shemira on him. But she was standing guard at the wrong place. The graveyard was where he had left his soul.

A light on the road below, and Samuel straightened his back so suddenly that Hans almost slipped off him. “Oy, shvoger!Wake up! Something is happening!”

“Huh?” Hans blinked a few times, leaving the realm of sleep slowly, way too slowly for someone who was supposed to exe­cute a masterful shot every moment now. Samuel gave him an additional blow with the elbow for good measure. “Ouch! How dare you! I am awake, alright?”

He lifted his hand, pointed down to the road, and to the fli­ckering, orange light, approaching from the left. A few more moments passed, and then two figures appeared, bodies wrapped in black and white robes of wool, their heads bowed down as if exhausted from a full day's walk. Henry's dark hair was covering his forehead, it was dishevelled, making him seem more innocent and harmless. Godwin's head reflected the light of the lantern in his hands like a piece of molten iron.

“They must have seen them then.” Hans removed the cross­bow from his belt, taking one of the prepared bolts out of the leather bag Sam had brought him earlier. “Which means that Father Thomas and his men should …”

Another light, this time on the other side of the road, and the rumbling sound of carriage wheels. Armour chattered, but they had been expecting that, and when the group of men finally ap­peared in their vision, Samuel counted only four men in total, the priest on his carriage and three mercenaries by foot, one less than Schwarzfeld had predicted. They were well-equipped, with swords and maces and bows on their hips, but then again one of them wasn't even wearing a helmet, perhaps thinking himself safe from the previous lack of dangerous encounters on their way so far. Should things stray from the plan, he would be the first to die.

The priest steadied his horses and brought the armed men to a halt with a single raise of his hand. Henry and Godwin stopped as well, eyeing the group in front of them as if they were surprised to meet them here, then they bowed and greeted each other. A warm and cheerful tone, but their voices were too quiet to understand them.

“Can you hear what they're saying?”

Hans shook his head, squinting his eyes, keeping them on the road, even as he placed the crossbow on the ground so he could cock it. “Not a word.”

A lower mumbling as one of the mercenaries chimed in on the conversation. The priest seemed to grasp the reins more tightly as he bowed forward. Godwin laughed, but it sounded strained. Not good.

“They are talking for way too long already.”

“They need to get Father Thomas to a point where he would actually believe them when they show him a Jan Hus inspired magic trick.” Hans breathed out a quiet laughter, probably due to the ridiculousness of it all. “Of course it's gonna take some time!”

Samuel narrowed his eyes to improve his vision against the darkness, but the trees on the other side of the gorge stood too close together to let any light through. Still, there should have been something, should there not? A movement of the bushes, the flash of moonlight on steel.

He grabbed his father's sword, lifted himself off the trunk.

“Sam!” Hans was whispering, but it was high and sharp. He felt it, too. “Where are you going?”

Samuel took a few steps along the edge of the slope, never letting his gaze leave the opposite side, so that he couldn't miss the slightest sign of them. Nothing. No shadow, no flicker of light, no matter how much he changed his angle. “Did you ever see Kubyenka and the Hungarian show up?”

“Well, they are supposed to hide. They'd do something wrong if we were able to see them.”

Below on the road, Henry had opened his bag, pulling a glass ball out of it, then a stick, placing the ball on top of it by a designated recess on the bottom, then he raised the apparatus to the sky. The lamplight made it glow as if he was holding the sun itself on a leash. The fire of God, the spark of his words.

Hans took a deep breath, lifted the crossbow.

Eight pairs of eyes, all waiting for a miracle.

“Something isn't right here,” Samuel hissed.

Then a bolt shot through the air like a lightning. The priest let out a gurgling sound, trembling hands raised to his throat, where the bolt had pierced right through. It didn't take long for him to die, and even less for two of his men to draw their wea­pons while another one ran off immediately. The one conve­niently not dressed in full armour.

Henry took a step back to dodge the swing of a mace, raised his face to the mountain top. Samuel followed his eyes, saw Hans kneeling next to him, crossbow raised, bolt still nocked, his eyes widened in shock. “That wasn't me!”

“That mamzer has betrayed us!” He didn't hesitate for ano­ther moment, stormed over to where the slope was flat enough to get down without falling. “I will go to them!” he shouted back at Hans. “But be careful, there must be another archer …”

A hit against his back, and Samuel got pushed forward, crashed down on the ground, with someone else weighing down on his back, pressing all air out of his lungs. Father's sword was still sheathed and the man sitting on top of him didn't give him enough room to pull it out, but he managed to slide the other hand under his body, grasping the dagger and bringing it back, slicing through flesh. The man died on top of him, screaming pain and fright into Samuel's ear, until it was finally over.

It took some effort to crawl out from underneath the body, and when he had finally freed himself and turned on his back, he saw that the space around them, where Hans and him had thought themselves alone just moments before, was now filled with men, two of them already lying on the ground, the one whose belly Samuel had cut open and another one with a bolt in his eye socket. They weren't heavily armoured thankfully, hadn't dared to it seemed as not to give their ambush away through sounds, but from the way they moved Samuel could tell that each of them was skilled. Hans had thrown his cross­bow down, now occupied with fighting one of the men by sword, while another one rushed forward with an axe, swinging it for Samuel's head. He turned quickly, unsheathing the sword in the same motion, before he got up on his feet. Another turn, a swing with father's sword, parried by the axe with such strength that Samuel felt the impact all the way up to his shoul­der. He went for another blow, got parried again, but this time he was prepared, raised the dagger. He didn't even get the time to watch the fucker choke on his own blood, before two more attackers came for him, wild as hounds, and before he could react, one of them had his short sword lifted, bringing the pom­mel down on Samuel's wrist. A biting pain in his arm, a flash of light blurring his sight, then a gloved hand hit his face, sending him to his knees.

“Hold on, Vojtěch!” someone screamed to his left. “One of them is a nobleman!”

The man called Vojtěch, who had his weapon raised above Samuel's head like an executioner's sword, examined him closely with a tilted head, as if he was looking for the word no­bility being written somewhere on Samuel's skin. Given he could read.

Another, familiar voice cut through the air, using this short moment of hesitation. “This is your chance, Hans! Flee! I will distract them!”

Hans didn't have to tell him twice. Samuel threw his body forward, running his dagger into the man's upper thigh, just be­low the crotch, two, three, four times, then he let it fall, twirled around and grabbed father's sword. Someone's mace got dan­gerously close to his legs, but he dodged the blow, started run­ning without turning back.

“Hans, he said,” the leader of the pack exclaimed behind him. “That one is the noble then. Don't shoot him!”

“What about the other guy?”

“Just some Jew, I think. He won't be missed.”

A few hasty steps down the slope, and his right knee gave in, but Samuel was quick in catching his balance again, kept on running. Some more steps, and he was close enough to throw the sword safely, even with his left hand. “Bruder!”

Henry gave the man in front of him a kick against the shin, looked up. He caught the sword by the handle firmly, twirled around, gutted his closest enemy. Good.

Samuel turned back, climbed up to the top of the mountain again, where Hans was on the ground now, surrounded by the four remaining men, a fawn circled by hawks. One of them was injured on the back of his head and had taken his skullcap off. A mistake. Samuel pulled the second, shorter dagger from his belt and threw it with one single, precise motion. The blade hit him right in the neck, and he crashed down like a felled tree.

“Oy!” Samuel shouted at them. “Khazerim!”

They turned around in confusion. That was all Hans needed. One swing sliding through two pairs of legs, the third man got a blow straight to his back. He gave them no rest when they lay on the ground, ended it quickly. Then he stumbled forward, fell to his hands and knees, and coughed. It was over. Time for the pain to set in.

Samuel made his way across the bodies over to Hans, rea­ching out his left hand for him. Better not to waste any thoughts on the smell of blood and intestines, on the lives ta­ken, not yet anyway. “Are you alright?”

Hans took his hand, pulled himself up. “Yes.” His eyes quickly wandered across Samuel's body, settling on his right wrist that was already starting to swell, painted in the darkest violet, a stark contrast against his pale skin. “What about you?”

“I'll survive.”

Hans nodded. His expression revealed that he knew too well that Samuel made it seem better than it actually was, but he ac­cepted the reply for now.

They didn't have to hurry as they climbed down the moun­tain side this time. Henry and Godwin had long got rid of their two opponents, and without any major injuries, too, by the looks of it.

It still didn't keep Hans from rushing forward and throwing his arms around Henry's neck. “Henry!”

“I'm fine.” Henry returned the embrace and for the briefest moment his lips found Hans's neck.

Godwin didn't seem like he was in the mood for tenderness. “What the fuck happened here?”

“It wasn't his fault.” Samuel nodded at Hans. “Someone else shot the priest.”

“Yes,” Henry agreed, letting go off Hans, but staying close enough for their hands to touch, “we could see that it wasn't one of your bolts.”

“They were hiding up there between the trees close to us. I counted ten of them.”

“Ten?” Henry's eyes widened. “And you didn't notice them?”

“We were more focused on the things going on down here,” Hans hurried to say, leaving a big part of the truth out, and Sa­muel nodded in silent acknowledgement. The things shared be­tween them had not been meant for anyone else to hear. “Be­sides, most of them didn't even wear any steel.”

“No steel.” It wasn't a question. Godwin had already expec­ted this. “So they were confident enough to fight us without much armour.” His gaze wandered over to the carriage, from which the priest hung down, his limbs twisted from agony like the threads of a rope. His left hand was still dripping from blood, as he had tried to tear the bolt out of his neck, but in vain. “Making it all the more unlikely that this shot was a miss.”

“And they were well-informed,” Samuel added. “They knew about Hans, and took good care not to kill him.” Or me, for that matter. He would have to thank Hans later in a proper way, once this here was settled.

“While they didn't even hesitate to sacrifice a priest.”

“You think this was all planned?” Hans broke away from Henry to better look at him. “Including the killing of Farther Thomas?”

“One of them ran off as soon as the bolt hit, we didn't even get a chance to go after him. And he was prepared for it too, just barely armoured.”

“Making sure he would live to tell the tale,” Godwin con­cluded. “He won't even have to make anything up, we gave him all he would need. Two disciples of Jan Hus, stopping them in the woods and killing the man who was just on his way to Prague to speak out against said Jan Hus fella.”

“But sacrificing a priest for that cause?” Hans asked again, as if his mind still had trouble believing it. “Don't they have any honour?”

“It seems to be more important to them to let everyone know that we don't have any honour. More food for their wild accusa­tions of dismembering and slaughtering clergymen.” Godwin's eyes found Samuel's, and his mouth twisted into a pained smile. “A kind of defamation that your people are already fami­liar with.”

“All too well.” Especially since they started to understand Wenceslas as a friend of the Jews, Samuel thought bitterly. And the Hussites too, people didn't like to differentiate much. They are pouring hot pitch over the tonsures of our priests, and just the other week I heard of a young monk whose cock and balls they squashed with metal plates until he died from the torture! And most of them didn't even bother to ask whether they was supposed to mean the Hussites or the Jews. It was all the same these days. Religious deviants. Rebels against the divine might of the church.

Henry turned around, pointing up the mountains. “What about Janosh and Kubyenka? Did you see them?”

“No,” Samuel replied. “And there were no attackers on that side either. So they cannot have ambushed them as they have done to us, at least not here.”

“You think they may have been stopped on their way?” Hans bit his bottom lip as the thought settled in, his eyes widened in horror. “Fuck.”

Henry nodded. Then he turned, picked the glass ball off the ground and slammed it against the carriage with a loud curse. The biting stench of the firedamp filled the air. Just some fric­tion, Samuel pondered, or a single spark and the carriage and that damned priest would go up in flames. But what good would that do now? “We need to report what happened here to Žižka. And then find a way to clean up this whole mess.”

It was already morning, when they arrived in Žižka's hideout in that Kuttenberg church. The sun had risen, piercing through the beams of the roof like arrows of silver smoke, dancing in the air. The new day was warmer than the last one, not a single cloud darkened the sky, birds that nested in the corners of the church roof celebrated that warmer times were to come.

The sweet caress of spring didn't seem to have passed by Katherine and Žižka either. When the others climbed up the ladder to the church attic, they were sitting together at the table that Žižka used to store all his documents on, each of them on opposite sides, but leaning over the books and parchments to­wards each other. A little too close.

“A whole house?” Katherine whispered in feigned surprise.

“An estate.” Another gasp of Katherine, and Žižka smiled with an audible hum. “A castle.”

“What on earth would I need a castle for?”

“You won't. But if I have the means to, I would not hesitate to give it to you. I'd give you all I have.”

“All of it, really?”

Samuel pushed himself over the edge onto the floor of the attic, struggling, with only one hand and an elbow to use. Ka­therine passed him a quick glance, and nodded, then she leaned back on her chair with crossed arms. “Before you have ac­quired enough money to buy me a castle, you may as well have died of old age. Time is running, Žižka.”

He let out a laugh that sounded more like air being squeezed out of a bellows. Then he turned around, looked at Samuel and at the others who had followed right behind him, and all the ease and joy vanished from his face at once. “One look at you, and I know that the whole plan went to shit.”

Henry was the first to step forward, of course he was. Other than Samuel and Hans, he had been behind the plan with all his heart. He hadn't spoken much on their ride back to Kuttenberg, but it was clear he felt just as responsible as Žižka must feel, if not more so. “You can say that out loud! We were betrayed. Ambushed by almost a dozen more soldiers. The whole thing was set up.”

“One of them got away before we could stop him.” God­win's voice was as clear and strong as it could get, a soldier re­porting back on his mission. “He clearly went to tell everyone about what happened.”

“And what did happen?” Žižka moved up from his chair now, his eyes wandering from one to the other. Samuel felt as if he looked right through their souls with that blind, pale one. “What about the priest?”

“Dead,” Henry answered plainly. Žižka's gaze shot over to Hans in shock, and Henry raised a pacifying hand. “It was one of the attackers up in the woods. And it didn't happen by acci­dent.”

“They created a martyr.” Katherine's voice was as weak as the spring air whistling through the roof above them.

Žižka let himself sink back against the table, breathing in and out a few times. It was more than that, he knew it. Creating a martyr was only the start. Rumours would spread quickly, and the rumours would ask for consequences. Banishments, prohibitions, death sentences, persecutions. Žižka had wanted to help. Had wanted nothing more than to find a cause they could all agree on, igniting their fire again, including the spark in his own heart. He had navigated them right into disaster. “The one who got away, where did he go?”

“North,” Henry answered. “To Prague.”

“Yes, but unless he had a horse hidden somewhere close, it would take him almost a whole day to get there. I reckon he rather went for a meeting point that was more in his immediate vicinity. A place, perhaps, that is in control of another conspira­tor of all this.”

“The Zlenice castle is close by,” Katherine suggested.

“Ondřej Dubá? Well, he serves as the highest judge in the re­gion, but he is loyal to Wenceslas.”

“Only that Wenceslas isn't all too loyal to Jan Hus anymore. Besides, wasn't Dubá a member of the League of Lords once?”

Žižka nodded without looking at her, thinking it through. Sa­muel could feel his own patience slowly flying off to the sky, together with the swallows under the gable. “He was, but not for long. And the man is ninety, Kat. What reason would he have to get himself tangled up in political strives at his age?”

“You should know that better than most.”

Samuel took a step forward now, his heart pounding almost as heavily as his head and wrist. “What does it matter where they went? Wherever they fled to, they must have reached it by now, and soon the word will spread.”

“Sam is right.” It was a relief that Henry didn't seem to be any more interested in this game of guessing than Samuel was. “The best thing we can do now is to clean up this mess we made as quickly as possible.”

There is one particular mess to clean up first, Samuel thought. That fucker Schwarzfeld who must still be in the room they offered him, only one floor below. Sleeping the sleep of the just. “And take care of that traitor who ratted us out.”

He felt Žižka stare him down for a long time, brows pulled together tightly, the pale eye tearing open his soul. Samuel defied his gaze. There was nothing for Žižka to see that he had to be ashamed of. Žižka's eyes were still fixed on him, when he asked them all with a harsher voice than before: “Where are Kubyenka and Janosh?”

“They never arrived at our meeting place,” Henry answered.

“Did you search the area for them?”

“We did, but only the surroundings, and it was still dark. Though I suppose they must have been stopped before ever getting there.”

“Dear God!” Katherine raised a hand to her mouth.

“Hm.” Žižka's half-empty stare was still buried in Samuel's soul as if that sound was supposed to have carried some other hidden meaning just for him. Samuel couldn't care less.

“We must search for them again,” Hans stepped forward un­til he stood right next to Henry, hands and voice raised, “and we should do it now that it is daytime! Track down the whole way they must have taken, from Uzhitz to Jezonice!”

“We will. And we won't stop until we haven't at least found some trace of them. Dead or alive.”

“Alive?” Henry shook his head in surprise. A string of silver morning light hit his hair, painting it grey where it touched him. “You think someone could have taken them hostage?”

“I doubt it.” Žižka's voice was cold as ice.

Samuel had lost all interest in this fucking staring competi­tion. “You can go look for them.” His fingers had found their way to the handle of his dagger, he hadn't even noticed it but now he felt all to eager to take it and slit someone's throat. “I will have a word with this farreter Schwarzfeld.”

He barely got time to turn on his heel. Žižka jumped forward so quickly that there was little room to react, and he had his mace at hand all of a sudden, putting the heavy metal head to Samuel's chest. No, he thought. Not this time. He pushed the mace away with his right arm, used the left hand to draw the dagger. Žižka was quicker, and he had the advantage of kno­wing that Samuel would not actually hurt him. He closed the distance between them with another firm step, and grabbed his broken wrist with the free hand, squeezing it tightly. Samuel let out a sharp hiss, his vision exploded in blinding light from the pain.

“Not so fast, youngster.”

“Take your hand off me.”

“I cannot do that,” Žižka's voice was low and rumbling like thunder, “unless I am fully certain that you won't do anything foolish.”

“What are you protecting Schwarzfeld for?” Henry came closer to them, but he didn't intervene, even as Samuel could hear in his voice that every fibre of his body wanted to. “He is a traitor! He led us straight into a trap, risking all our lives, sullying the reputation of Hus, he may even have Kubyenka and Janosh on his conscience!”

“I won't deny that he might have played a role in all this. But he is not responsible for what happened with these two.”

“What?”

One more deep breath, one more piercing glare with that cursed dead eye, and then Žižka finally let go off Samuel's wrist, stepping back to the table. Another wave of pain rolled over him, so vigorously he almost fainted. “Schwarzfeld knew which road the priest and his men would take. But neither Ka­therine nor I told him a single word about where exactly you would meet with him, let alone where Janosh and Kubyenka would be staying during the day.”

“So what?” Hans's voice got so high that it cracked. “He knew about the plan, that was more than enough. Those armed men he set on us might have just followed us all the way!”

“From Kuttenberg to Uzhitz? A dozen men, without any of you noticing them? No, they clearly waited there the whole time. They have received their information from a very reliable source.”

“What are you hinting on here, Žižka?” Henry's voice was a strong contrast to Hans's, deep and growling, a dog that had sensed his prey.

Žižka took his time to reply. The silence was filled with an­ger and fear, the lowered looks from Katherine and Godwin who both didn't seem so surprised about Žižka's assumptions, the singing of the swallows who didn't care for the pain of the humans underneath them. “Look. I don't like this any more than you do. But Kubyenka has expressed his concerns about all of this many times over the past few days. So the idea of betrayal is one that we have to entertain.”

Samuel took a step back to the ladder, but he lifted both his hands reassuringly, only a weak attempt with his right one. “All the more reason then to entertain this Schwarzfeld a little.” His grin was all teeth, and he assumed that it looked just as vicious as it felt. “To talk to him, friendly of course.”

This time, Žižka didn't stop him, but Samuel could still see him nod in Hans's direction, before he turned to walk back over to the ladder. “Go with him.” Footsteps behind him, one pair, then another one. “Not you, Henry. I need you here.”

[twistedmafiaau]

A strangely folded letter is delivered to the precipice smelling of jasmine and mildew. Messy writing can be found with the following:

For the eyes of Sleeping Beauty, Sun Bringer and the Hunter:

Or formally known as members of the light trio.

"Are you okay with your loved ones job? How deep would you let them go: if there is a limit. Conversely what would you have them change jobs for?"

In fainter print one can make out the following: "And I know it's strange but it's been gnawing at me... What are ah your favorite positions when making love to someone? Do you indulge them with kisses?"

Silver looked at the paper, reading the letters once, twice, thrice, like wanted to permanently burn the writing into his head.

Jamil mouthed quietly to a staff member if this was okay, only for the one person with a black shirt to give him the thumbs up and whispered back that they could make an exception.

Rook simply giggled at the bluntness of the person that wasn't present in the room but still sent a letter full of such intriguing curiosity.

“I don't see any harm in indulging such an adorable request.” he said, amused. Kalim nodded alongside him, earning a nasty glare from Jamil.

“Well, my partner's job is sure demanding, probably like any other job.” said Kalim while fiddling with the edges of his tie. “They work with children and they're very passionate when teaching them and playing with them, that I'm sure there's no other job that makes them happier than the one they have now. So, no, I wouldn't exchange their job. It brings them joy and I'm happy for them.”

Kalim's smile was comparable to the sun itself, so much he truly felt happiness and trusted his partner. The audience was surely blinded.

Silver remained quiet for a while longer than it was comfortable admitting. Some people in the audience had the slight suspicion he had fallen asleep on the spot. And that wouldn't be a first for him.

“My…loved one’s job…” he murmured so quietly the ones in the rows far behind didn’t even hear him. “Their job is quiet, delicate and beautiful, just like them and I admire their knowledge and expert hands in arranging something so fleeting into a canvas of different emotions and meanings. The reign of nature is truly incredible by what they describe.” he explained with a small smile full of admiration. 

“If I would change it, however… — he mumbled again, smile wiped away by a grimace of something that was hard to describe — Not their job, per se, but rather the people and the ambience they work in. They're strong and resilient like a tiny desert cactus, but some pests still linger on their stems, leeching off their energy and kindness and making them unhappy. I wish I could take them away from such a harsh place and keep them safe… but I know that without the place they hold dear I would be tearing out a part of their heart, and they have suffered enough already. My apologies if I gave such a let down of an answer.”

His mentor gave him a few pats on the back, praising to be such a kindhearted man and for valuing the one he loved. Many women in the sea of journalists started sighing and cooing at such a loving and protective response.

Finally it was Rook’s turn to answer.

He started by praising the two who had preceded him, emphasizing the care and affection they felt for their partners — something, he said, he felt jealous of.

“I apologize in advance but I too, I’m afraid, will give a let down of an answer.” he said with a dramatic sigh. “As I stated previously I still have to find the love of my life, so my response might be a little vague. I’m not too picky about what job they decide to take, provided, of course, that it is not a threat to their physical or mental health, in which case I will have to put my foot down and be firm in explaining to them why it is not possible to continue having that job. What they should be careful of, though, is asking too many questions and being a tad too curious about mine, that would mean they do not have the same trust in me as I have for them, so…” and left the sentence pending, the true meaning hung heavy in the air. 

The second question of the evening took a tad more time to be answered, mainly because two of the three men were fighting off the embarrassment of exposing such intimate details for a whole room to listen. And the Hunter didn’t intend to break that silent game first.

“Well…by position you mean for that, right? I mean, of course you mean for that, you specified it clearly!” broke the silence Kalim, cheeks the same ruby red as his eyes.

“Mine might sound a bit boring maybe but Missionary is the one we do the most. I can look at their face in all their beauty and all the other little details and I can also bend down to touch their forehead and hug them closer and look them in the eyes…I mean, it’s intimate and it’s sweet and…maybe I should stop talking! Is it just me or it’s very hot in here right now.” 

Kalim widened the collar of his suit, trying to get some air through for his poor, now burning cheeks. Jamil murmured to him, running a hand over his tired face, that he might as well not answer if he got so flustered abou it.

Silver cleared his throat, officially taking the reins to answer, his cheeks a flamingo pink that looked oh so gorgeous on his moon kissed skin.

“I agree with Kalim-san here, it might be boring but it’s intimate and allows the most skin contact for heartfelt moments, not just pure lust…also it’s the only position that allows me to not fall asleep midway in.” he whispered the last bit but judging by the giggle let out by his mentor everyone could guess what he said with so much secrecy.

“The Lotus position allows a slow peace and grants free hand movements to explore each other’s bodies. I can keep them near me, kiss their skin and look them in the eyes. Like it had already been stated, it's sweet and intimate to so many levels.” 

The attention shifted back to Rook once more, the air in the room filled with a slight hint of fear.

Both Kalim and Silver had given very vanilla-ish answers, ones that fitted with the image of purity the audience had about them but with Rook…nobody knew what to expect. The Hunter was notorious for giving well crafted and unexpected answers that left everyone wondering what kind of sadist was hidden behind that charming smile — the fright hanging in the air was well justified.

“Why are you all looking at me like that?” Rook questioned, feigning surprise. “What? Were you all perhaps thinking I was into some out of the ordinary position? Maybe that I would tie my partner to a vibrator and enjoy the show while sitting comfortably in the bleachers? — he paused, smiling devilishly — My, my! How naughty of you!”

He didn’t confirm the vibrator bit, nor did he denied it either.

“The one position suitable for a night of pure lovemaking for me is called The Chairman. Such a silly name, isn’t it? It’s a rather simple one: The giver sits on the edge of the bed and the receiver sits on them, facing away, then the receiving partner leans back on the giver, creating full body-to-body contact. A true epiphany for intimacy, am I right? — he paused to allow some shivers to run through his skin in delight — I particularly enjoy this position as it allows me to use both my ears, to listen to the melodious symphony my partner releases, and my hands to...spice things up a bit.”

He concluded with a smile that widened into what could be described as a predator's grin. No fangs, no ferocious growl, just a smile that spelled danger from miles away.

That didn’t leave much room for doubt about his tastes…

Yup, a true sadist wearing a saint tunic.

Truly frightening.

✠ Back to Bullettin Board

✠ If you have arrived to this point consider leaving a like, a comment and reblog. Thank you very much for your support

[staytinyville]

Stay Alive (32)

BTS poly!ot7 x Reader

Magical Creatures AU

Series Masterlist

Warnings: none

A/N NOT BETA. YOU GUYS! I have a permanent taglist in my main masterlist if you wish to be added to my imagines. Taglist for my fics are currently not available though. It is currently closed for this story and my OUTLAW one. However if you wish to read my imagines (I have a couple coming out soon) Please be sure you check it out!

Staytinyville Permanent Taglist

You stretched your arms above your head after getting out of the bathroom, being greeted with the cheerful sight of Taehyung’s grin. 

“Good morning!” He beamed bounding over to you and wrapping his arms around your waist. 

“Morning Tae.” You smiled sleepily. “Where are the others?” You asked as you noticed they weren’t in the living room part of the home. 

“The Hyungs went to find Yuri lake.” The fairy boy answered you. “Jungkook is taking a shower and Jimin is enjoying the sun.” You turned back to you, his smile over taking his face. 

You almost moved to stroke your thumb against his cheek as his overly happy energy seemed to bring you joy. You were glad to see them adjusting well to being out of that facility. 

“Your grandpa made us all breakfast!” He added. 

“Did he?” You raised an eyebrow, gently pulling the boy away from you. “I should go clean.”

“Good morning, grandpa.” You called as you saw his hunched over figure sitting at the table.  

You paused at the sink when he didn’t greet you back as usual. Turning around with furrowed eyebrows, you looked at him worried. He was casually sipping on his tea in thought, eyes casted to the kitchen window. 

“Grandpa?” You called again. 

“Where did you meet those boys?” He asked you, looking down at the cup in his hands. 

You froze for a moment at his words, feeling anxiety bubble in your chest from his question. However it was just a normal question anyone would have after your granddaughter brought home seven boys without telling you about them.  

“At my work.” You told him slowly. “They're patients of mine.”

“So you just took them?” He looked up at you quickly, waiting for your answer. 

“It's more complicated than that.” You nodded your head, trying to get him to talk about something else. 

“What are they doing here?” He asked you.

You felt guilty for lying to your grandfather but it was best at the moment. You knew you would have to tell him at one point–especially if he was going to be crossing the portal with you. However you were still thinking about how to do that. 

“I'm taking them home.” You answered. 

“Where?” He shot out.

“They live nearby.” You spit out. “Near the ocean-”

“(Y/N), what are they doing here?” He stopped you, repeating his question. 

Your breath got caught in your throat feeling it seize up. You wanted to tell him everything but you were starting to worry about his health. However the way he was speaking to you and asking questions made you wonder if he knew something he wasn’t telling you about. 

“What do you mean?” You asked softly. 

“Do you know about them? About their home?” He asked. 

This caused you to release your breath, looking down. At that point you knew he was talking about their abilities. The fact that they were humans from their own world. 

“How did you find out?” You sighed. 

“I saw the fairy boy turn a bed back into a pillow.” He sighed, looking down at his mug. “One of them is an elf, too.” He looked back at you, this time with a serious expression.

You couldn’t lie to him anymore. “So I'll ask you again. What are they doing here?” He told you. 

“They were kidnapped 10 years ago.” You spoke softly. “The company I worked with used them for experiments to create medicine.” You looked down, trying to avoid his harsh stare as he clenched his jaw. 

“I-He told me you were safe from that world.” He spoke to himself. 

You quickly looked up at him, furrowing your eyebrows. “He?” You spoke out loud. “Grandpa, what are you talking about?”

“You can't go with them.” He quickly told you, coming to a stand. 

“What? I'm not going anywhere.” You shook your head, denying what he was saying. 

By default you weren’t going anywhere that wasn’t this world. 

“No, (Y/N).” He walked up to you, holding onto your shoulders. “I need you to stay here at home. I don't want you near them.”

You scoffed, pulling his hands off you. “What are you going on about?” You shook your head. “Grandpa, I have to take them back home. We have to save the others-”

“No!” He shouted. “I already made the deal with that witch to keep you from remembering. I can't risk losing you again.”

Your breath hitched as you watched your grandpa freak out about the aspect of leaving with the boys. However his words confused you. Your shoulders dropped as you took in what he said. Hobi had told you that someone had placed a spell on you to keep you from remembering you own memories. 

“What?” You whispered. 

“Is this a bad time?” Namjoon’s voice rang from the entrance of the kitchen. 

“Yes.” You told him, looking at your grandpa. 

“No.” Your grandpa said at the same time. “Did you boys find what you were looking for?” He asked, going over to where the seven boys had gathered. 

“We did.” Hobi smiled. “We're ready to go if two are.” He looked over at you, frowning when he took in your disheveled state. 

“Us two?” Your grandpa frowned, turning to you. 

You didn’t dare to look at him though, still trying to wrap your head around all that he had just told you. 

This whole time he knew about the creatures that lived in another world beyond theirs and here he was trying to keep you from knowing the truth about it all. How long ago was it that he found out the truth and kept it from you? Did your parents know? What happened so long ago that he was forced to ask someone to take your memories away from you?

“Sir, we are sorry to have dragged both you and your granddaughter into this.” Jin spoke up. “We know it's hard to believe but we're magical creatures from another world.”

“It's not.” You grandpa rolled his eyes, waving Jin off. “I have a magical portal in my backyard, you really think I wouldn't notice?” He turned to them. “I want you boys to go home. Leave me and my granddaughter out of it.”

“Grandpa-” You scoffed. 

“Sir we can't.” Namjoon started. “Our enemy has powerful people on his side. If they come after you two we won't be here to protect you.” He explained. “So please come with us for the time being. We have friends back at the facility we want to save. It won't be forever.”

“We love (Y/N).” Yoongi spoke up. “She got us out of everything and we will protect her with our lives.”

Your eyes went wide and you turned to look at them. The breath you had been taking was caught in your throat as you took in Yoongi’s words. The boys didn’t try to deny his statement, which made your heart race. The younger boys all looked over to you, small smiles on their faces as a blush settled over their cheeks. 

You sighed, feeling tears well in your eyes at their looks. 

“What is he? Your enemy?” Your grandfather asked. 

“He's a greed demon.” Jimin answered. 

“So I see.” Your grandfather sighed, looking away.

He began to rub at his forehead, hand holding himself up at the table.  

“Grandpa?” You asked worriedly. 

“I thought everything would be over after the accident you had—after allowing Bang to place that memory erasing spell on you.” He shook his head. “I guess fate in their world is much different than ours.” He turned to you, taking a hold of your hand. 

He turned to the boys. “Let's get going. I'm sure all of you have families you miss.”

“You were the one who asked Bang to put the spell on (Y/N)?” Hoseok asked. “Why?”

“For her protection.” Your grandfather simply spoke. 

Your grandfather had gathered some things from his bedroom before all of you set out to head for Yuri Lake. The boys were meant to lead you all but it seemed to be that your grandfather knew exactly where to go. 

You were placed between all of them, glancing at the trees that towered over all of you. You felt something in your chest clench at the sight of the woods that seemed to be hidden in your memories. Everytime you passed a tree that had been a sapling from when you were a little girl. 

The feeling seemed to intensify the more you all hiked closer to the mountains. Your steps began to slow as the foot of the mountain came into view. With Yoongi standing behind you, he softly pulled you along, making sure you weren’t left behind. 

As you came up to the mouth of the cave, you could see colorful flowers and a headstone that was placed at the side. While everyone else seemed to look around in wonder, you took the moment to reach the stone. 

You crouched down to read the writing, seeing that it was about a little girl who died at the age of 10. You felt a shiver go down your spine and the soft touch of a child’s hand on your shoulder. When you turned around to see what it was, there was nobody behind you. Your grandfather had been hobbling over to you, looking at the headstone. 

“It's a memorial.” You told him. 

“She used to be friends with you.” Your grandfather sighed. “Both of you would explore the forest for hours.”

You turned to look at him, he had a soft smile on his face as he took in the nature that surrounded you all. Turning back to the name on the stone, you sighed deeply feeling as though there was something you were missing. It bothered you that you couldn’t seem to remember the girl. 

“What happened?” You asked quietly. 

“I can't tell you.” Your grandfather said. “You wouldn't be able to listen.”

Hoseok watched from the entrance of the cave, listening in carefully to your conversation. Jungkook had skipped up next to him, taking a look at where he was intently focused on. 

“What is it, Hobi?” He asked, looking at you. 

“It's her.” Hoseok told the boy. “The ghost figure in (Y/N)'s memories.” He watched as something began to follow behind you, skipping playfully. 

“How do you know?” Jungkook looked around trying to find what Hobi was talking about. 

“I can feel her.” With that the man turned around, giving Jungkook a soft smile. 

He nodded his head, leading the boy into the cave and towards the sparkling water that could be found at the back. 

All seven of them walked to the edge, their feet just barely touching. You walked up behind them, hand reaching out to the closest boy. Taehyung held onto your hand giving you a soft smile. 

“This is it.” Namjoon sighed. “Are you all ready?”

“More than ready.” Jin spoke up, glancing at all of his members. 

“Let's go home.” Namjoon smiled before taking the first step into the lake. 

You allowed them all to go one by one before turning to face your grandfather. 

“Grandpa?” You called him. 

“I'll be right behind you.” He told you. 

And things went black.

Series Masterlist

@h3arteyes4mingi , @fangirling-all-the-way-tbh , @rinkud, @rln-byg , @singukieee ,  @hoshi-is-ult-bbg , @ldysmfrst , @k-p0p-4ever , @shadowyjellyfishfest , @forestsquirrel , @juju-227592 , @alienchickenpoopp , @dreamerwasfound , @afangirl91 , @psiphidragon , @puppyminnnie , @girl-nahh-two , @shyloh-the-cornsnake , @oemmi2005 , @ollyoxenfrees , @whynotlarene , @beeltsumuu , @cryingpages , @milopenne , @belikejk , @bts-4-life-ot7 , @woozixo, @serveruslovebot , @vintageoldfashion ,

[red-man-of-mustache]

Starting Over

Waow, I sure have been absent a lot lately huh? More than usual, but also more fierce in trying to say "I'll be back" or not go on hiatus.

We've had a good run. Mario and I. Literally ten years. On and off yes but still, a full decade of me writing the guy and enjoying every second of it. I still say he's one of the muses that came most naturally to me.

It's been a while since I've had a full day of replying to things, getting asks out or musing ... and truthfully, I'm done. This time, I've come to realize that my muse is so far away that I don't see this being remedied. There will be no more coming back from the brink of hiatus hell, no more popping back in to revive the flame. It's over. My run with Mario is at it's end and it pains me to say that really. At least, portraying him. I'll always be a huge fan of his media.

That's the TLDR. If you'd like the rest of my thoughts they'll be below the cut so as to not clutter the dash. Mostly reminiscing and clarifying why I've come to this decision.

I've made Ganondorf his own blog. He's not going down with the plumber.

Any questions, thoughts, anything really, my discord is available upon request. Just reach out in messages. ^^

One thing about Mario is he's, in my opinion, timeless. Certain aspects of his media are products of their time but still the message, the overall goofiness, and the content within can be enjoyed when or wherever. I remember being a kid and my first foray into his world. It was magical. I fell in love with the simple mechanic of running and jumping to get where you needed mixed in with the other things that came about when the situation called for it. Then I discovered his other escapades into certain genres, chief of all being RPG's. Legend Of The Seven Stars, Paper Mario, and the M&L series. We all know how excellent these titles are for expanding on most corners of this universe with admittedly surface level characters.

But, that's what I think makes this particular franchise beautiful: simple motivations and character archetypes that cascade to make the plots of these games we all love. Mario is a hero. Wherever he can, he will help. The Mushroom Kingdom receives most of his attention naturally but he's not foreign to traveling, getting into a bind and helping people locally. We see parts of him peek out along all his adventures: he's brash, aggressive, passionate, and so many other shades of human.

This inspired me way back when to role-play him. Specifically however I was spurred to come here, tumblr, to be him by my Girlfriend. Usually I'd shrug off specific requests for characters as I have a need for things to flow naturally but I followed her request and never looked back. Ten years later, I'm still typing on this blue wall of a site.

The ups, downs, and all arounds of life have all taken me in various directions but I always would come back ready to be a goof again amongst like-minded people.

Not this time however.

There's just.... something in the air. I don't have the will to force out another reply or even crop another icon. I don't have it in me to muse over the games like I used to. And it's not to say I'm soured to the media. Quite the contrary actually. I bought Brothership day 1 and although I believe there's pacing issues (A la Dream Team) I'm hooked.

I don't feel at home anymore dwelling on this blog.

That's not anyone's fault. And that's okay really. We need to be able to look ourselves in the eye and say when things aren't working out. Being afraid of starting over has held me back in a lot of areas in life, specifically with interpersonal relationships. Not anymore.

I won't be starting again with Mario however. This chapter of my life has come to a close. I hold Mario and by extension my writing as him very close to my heart. Yet, I just don't have it in me anymore.

I'll be honest: I wish to bring joy to people with what I do. It's as much for me as it is you, the person reading this. I can't fake that. I have been for a bit actually. That's not okay.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm using Mario to fill a void in my life.

These kinds of thoughts don't "get to me" per se but why am I asking myself such questions? It all comes full circle to the simple act of logging on and writing for him. I can choose not to be here as I've unfortunately been doing. I can choose to step away and recuperate. What I can't choose however is where my heart lies.

So this is goodbye. Goodbye Mario and all the things I've conjured around him. We had a great run. The spirit of it will live on while I play his games and cheer him on.

This blog and it's predecessor represent an especially tender part of me. Both of them will stay up as a testament to that. I believe I've contacted most of the people I speak with regularly before making this public but if you have any questions OR want further clarification just reach out. I think I've rambled long enough here.

I love you all. Being Mario has been a feeling I'll never be able to replicate or capture ever again and honestly? That's a good thing. These fond memories will live on and I can come back to look at them whenever.

[exhaled-spirals]

May 31st, 1889: I think that if I get into the habit of writing a bit about what happens, or rather doesn't happen, I may lose a little of the sense of loneliness and desolation which abides with me ... [A] written monologue by that most interesting being, myself, may have its yet to be discovered consolations. I shall at least have it all my own way and it may bring relief as an outlet to that geyser of emotions, sensations, speculations and reflections which ferments perpetually within my poor old carcass ...

June 16th: Miss Percy from next door came in to see me ... and evidently looks upon me, funny as it seems, as a pitiable object. She asked me with the greatest conviction, if I didn't get 'awfully tired of reading!'—This pleased me greatly, it expressed so her round, bustling, cheery-in-the-morning personality ...

July 12th: My mind was suddenly flooded by one of those luminous waves that swept out of consciousness all but the living sense and overpower one with joy in the rich, throbbing complexity of life, when suddenly I looked up at Nurse, who was dressing me, and ... my brain made me exclaim, “Oh! Nurse, don’t wish you were inside of me!”—her look of dismay and vehement disclaimer—“inside of you, Miss, when you have just had a sick head-ache for five days!" ... However great we may seem to our own consciousness, no human being would exchange his for ours ... August 5th [about a suicide]: How heroic to be able to suppress one's vanity to the extent of confessing that the game is too hard.

March 22nd, 1890: The women ... here constantly ... marry again. 'Tis always a surprise ... I am only too glad to see creatures grasp at anything, outside murder, ... from which they fancy they may extract happiness, but it reveals such a simple organization to be perpetually ready to renew experience in so confiding a manner—playing the old tune with variations ... April 7th: I remind myself all the time of a coral insect building up my various reefs of theory by microscopic additions drawn from observation, or my inner consciousness, mostly.

— Excerpts from The Diary of Alice James