#*kept it quiet except from in my ao3 notes lmao

[kiras-monkey-bum-face]

I've kept it quiet not to jinx it but I have my driving practical test for the second time tomorrow and I swear to god if I fail again I'll be so pissed at myself, please send good vibes my way

[hazelhalfpint]

Closing the Distance

Surprise another Inu/Kag one shot because I have zero will-power lmao. I just can't stop myself they are so fun!

Based on a prompt you can find here

You can also read this one-shot on AO3 here

For @fawn-eyed-girl, the main inspo behind my return to writing.

Closing the Distance -

The city is quiet, the click of her small law firm office door almost seems out of place as she closed for the day. The normally busy streets of Akasaka had lulled to a quiet hum around her. Kagome sighed, glancing down at her phone. The time glared up at her, nearly 12:00AM. She made a noise in discontent, “Poor Buyo probably thinks I abandoned him this time.”

Her heeled suede boots clicked on the pavement hurriedly toward Akasaka station hoping to catch the last train to Meguro. She sighed in relief, stepping onto the train right before departure. Kagome let her body sway with the motions of the train, opting to close her eyes as she stood, fingers gripping one of the over-head handles. She felt grateful her ride was a short one, only taking her 15 minutes total trip time.

When the train pinged its arrival to Meguro, Kagome smiled stepping onto the concrete platform. She waved to the train staff, a younger man who usually worked the evening train route in Meguro.

“See you tomorrow, Hojo-kun.”

He smiled in return, waving cheerfully, “Have a good night, Higurashi-san!”

Kagome tightened her scarf, once again glancing at her phone as she walked the distance from Meguro station to her apartment building. She scrolled through her notifications, pursing her lips as she read them aloud. “Email, email, another email,” she rolled her eyes but kept scrolling,” text from Sango, (2) missed calls from Kaa-chan, two new Instagram likes.” She let out a loud whine; not a single message from the one person she had been hoping to hear from.

Kagome opened a message thread, the name ‘Inu’ glowing at the top with a red heart emoji. She typed a message as she continued her path, just like she had done the last three nights. She knew he was outside the reach of cell service, somewhere in the mountains of Washington, USA, attending a business conference with his father.

<New Message to: Inu ♥

I miss your voice. ☹ I hope your trip is going well; call me when you can! ♥>

She clicked send, tucking her phone into her jacket pocket. She wasn’t trying to be clingy, truly, but her and Inuyasha had spoken nearly every day for almost a year and a half. Kagome smiled fondly at how their relationship had started, “Hah!” She snorted out a laugh, ‘if you could even call it a ‘relationship’ at first.’

They’d met in an online anime forum, both looking for recommendations to fill their generally boring day to day routines. She’d recommended Bleach, one of her all-time favorites, and Inuyasha had roasted her alive in the comments about the length of the series. She’d retaliated hard though, noting that in his bio he had One-Piece listed as top favorite, and that if he were going to be a hypocrite to at least try to hide it. They bickered incessantly in the forum comments, and eventually moved to private chat, the conversation taking on a more playful tone as time went on.

After that they had pinballed anime suggestions back and forth, building a repertoire of anime they both could enjoy, either together via Zoom or separately. It wasn’t long until their conversations turned more heated, and affectionate. She’d learned what he liked and didn’t like (curry being at the top of that list alongside Bleach) and that unfortunately for their budding relationship they lived on opposite sides of the world. He worked for his fathers growing tech corporation as head of marketing, and Kagome worked full time at a law-firm as a child advocate lawyer.

She had also learned that like her, Inuyasha had grown up in Japan, in a prefecture close to where she had grown up. He’d only moved to New York with his father after high school to get a head start working for the family company, and now he was in Washington laying groundwork for the company’s’ north-western sect. She blushed remembering a previous conversation they’d had six months into talking, and four months into dating.

“Do you think you’ll ever come back to Japan?”

It wasn’t meant to be a loaded question, they hadn’t known each other for long, but Kagome couldn’t stop herself from chewing on her lip nervously. She drew in her knees, letting them tuck underneath her on the couch.

She could hear him chuckle into the phone, “Do you want me to come back to Japan?” Kagome felt her cheeks tinging pink.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” She defended, “I mean of course I wouldn’t mind seeing you but…” She continued to babble on when he interrupted her.

“I would come back for you.” The words were quick and effective, going straight to the butterflies in her stomach, her heart rate increasing.

“You would?”

“In a heartbeat.” He offered the words to her like they were second nature.

“Inuyasha?” She smiled into the phone, waiting for his response.

“Hm?” he hummed a response, followed by a yawn.

“I really, really like you.” She could picture him smiling now, “I really like you too.”

They both had busy lives, but the part she loved most was that even in the mundanity of their daily lives they still managed to find time for each other. Except for the last three days.

“Keep it together, Kagome. It’s only been three days. He has no cell service,” she reminded herself fishing in her pocket for keys as she approached her unit.

Kagome pulled out the apartment keys, flipping through them easily to the correct one. The door opened with a click, and she shuffled into the genkan. She dropped her small purse onto the entryway table calling out into the dark as she always did, an inside joke to herself.

“Honey, I’m home!” She flipped on the entrance light and slid out of her jacket, chuckling, “Oh yeah that’s right...I live alone.” Well, not exactly, she did have Buyo after all. The fat cat normally came running as soon as she called out her inside joke, making it even more hilarious to Kagome. Buyo her fat sort-of roommate cat.

Her body stilled when this time instead of the mewling of her cat, a male voice called back out to her from the kitchen, “Oh good, you made it home,” the voice purred.

” I picked up some pizza,” the entry way to the kitchen was dimly lit, but Kagome didn’t need the lights on to know who was standing in her doorway holding a pizza box. A tall figure with silver hair swept into a bun, golden eyes gleaming with amusement and an undeniably familiar voice. One that she’d been hearing the last year and a half.

Kagome kicked off her boots in the genkan, launching herself across the apartment. Her arms locked around the figure’s waist, “Inuyasha!” She cried out his name, tears mercilessly streaming down her face as she hugged him tighter.

Inuyasha dropped the box of pizza onto the closest counter, tucking the crying woman into his arms more securely. He dropped his lips to her hair, placing a tender kiss to the top of her head. He was committing her scent to memory, lavender and soft vanilla. He inhaled deeply, letting out a content sigh.

“What are you doing here? How did you find my apartment? What about Washington?” Kagome managed to croak out the questions through tears. His fingers moved to tilt her face up to him, wiping the tears from her cheeks. He smiled a lopsided fanged grin, “I told you I’d come back to Japan for you.”

He said it with ease, like it was the most logical thing in the world. Kagome couldn’t stop herself as she pressed onto the tips of her toes to reach him. Her lips found his, and she pulled him closer, afraid he may vanish if she let go. He didn’t resist but instead melted into her touch, cradling the small of her back with his hands. After a few moments, Kagome released him with a pant, her chest heaving as he braced them against the closest kitchen wall.

Inuyasha dropped kisses onto her exposed shoulder, and Kagome stopped him with small hands fisted into his shirt. She had to tell him.

“I love you.” She blurted out the three words, cheeks flushed from their heated encounter and her confession. They had danced around the subject, but she’d known for a while. Kagome loved Inuyasha. She chewed on her lip, pulling it between her teeth but was stopped when he lowered to pull at her lip himself, sucking it against his mouth, and kissing her again sweetly.

“I love you too,” he said softly, cupping her face with his hand, “even if you like bleach.” Kagome let out a loud laugh at that, shoving his shoulder but then pulling him back for another kiss, just one of many more that would come now that she was truly home.

[a-hundred-jewels]

cruel summer ch 12: i have these lucid dreams

Ao3 Wattpad

Summary: sabrina starr, pegasuses, and oh no! the fourth wall broke! do we have a carpenter in the audience?

Word Count: 9000 ish

Tags: Rachel Elizabeth Dare/Jane Penderwick, Rosalind Penderwick/Tommy Geiger, Nico di Angelo/Will Solace, Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson, Jane Penderwick, Rachel Elizabeth Dare, Rosalind Penderwick, Skye Penderwick, Chiron (Percy Jackson), Martin Penderwick, Elizabeth "Batty" Penderwick, Elizabeth Penderwick (senior), Iantha Aaronson-Penderwick, Ben Aaronson-Penderwick, Nico di Angelo, Will Solace, Annabeth Chase, Jeffrey Tifton-McGrath, Percy Jackson, Demeter (Percy Jackson), Apollo (Percy Jackson), Camp Half-Blood (Percy Jackson), Camp Half-Blood AU, Demigods, demeter!elizabeth penderwick, demeter!rosalind (second generation), demeter!batty (second generation), apollo!alec mcgrath, apollo!jeffrey (second generation), demeter!jane (second generation), demeter!skye (second generation), all of that's in no particular order, main focus is on jane because i love her and she's so so fun to write, tomsalind is there (and stuff will happen - i can't really say what, it will really be eventful though), yes of course there's solangelo, takes place right before Penderwicks In Spring, After Trials of Apollo, more tags to come??, Minor Swearing

Notes and Full Chapter below cut:

Hello everyone and welcome back! I'll admit, this is a little later today than I'd been planning to post (was hoping to get an early start), but hey! If the Puppet History season 4 finale can be late, then so can I!

First off, a massive massive thank you to waterbottle_stickers for being the best beta reader ever. This chapter would be a mess without you. Also, if you haven't already, please check out their enola holmes fic wherever you stray, i follow it's truly wonderful.

If you've been following me on tumblr, then you'll know that, in addition to reblogging an alarming quantity of good omens fanart, I've been making some plans for fics this month. The original plan from back in august was to post every day of the month, but... ahhh.... I just don't work that fast lmao. I'll have to be content with just posting a fair amount this month. Happy october! Anyway, stay tuned.

On this fine day, we've got two lovely QUEER fanfic recommendations that I'm very excited to share. Up first is one from the tumblr blog izzielizzie (which you should all absolutely check out! especially if you're into the one of us is lying fandom!). it centers around the skye/melissa pairing and their senior prom, which Skye is said to have only gone to last minute, and also wearing a lab coat, in a passage of the penderwicks at last. featuring some oblivious lesbians and also jane. once again a massive thanks to izzielizzie, as this fic is one of my favourites!. click here to take a look! (also keep an eye on her blog in general bc her penderwicks fics are awesome!)

The second fanfic is also one I'm very fond of, as it focuses on the siblinghood of skye and jane, which is one of my favourite topics on earth. check out rolling down the ancient high street by hanchewie/ramblemadlyon (tumblr and ao3 respectively) for the sibling antics of aroace skye and bisexual jane when the latter visits the former at her college in california! and, if you like it, ramblemadlyon has two other penderwicks fics from the past couple days that look fantastic as well, and that I look forward to reading.

This chapter is dedicated to my therapist, since I've decided this will be the month of oddly specific dedications. thank you for telling me to stop referring to cruel summer as my "trash baby" and help me recognize the true worth that it holds in my life.

Disclaimer: not my characters, you know the drill. Jeanne Birdsall and Rick Riordan are lucky ducks indeed. chapter title is (obviously) from "lucid dreams" by Juice WRLD.

FROM THE POV OF JANE PENDERWICK

The woods loomed around me, seeming as tall as buildings as they invited me in further. I took another step, the sharp pain of a pinecone digging into my foot barely registered in my mind. I kept walking. A crack sounded throughout the air, and, behind me, a tree splintered round its base and fell down, only inches away from crushing me dead, and completely blocking the path out.

Frightened, I began to run, looking for a way out of the forest. But no matter which way I went, there were only trees in front of me. Where was the path? Where was the grassy hill I had walked down to get in here in the first place. Had I even walked down that hill to begin with? Now that I thought about it, I wasn’t sure I remembered coming here. I wasn’t sure I remembered waking up this morning, or going to bed last night, or anything besides existing in the forest. Who was I? What was I doing here? How could I get out?

Panicking, I stood in the middle of a clearing, looking frantically at the trees around me, trying to find something familiar. Nothing. I was exhausted. How long had I been here? An hour? A day? A lifetime? I collapsed at the base of a tree, sobbing as I tried to remember. Something. Anything.

Then, a voice echoed around me. “Welcome,” it said, and my mind went black.

I bolt upright in bed, a scream halfway out of my throat. I clamp it back, not wanting to wake my cabinmates. Thin light whimpers through the window--enough for me to see my white-knuckle grip on the sheets, but not enough to pass as daylight.

What time is it?

Our cell phones don’t really work here--that was one of the first things Miranda told us when we arrived, and Batty’s been gleefully lording it over us that her Mp3 player will still play music and, like, function, while our smart phones recline sadly in our duffel bags. That being said, I don’t feel quite brave enough to get out of my bed just yet and tiptoe over to the big analog clock that Rio bought at a pawn shop in Colorado. Maybe my phone will at least show the time.

I reach under my bed and fumble for my duffel, hooking my pinky through the zipper loop and yanking it out onto my floor. My phone’s in the front pocket, buried under two pairs of headphones, several gum wrappers, and some strawberry leaves (?????). A piece of gum peels off the screen as I disentangle my phone, and I mentally chide my past self for being so messy.

My phone does not turn on. Big clock it is.

I tiptoe across the cold tile and peer around the tree.

5:45 .

Jesus Pagan Christ.

It’s too early to wake anyone up (as I think this, Batty lets out a snore to rival any crabby Tyrannosaurus Rex), so I wrap a blanket around myself like a criminally attractive burrito, and creep out onto the porch, with my notebook and pen tucked into my shirt.

As long as I live, I will never get tired of summer mornings. There’s something deeply lovely about the soft light of the still-sleepy, pink lemonade sun, the quiet anticipation of the cool air, damp from dew and preparing for the upcoming heat. At home in Cameron, Skye’s woken me up many an early morning to go for a run or do soccer drills or for a grueling “Seven Minute Workout Except You Don’t Follow The Rules And Torture Your Sister by Making It Actually A Forty-Nine Minute Workout.” (But it’s okay, I’m not bitter). But, as delightful as those experiences have all been, I don’t think Skye really gets it. The beauty of the summer morning is not what it can do for your workout schedule, but rather in its gentle softening of an otherwise boiling day. It is to be appreciated in the way that I am now, sitting curled up on this frighteningly creaky porch (I mean, seriously, who built this?) and calling up the Sabrina Starr section of my brain to try and write away the residual panic from my nightmare.

Sabrina sighed as the plane took off. She wasn’t sure if she should have followed the voice in her head telling her to come here. Saying it out loud--even just thinking it--made it sound ridiculous. A dream, a voice in her mind. Barely more than a whim.

Worse than that, Sabrina wasn’t even sure where this whim was taking her. On a napkin in her pocket, she’d scrawled everything she remembered about the dream from the night before. The dark sky, lit only with spiderwebs of lightning, the shadowy figure huddled on a beach and soaked through with rain. The voice crying for help.

And a name. Aeaea.

After she’d woken up, Sabrina had looked up Aeaea, too tired to fully connect why the name felt familiar. Her heart had sunk further after reading the Wikipedia entry, and a breath of hopelessness had left her lips. According to the internet, Aeaea was not a real place. It had been the island prison of Circe. Fiction wasn’t new to Sabrina, and neither was mythology (she recalled an adventure spent with a ghost called Rainbow from a few years back).

Fictional places, though, were another matter. How could she get somewhere if she didn’t know where she was going? Was she trusting her gut with too much this time?

Sabrina folded up the napkin and put it back in her pocket. There was no point in worrying about that now. She’d looked at enough maps to make a guess at where Aeaea might be if it was real. When she got there, she could get more information. Sabrina Starr had survived this long in her career of rescues and whims. She could survive one more adventure. Worst case scenario, she said to herself, I spend a few days running around for nothing and have to brush up on my Greek.

She repeated it to herself like a promise. Worst case scenario, worst case scenario… Eventually, tired out from all her anxieties, and from trying desperately not to worry about what would come next, Sabrina fell asleep.

FROM THE POV OF RACHEL ELIZABETH DARE

“Okay, I give up. Tell me what’s wrong.” Annabeth’s voice startles me away from my plate of eggs, which I had been pushing around with a fork. Anxiety bubbles in my throat, just as it had been since I woke up, and food just doesn’t sound like a good idea.

“I--what?”

Annabeth waves her hand impatiently. “Don’t play dumb. I’ve been talking to you for five minutes and I don’t think you’ve looked up once. Also you’re always hungry in the mornings, so unless you, like, ate an entire cow before I got here, this ,” she gestures to my uneaten eggs, “is unusual behaviour.”

I give her a look. Sometimes, I get the feeling that Annabeth exists as a part of multiple different dimensions at once, like she’s having four other conversations that I can’t hear, and is still ten steps ahead of me in the one I’m actually a part of.

Or maybe I’m just easy to read.

“Nothing’s wrong.” I don’t want to talk about it. “I’m fine.” I’m terrified.

Annabeth sighs. “Is this about the prophecy?”

“No,” I spear another piece of egg, and don’t eat it. “Maybe. Yes.” I feel like going back to my cave and staying there for the rest of my life. Waiting with a book and some paints for the prophecy to get bored and go away. Maybe I’d take Jane with me, or Nico, for some company. That sounds nice.

My plate is pulled away from me as I aim my fork again. “I can’t pay attention when you do that,” Annabeth huffs. I think I wouldn’t invite her to stay in my cave. She’s too on the nose when I want to mope. Then again, she says the same about me.

“Fine,” I turn and face her. “Let’s talk feelings.” Connor Stoll, who had been making his way towards our table, abruptly turns around and walks the other way. I should get Chiron to hire a therapist. Gods know we need it.

Further proving my point, Annabeth’s eyes widen a little, before she remembers it is I who will be spilling. (I make a point to corner her later. It’s a routine we have). “Wow. You broke fast.”

I nod. “I’m tired and you’re annoying.” (False. We both know it. Another routine). “Like you said, I’m nervous about the prophecy.”

Annabeth nods. “And?”

I frown. “What do you mean, and ? There’s no and.”

Annabeth frowns back at me. A mirror, a mime, an annoyance. The nerve to look disappointed in me. “I thought you were spilling, Red.”

I roll my head back and study the roof of the pavilion, which Annabeth designed, and slowly lean my head down to stare at the table. I really don’t want to have this conversation. I go along anyways. “I’m worried about Jane.”

Annabeth leans back, triumphant. “Ah, yes. Your girlfriend.”

Maybe if I try reeeeeeeally hard, I can activate the Oracle of Delphi and freak Annabeth out enough to make her go away. “ Not my girlfriend. You know that.”

“You called Percy my boyfriend for weeks before we actually officially decided.”

I wave my hand dissmissively. “That’s different, you guys were dancing around each other for like three years. You needed a bit of a push. Jane and I kissed once! Over a week ago! And nothing came of it.” We actually haven’t really talked about it. We’re in this sort of in-between zone where we spend a ton of time together, but don’t have a label for it. Honestly, it’s been nice.

Annabeth grins, apparently reading my thoughts. “You’ve been eating lunch with the Demeter cabin, like, every other day. I saw you doing archery together yesterday. Both of you were awful at it, but you stayed there for hours. I’ve never seen you focus on something that long outside of your paintings.”

I stare at the ceiling again. Maybe Annabeth designed it so that a single square foot of rock might fall down onto my head and relieve me from this conversation. “Yes, fine, we spend a lot of time together. But that doesn’t make us a couple, and has nothing to do with what I’m actually worried about!” I can see in her face that Annabeth is more serious now, and is about to fully listen to me, when Percy and Malcolm show up, sliding into the seats across from us, and clanging several plates of pancakes down onto the table in front of them.

“Made them ourselves! Wanna share?” Percy gives Annabeth heart eyes and a kiss on the cheek when she folds a large blue pancake into thirds and bites it like a burrito. I roll my eyes at them because they are a horrifying and disgusting couple and also I kind of want to be them when I grow up. Malcolm ignores them, instead turning to me. “Were you talking about Jane?” he asks, pushing wire rimmed glasses up his nose.

I frown. “Sort of. Why?”

He shrugs, sheepish. “You know. Just, uh, just wondering.”

I narrow my eyes at him, then Percy, who tears himself away from looking at Annabeth to sigh dramatically. “Malcolm wants to ask out Jane’s sister. You know, the blond one.”

I snort. “ Skye? Seriously?”

Malcolm looks vaguely offended. “What’s so weird about that?”

“Sorry, it’s not weird.” I reach over the table to pat him on the shoulder with my fork. “Perfectly normal teenage hormones.” He glares at me and I smile sweetly back. “I just can’t imagine Skye going out with anyone, that’s all.”

Malcolm stares down at his pancake, disappointed. “Oh. You sure?”

I nod, feeling a little more normal with my friends and less doom-related breakfast conversation. My eggs are past the threshold of “warm and appetizing” but I take a bite anyway. “Pretty sure. Jane told me that she’s aroace and, based on past occurrences, there’s a seventy percent chance she’ll punch anyone who asks her out. Anyway, why the interest? I didn’t know you guys talked.”

Malcolm shrugs. “We don’t, really. She just seems cool.”

Percy pipes in, “He’s been practically obsessed with her since she won that soccer game against the Nike kids and made them cry.”

I nod approvingly. “Well, Malcolm, at least we know you have good taste.”

Annabeth pats him on the head, ignoring his complaints that her hand is covered in blue maple syrup. “Better luck next time, brother of mine.”

Piper and Leo join us next, contributing an alarming volume of grapes and a single hardboiled egg to the breakfast display. Leo grabs a pancake and wraps it around some grapes, before taking a big bite. “I hear you’re discussing Malcolm’s romantic failures,” he says around the world’s worst breakfast burrito. Piper gasps in mock offense, then swallows the unpeeled hardboiled egg whole, like a snake. (This is a regular morning routine. She’s trying to work up to being a sword swallower, since her dad did it in a movie once and she thought it looked like fun). “ Malcolm, why didn’t you come to me? I could have given you a verdict within five minutes!”

“I wanted advice on whether I should ask out that Heaphestus boy two weeks ago and you told me to fuck off.”

Piper pouts at him. “That’s on you, you caught me at a bad time.”

Annabeth holds up a pancake with the air of a respected royal and we turn to her. “As delightful as this is, Rachel and I were initially talking about her romantic prospects and also her worries and fears, and I feel that we should get back to that before she slinks off and avoids the rest of the conversation.”

I glare at her. “Why would you bring this away from the very nice conversation we were having about everyone else’s problems? Do you hate me?” Annabeth rolls her eyes. “No, dumbass, I’m just not letting you walk away from a potential breakthrough. Now, where were we? You were saying that you’re worried about Jane but it has nothing whatsoever to do with your relationship, or lack thereof.”

I give a long suffering sigh, and try to communicate telepathically with Piper that she needs to Save Me Now, but she’s looking at me in interest with her chin resting in her hands, her long fingers adorned with rings sent to her from her Mortal girlfriend, Shel, who bought them at a vintage punk store. The traitor. Defeated, I turn back to Annabeth.

“It’s just that, whatever ends up happening with this prophecy, I don’t want it to fuck her up, in the way the quests have sometimes done to us. Like, we’re used to this by now, but it hasn’t been a smooth road. I don’t exactly like going on quests, and at first I was really worried at the prospect of being included in a prophecy, since that’s fairly abnormal, but Jane was only made aware of her heritage a couple months ago! What if this turns out like Silena or Beckendorf or-or Jason, and the prophecy destroys her, and it’s all my fault because I’m the one who pulled her into all this?”

Everyone tenses up at the mention of Jason, but they continue to look at me with a mixture of concern and love that makes something soften inside of me. For the hundredth time, I think of how lucky I am to have these people who love me unconditionally. Even if they really, really need therapy.

“I know that I didn’t plan any of this, but we’re both tied in now, especially since both Chiron and I had the prophetic dream and I actually gave the prophecy that day in the woods, and, well, this isn’t her world yet. She’s only got a little bit of ichor in her, and she grew up knowing nothing of any of this. In a way, I did too, and I have no ichor, but I had clear sight. For me, it was ineffable, but she could technically leave any time, if it weren’t for the prophecy. She can leave, and I feel like it’s up to me to make sure that doesn’t change.”

“Oh, Rachel.” Annabeth reaches her arms out to me and I let myself be pulled into an embrace. “Jane’s going to be okay. We’ll make sure of it.”

Sabrina stood in line at the boat rental hut, her arms crossed and a frown plastered on her face. It had not been a successful afternoon. For hours, she’d been searching the coastal towns near where her plane landed, looking for some trace of Aeaea, or anything else she’d seen in her dream. She was used to working with dregs. It was normal for her to have to squint a little at the evidence, have to shuffle things together around big holes of “Maybe,” like she was working a jigsaw puzzle with half the pieces missing.

But this was something else.

Sabrina had read about places where mythology shaped the culture. Places where the tourist draws were events that had supposedly happened thousands of years ago, or creatures that only existed in grainy photographs and people’s imaginations. Hell, she’d met the Loch Ness monster. Was it insane for her to have assumed she’d be able to find the same kind of thing here? All her training and years of experience had told her that, if you sniff around long enough, you’ll find a conspiracy theorist or a slightly off-the-rails guidebook.

So far, though, Sabrina had found nothing. Absolutely nothing. She hunted around, searching up library catalogs, checking every store on the street. “Aeaea,” “Circe,” even “the Odyssey.”

Nothing.

The line edged along slowly, and Sabrina ran her hands up and down her arms. The air was chilly from its proximity to the cold sea water. There were three people in front of her now. She just had to wait a little longer, then she would have a boat and be able to explore these waters herself.

Something was wrong with this place. Something was wrong with all of these places. And Sabrina was going to figure out what.

Later, Jane and I are taking our time walking to the pegasus stables to watch the riding lesson that Rosalind has reluctantly agreed to let Batty take (provided that Percy, who’s teaching today, doesn’t let her fly high enough that she’ll die if she falls off, and that Batty wears all of the necessary protective gear). Jane looks lovely, wearing a sunshine-y yellow bandana that sets off her dark curls and warm sepia skin. She has on her Camp Half-Blood shirt again, and a short green skirt, and all of it should clash horribly, but it doesn’t.

We’ve decided to cut through the strawberry fields, and I swallow a sun-warmed strawberry while Jane tells me about the dream she had last night. I think back to my conversation with Annabeth this morning when she tells me of the dark woods and the feeling of drowning, the memory warping and the echoing voice. At some point we sit down in a patch of grass, a simple circle amidst strawberry plants with a couple logs where the campers and satyrs take their breaks when they work here. Jane finishes her story and we sit in comfortable silence for a few moments, only broken by the grunts of annoyance Jane makes while trying to get her plant powers to activate again. She’s been doing that a lot.

“Well that sucks,” I say finally. “Have you been having other dreams like it?”

Jane shrugs, the neon orange fabric of her shirt wrinkling on her shoulders. “One or two, I think. Last night’s was the first one I really remembered. ” She smiles out of the corner of her mouth. “I hardly ever remember my dreams. It used to upset me. I thought I was losing potential writing material.”

I laugh. It’s such a Jane thing to think, that I can’t help it. She goes quiet, like she’s reminiscing, and I picture a tiny version of Jane, sitting crossed-legged on her summer quilt, writing. I look at her now, scrunched up nose and big brown eyes. Oh gods, she must have been an adorable child.

“My mother used to say that my imagination was the eighth wonder of the world,” Jane says. She’s looking down the hill at the cabins, plant powers temporarily forgotten, and I remember her telling me about her mother, the first Elizabeth Penderwick, who came here and was a daughter of Demeter and loved opera. The Penderwick siblings’ beloved mother who died so young.

I move closer to Jane on the log. “I can understand why she’d say that.”

Jane smiles again, a little sad this time, a little absent, but full to the brim with love.

“Bet you she’s in Elysium,” I say softly. I explained the Underworld to Jane a couple weeks ago, and she’d gotten this same absent look on her face, that I now know means she’s thinking about her mother. Jane nods, now, then turns to me. “Could we talk about something else?” Her voice is quiet, her eyes a little shiny.

“Course,” I say. “Shall I regale you with tales of dimwittery at this camp in the years past?” I told her last week about the time some Hermes kids tried to order pizza to the camp, accidently causing Chiron to think we were under attack. Jane had nearly fallen off the bench laughing.

She grins now, but shakes her head. “Tell me what it’s like being an Oracle.” I give her a look. She’s asked me before and I never really know what to say. When I give prophecies, it’s like I black out. I’m taken over by another entity who shares my body. (“Like that lady in Suicide Squad ,” Leo had said when I tried to explain it to him once, but I’d refused to be compared to such a gods-fucking-awful movie). So, in a way, I don’t know what it’s like to be the Oracle.

As if reading my thoughts, Jane shakes her head. “Not that part. I’ve seen you all green and smokey, and I know you can’t feel it. I mean the other stuff. How did you know it was you? What did you have to do to become the Oracle? That kind of thing.” I relax a little. Jane’s asked me all sorts of weird questions about Greek mythology and the gods recently. She calls it “research for her book,” but sometimes I think she’s just nosy. It’s cute.

Jane shrugs and looks off into the distance. If you tilt your head a little you can kind of see the stables from here. We have fifteen more minutes to get there, according to my watch. I decide to take it easy. “Delphi is this weird ethereal spirit,” Jane continues, “but there’s also just everyday, Oracle you, who likes paint and denim and bagels.” At that, I laugh. “I actually don’t like bagels that much. I’m just late to breakfast so often that they’re usually the only things available.”

Jane pouts at me and plays with the bracelet tied around my wrist--the one she gave me. “You know what I mean! You know all this weird shit about me because my siblings don’t shut up at lunch, and I know stuff about you, like the denim thing, which I still think is funny by the way. But you’re also the freaking Oracle! Your dormant self lies waiting!” I laugh at her, and she rolls her eyes, but I see the corner of her mouth tilting up. “Rachel, that’s very cool!”

I give in. “Honestly, there’s not much to say, that’s why I don’t talk about it.” I pause. “Well no, it’s that a lot of the stuff beyond the obvious is actually sort of creepy and weird, and not in a good way. There’s stuff I try not to think about, is what I mean.”

The edge of her yellow bandana sticks up as Jane tilts her head at me. “That makes sense. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

I shake my head. “No, it feels okay right now.” I mean it. Now that I’ve gotten into the swing of it, I do want to talk about it. Still, a small sigh escapes me. “I like being the Oracle, because that’s what brought me to a place where I feel like I belong and I have people who love me. It’s nice to know that I’m fulfilling my purpose in life.”

Jane pulls her knees up to her chest. “But?”

“But I also get lonely.” It comes out in a rush. “There are other oracles, but I didn’t know about any of them until the Apollo thing happened, and even then, they’re all supernatural beings--I know, I know, but not in the way I am. It’s not the same. Also, there are all these weird rules. Like I have to stay an unmarried virgin my whole life.”

“That’s fucked,” Jane says softly.

“I know! Chiron won’t even tell me why, just that it’s ‘the rules’” I let out an annoyed huff. “And, like, it’s not even that the idea itself bothers me. That’s pretty much what I was planning to do with my life anyway.”

“Same.”

“But it’s the principle of the thing!” I flick a strand of hair out of my face, offhandedly noticing that the tip of my pinky finger is slightly green. I ignore it. It’s not important. “Just because I don’t want to have sex or get married doesn’t mean it’s a fair rule to impose on me! Besides, why is it always the women in these things whose identities are tied up in who they do or don’t fuck? Last I checked, Grover didn’t have to sign an ‘I shalt not fornicate’ contract when he became Lord of the Wild!”

“Exactly!” Jane raises her hands and shouts up to the sky. “Don’t you fuckers realize we’re more than that?”

“The Hunters of Artemis, too!” I’m a jack-in-the-box, and something’s winding me up. “Thalia and Reyna send me letters all the time, and they seem really happy! Which is great!” I pause to emphasize the greatness of their happiness. My pinky is completely green, now. “But, they also had to make a stupid ‘ode of chastity,’ like I did!”

“Are you kidding me?” Jane’s hair flips as she turns to me. “I thought Artemis was one of the good ones!”

My voice lowers to a husky rumble, and I stare into the distance towards you, the reader. “In a broken system, there are no good ones. Abolish the police.” I clear my throat and my voice turns back to normal. “Sorry, zoned out for a second.” My green pinky has begun to vibrate.

“Happens to the best of us,” Jane’s voice is light and nonchalant. “And yeah, I know. Pretty much all of the gods have skeletons sitting on their shoulders, but it just seems out of character for her. I thought all of Artemis’s groups were supposed to be safe havens, not oppressive structures in their own right.”

I frown. “Yeah you’re right, that is weird. I’d never thought of it much beyond the gods having weird rules, but I wonder if something bigger is at play. The gods might be fucked up in the way that regular people are, and are undoubtedly responsible for all sorts of crap. But then there's more personal things, like the ‘chastity vows’ the Hunters and I had to take, and the fact that Nico was initially outed by Eros, and the weird unexplained eye condition that Piper had during some of her quests that made her eyes a bunch of bright, Eurocentric colors, rather than their natural brown. All sorts of other stuff, too.”

“Wow!” Jane says, sitting up straight on the grass. Her hand moves from where it was resting in her lap to cover her heart. “It’s almost like a bunch of genuinely good and inspiring material, such as including prominent queer people and characters of color in fun children’s fantasy, as well as having an immortal group of warrior women who support each other and are free from the gaze of men, was taken into the hands of a cis white man armed with unchecked misogyny and a fair amount of white Twitter feminism, both of which really showed when he tried to create an inclusive and empowering book series for children! Like yeah, it had its moments, and definitely some good characters, but overall, a lack of meaningful research in certain areas really made it fall flat!” Once again, I stare through the bindings of URLs and internet coding, now joined by Jane as we lock eyes with you, the reader. This time, we hold eye contact for nearly a minute, giving you time to read and process the long tangent spat out by this fanfic’s author, who, if we’re being honest, has gone just a tad off the rails right now. Finally, Jane and I look away from you, and resume our roles as fictional characters, still shaking off that strange cloud that comes with staring into the soul of those who give you life.

“Ugh, what’s going on with me today?” Jane groans at the same time I mutter, “What’s Twitter?” We turn to each other, blinking in the sunlight, then grin. This is normal. We’re fine. Jane looks up at the sky again. “I wonder if the gods are watching us. Maybe we should make them think we suck so they’ll leave you alone.”

I laugh as she sticks her tongue out, grinning wickedly at a nearby cloud. “Better yet, make them think we’re too powerful to be messed with,” I say. Jane sees me watching her and opens her mouth, sucking the cloud in between her teeth. The sky seems bluer in the space where it had been, and Jane’s eyes glitter with mirth as she swallows. “Mmm, tastes like sugar.” I giggle, feeling a small shiver on the top of my head. When I peer up, I see another cloud has floated over to me. I open my own mouth, and take it in, just as Jane did hers. “Sugar, yes. But there’s a touch of blood, too,” I say. Jane nods sagely. “What were we talking about?”

“The inherent misogyny in much of Greek mythology and the world of Camp Half-Blood in general.”

Jane nods again. “Right. A very important topic. It makes it weird when I’m writing sometimes. You know, cause I want to bring in Circe and Zeus and Apollo and all these fascinating characters, but there’s just so much bad stuff tied up with them that comes up when I research.” She looks down at our feet, which are standing in the midst of a strawberry patch. We seem to have been walking, crushing sweet summer strawberries as we go, which is odd because I don’t remember getting up. “You know Rachel, I’m feeling a bit strange.”

I look at her, and see an odd blankness in her warm brown eyes. “Now that you mention it, Jane, so am I.”

“My thoughts and words are my own,” Jane says, “But there’s something up with my body. I can’t really feel it.”

“I agree, I’ve honestly gone a bit numb.” I try to glance down at my fingers, wondering idly if they’ve gotten any more green, but find that my neck won’t bend.

Jane’s eyebrows furrow. “Yet, at the same time, I feel as though I could do anything. Grow another grass blade. Grow a flower. Grow a tree. Bend the world to my will if I wanted to.”

“Or is it the world bending me to its will.” I grin at my own philosophical point, but find that the smile won’t go away. Pretty fucking inconvenient, since the next thing I was going to bring up was part of the whole serious misogyny conversation. I decide to go for it anyway. “And I’m not the only one with weird rules!” Jane nods, as if this is a perfectly normal segway, and the only extraneous thought that floats through my mind as we find ourselves walking down a hill is how unfair it is that she still has control over her neck and I don’t. “Remember when I told you about the Hunters of Artemis?”

“Oh yeah! Your friends Reyna and Thalia, right?”

“Yeah, them! They send me letters sometimes, and seem really happy, which is great.” I pause, meaning to add emphasis, when I’m hit with a great sensation of deja-vu. “Wait a second, we already talked about this, didn’t we?” I try to remember, but something in my mind is rapidly melting. I cannot find it. I cannot find anything.

“Jane?” My voice quivers, and I squeeze my eyes shut. Oh gods, please let this be a dream. For a moment, I try to convince myself that it’s the Oracle of Delphi taking over, just like she did the other day and generally does a couple times a year. But I know that I’m lying. This is not what that feels like. “Jane, where are you?” I can barely move my mouth to say the words. I can feel nothing but the frozen fear of paralysis, of lost control. When I open my eyes, this other thing in my body has brought me to the edge of the forest. “Jane? Jane?” She could be right beside me, unable to speak, and I wouldn’t know because I can’t turn my head, can’t move my eyes, can barely even hear right now.

It’s okay, something says.

“Jane?” It’s not her voice. It’s no one’s voice.

It’s okay. You’re home.

With every cut the wooden oars made through the choppy ocean water, Sabrina knew she was getting closer. She could feel it in her bones, in her brain, a little voice that whispered in her ear. It had been three hours. Her body was worn down, energy levels dipping dangerously low, when she felt something scrape the bottom of her boat.

A rock.

Frantically, she peered through the fog that had begun to surround her boat a mile ago. The island. Had she finally made it?

As if answering her call, a peel of thunder rang out, and Sabrina’s boat began to fill with rain that pounded down from the sky. The storm from her dream. She rowed even faster, then, fear sparking a renewed strength in her tired muscles.

Just as Sabrina was about to reach the shore, a massive wave crashed over her, and her boat capsized. She came back up, sputtering, holding her sopping wet bag above her head. Another wave swept against Sabrina’s face, and she found herself spitting out a mouthful of saltwater. Finally, she washed up on the shore, heaving breaths raking through her lungs.

Sabrina blinked, pushing herself up onto her elbows. It was real. She was here.

She had made it.

FROM THE POV OF ROSALIND PENDERWICK

It’s been a pleasant day so far. Breakfast with my siblings and some of the Demeter cabin (though Jane did seem a bit absent-minded). Miranda, Florien, and Rio convinced me to practice some plant magic with them for a couple hours and I built up to growing a small sunflower. Lunch (again with Jane seeming distracted, though Rachel ate with us this time, which appeared to help). Then, Skye and Jeffrey disappeared with some of the older campers (supposedly for a regular game of soccer, but the unsettling gleam in their eyes had me doubting that was all there was too it), Jane and Rachel went to take a walk in the strawberry fields, and Batty and I were left to prepare for a pegasus riding lesson. If it had been up to Batty, the latter could have easily taken up the entire afternoon, but changing into durable pants and finding a bandana can only take so long.

After a somewhat restless hour, during which I grew three peonies and Batty rhapsodized about the stable of unicorns that another demigod camp apparently has, Batty and I arrive at the stable. We’re ten minutes early, and she’s been talking a mile a minute the whole time, not stopping from before. I swear I now know as much about pegasuses as she does. According to Rachel, the teacher today is Percy, her friend, who’s very responsible “when he puts his mind to it.” I wasn’t sure how to tell her that’s actually not very comforting, but Batty looked so excited and I figured there will be plenty of other people there, so. Why not. She’s been spending so much time there anyway.

Needless to say, I very much regret my decision now.

The stables are modest, made of wood and painted green, and I’ve been there several times by now. There’s a long line of stalls visible when we first walk in, but Batty skips straight to the far end, where a massive pegasus the color of a carrot pokes its head over the door and nuzzles Batty’s hair. She looks up at me with a smile that could melt anyone’s heart, and pats the horse on the nose. “Rosy, this is Queen Lotus Flower. Percy said we have a impenetrable bond.”

I look at the two of them with a questioning gaze. How can they both have the exact same puppy-dog eyes? I swear to god. The gods. All of them. “Batty, sweetheart. That horse is like ten feet tall.”

She nods enthusiastically. “I know, she’s so much taller than any other horse I’ve seen. Percy says she has the biggest wingspan of any horse at camp.”

I nod, slowly, wondering why my sister picked the biggest pegasus to fall in love with. At that moment, Percy pushes the door open. “Hey Batty! Ready for your lesson?” Batty leaves her post by Queen Lotus Flower to wrap her arms around my waist and nod. I look Percy over. He’s a few inches taller than me, with brown skin and curly hair. A beaded camp necklace, orange tshirt, and jeans. Weird arm tattoo aside, he’s one of the most normal-looking people at camp. I’ve only met him a couple times before, but, my nerves over Batty flying around on massive horses aside, I do trust him. Rachel seems to have a good taste in friends. Also, Batty likes him, and she’s still shy around a good number of Skye and Jane’s friends back in Cameron.

For the next few minutes, I watch as Percy instructs Batty on buckling Queen Lotus Flower’s giant saddle and looping the bridle over her nose. Not wavering a bit from the “lesson” aspect of all this, he steps back to let her show what she’s already learned from hanging around the stables so often, only stooping in to guide her when she gets confused. As the minutes tick by, more people show up for the lesson: three other students, and a good sized crowd of people who just like watching the pegasuses. By then, I’m seated on the grass outside the stables, soaking in the blistering sun and watching as Percy (seated atop a wiry black pegasus who Batty pointed out as Blackjack) darts around the large dusty enclosure, making final preparations for the lesson.

Skye and Jeffrey show up then, and sit on either side of me. I want to ask them where Jane and Rachel are, but they’re talking non-stop about a game they just played in the woods with some of the other campers, only switching the subject when Percy and Blackjack return and they begin discussing whether or not it should be scientifically possible for a horse to fly.

Just as Batty and Queen Lotus Flower begin a gentle trot around the enclosure, I feel a tap on my shoulder, and hear the familiar sound of Tommy’s chuckle. “She’s got a weird knack for that,” he says. I nod, grinning.

It’s been good with us. We’ve had breakfast together a few times, even played a game of basketball one afternoon. Our conversations aren’t the same as they used to be, and there’s a sense of newness that feels cold and strange every so often. But it’s good. It feels right. At least for now, this feels like where we’re supposed to be.

As Percy starts demonstrating how to take flight, I look around again. Jane and Rachel still aren’t here. They promised to come. (“For moral support!” Jane had said. “Wouldn’t miss it,” Rachel had added with a smile). I try to push it out of my head. This lesson is a big deal. Batty’s going to be flying.

She leans forward on Queen Lotus Flower’s neck.

They begin to run, moving together like a single being.

Just as they burst into the air, Batty’s euphoric smile lighting up the sky, Katie grabs my shoulders from behind. I shush her so I can lean forward and watch Batty silhouetted against the pegasus’s wide orange wings.

“Rosalind. Rosalind, guys. ” Something about the panic in Katie’s voice makes me turn around. Her usually tied back hair is loose and her clothes rumpled, giving the impression that she was dragged out of bed for this. (Some part of my brain distantly remembers her saying she was going to take a nap). Skye and Jeffrey turn around, too.

“What, what’s happening?” I reach out my hands, trying to calm her as she collapses into a squat, breathing heavily.

“Billie… found me in the cabin… had been looking for you guys… been running all over the camp… lucky I remembered about the riding lesson…”

Jeffrey leans over and puts his hands on her shoulders. She stares down at the dirt while her breathing levels.

“Katie, what are you saying? Why were you and Billie looking for us?”

She looks up, and I see that her forehead is drawn into well-worn creases of worry. “Jane and Rachel have gone into the woods.”

Something was wrong. Sabrina crouched on the wet sand, straining to see through the heavy rain. In her dream there had definitely been someone else on the island. She remembered the hunched figure, the sound of sobs leaking through the rain.

But she’d circled the shore at least twice by now, and there was nobody to be found. “Am I late or something?” she wondered aloud. Somehow, she’d gotten that dream It felt like it had been sent to her. Why did it show a person when there was no one?

Sabrina sighed and began to traipse inland, tucking a knife in her pocket. It wasn’t a big island, and she might as well find some shelter aside from her boat, which was now overturned somewhere on the beach. Circe lived here, didn’t she? There must be some sort of roof, especially if this kind of weather was standard.

Or maybe this was just a random island and there was no Aeaea and Sabrina’s dream had just been the unhinged work of her unconscious mind.

There was a small grassy hill set aside from the sand, which Sabrina crawled up with the determination of a dying warrior. Something was pushing her back. An invisible force, a last crumb of survival instinct, plain old fatigue, she wasn’t sure. But something wanted her out of here, and it pushed back harder and harder as she climbed.

She let out a cry of frustration, clawing at the ground, at the air, at whatever this goddamn thing was, and found a renewed burst of strength that pulled her to the top of the hill. Once there, the force that pushed back ebbed a little, like it was giving up. Sabrina let herself relax, and simply took in the view for a moment.

The hill she lay on top of gave way to a deep valley, sprawling and green. In one corner, there was a cluster of trees that looked healthy and comfortable, despite being on a random Greek island in the middle of the ocean. A modest garden lay next to it, somehow appearing unaffected by the rain, and a narrow river wound around the whole scene.

There was also a house.

Sabrina wasn’t sure what she might have expected from the lair of an infamous Greek enchantress, but it wasn’t this.

She hauled herself up on the hill and started down, rushing through the rain onto a wide wooden porch. There was a large stone vat of something dark and crumbly, with a heavy looking staff of sorts leaning against it. The door to the house was short, and Sabrina heard it scrape on the floor when she pushed it open.

The scene awaiting her was surprisingly cozy when she stepped inside. There was a fire in the hearth and rows upon rows of little viles arranged on a set of shelves beside it. A broom leaned against the wall. Sabrina looked around, noting the way that the rain didn’t make any sound as it thrashed against the roof and window, and the almost drug-like stupor that threatened to take over her brain, whispering that everything was fine, she was safe, nothing bad could happen to her.

Sabrina had encountered hypnosis before, and it only ever made her more jittery.

There was an open hatch in the floor with stairs that lead into darkness. She followed them down, feeling the air grow cooler with every step. Sabrina was quiet, taking tiny steps on her toes, and wincing when one of the stairs creaked. She didn’t know what was down there, and she didn’t want to find out the hard way. But there were no arrows flying up from the space below, no sounds of footsteps or slashes of swords.

Sabrina stepped onto a dirt floor and let herself exhale, shuffling along until her toe hit something hard. Only seasoned reflexes made her reach for the knife in her pocket instead of crying out in fear. She knelt down and squinted in the darkness, trying to see what she’d hit.

A leg.

She frowned, shaking it until she heard a low growl. “Stop that.” She stopped.

“Who are you?” Sabrina leaned closer. If they hadn’t killed her yet she was probably safe.

Instead of answering, they reached out a hand. Sabrina could see a gold ring on the thumb that glinted in a little sliver of light that had crept down from the room above. “Pull me up,” the figure said. “I’ve been paralyzed by the witch.”

Helping the stranger sit turned out to be no simple feat. They were tall and muscular, wearing a cape and a heavy metal chest plate. “The witch?” she questioned, propping them up against one of the cellar’s dirt walls. Her eyes were beginning to adust to the dark, and she could just make out their sharp chin sticking out as their head lolled back.

The figure made a noise. “The witch, the sorceress, the woman. Whatever you want to call her. I figure she sent you down too?” They snorted. “Good luck. I told Zeus not to sent mortals, but does he ever listen? You’re gonna die.”

Sabrina tried to piece together what she could from all this. The witch must be Circe, unless she’d wound up on an entirely different island. And if Circe was going around paralyzing people, then something must be going on. She must be hiding something. As for the person in front of her, Sabrina wasn’t sure who they were. By the way they talked about Zeus, and casually said “mortals,” she’d guess some sort of god? As if that narrowed it down. She’d have to be careful.

“Why did she paralyze you?”

Another weird gutteral noise. “She didn’t like my offer. It’s not the first time this has happened.”

She was growing impatient. Why’d he have to be so vague? “What?”

“Yeah, I don’t know why he always sends me. I don’t think he trusts me. He’d rather me stay her paralysed in the basement of a witch than come back home.”

Sabrina let out an exasperated sigh. This wasn’t working and she needed answers. A whole coast of people with mythology-shaped holes in their memories awaited her. “You’re going to need to be a little more specific. I don’t think we’re on the same page.”

The figure sounded confused. “What do you mean? Don’t you know who I am?”

She leaned forward and inspected them in the darkness. “No. No I don’t.”

They slid their eyes down to her face. “I am the god Apollo. I came here for Circe and she did this to me.”

“What? Why?”

The stairs creaked behind Sabrina and she felt a long nail drag up her back. “I just want to be left alone,” said a voice as deep and powerful as the smell of red wine. “You don’t mind, do you?” Before Sabrina could grab her knife and turn around, before she could even scream, strong arms had surrounded her shoulders and a hand was clamping a damp cloth over her nose and mouth. Shock made her breath in, sharply, and she smelled the sweetness of sleeping drugs.

A heartbeat, a brief struggle, and Sabrina Starr was gone.

[asokatanos]

do you have any fic recs for the mentalist?

I told you I’d post some for you tonight and here they are!! Unfortunately I did a lot of reading while I was still obstinately REFUSING to make another ffnet account, so I didn’t save like a good 90% of what I read, some of which was excellent. But here are some of the ones I did +fav or whatever they call it there. No particular genre since your ask was open ended, but, well-

(sorry in advance - these are mostly ffnet links but they’re worth braving that site I swear)

((also this is definitely a non-exhaustive list. there’s some real talent in this fandom))

Consummate Connection Confrontation - these are three separate fics in that order by the absolutely inimitable @hardlyloquatious. Literally everything they’ve written is amazing. I’ve completely exposed myself because my first rec is sort of. uh, lightly 18+. But I had to put this author at the top of my list because I love them so much. The way Jane talks in Consummate has literally kept me awake more than once. It’s honestly more sweet and touching than anything but it’s definitely uh. not something your boss should catch you with I guess.

Long Lost, Long Last - same author. This was written and posted before My Blue Heaven aired, but it has the same vibe as that episode, except deliciously drawn out. It starts off with Jane being his kinda silly self and deciding he wants to try his hand at letter writing, so he writes little notes for the whole team. Lisbon is the only one who gives him a note back, and they take to leaving each other lil notes - until RJ is killed and Jane disappears to do some soul searching. This fic is so... beautiful and I think about it with some frequency. “Consummate” is hot but Long Lost Long Last is why HL is my fave TM author.

Practice - okay one last one from this author. This one isn’t like, groundbreaking, but it’s just the SWEETEST look at how much Jane tries after they get together. I’m a sucker for Jane being sweet. Clearly, since that’s why Consummate is at the top of this list.

Blood Red Moon - the author is 221b Baker Street. Their fics are a LOT more heavy. But they’re so, so good. Their mastery of language is incredible and their fics read like professionally written books - and they do Jane/Lisbon banter incredibly well. Some of the imagery they use has genuinely stuck with me. Also see Sacraments in Scarlet (Jane pretends to be a priest), Arsenic and Red Lace (murder at an assisted care facility and Jane being the cheery and extremely sad bastard that he is), Jonathon Redding (a take on Red John that is deeply clever), a Road lEss traveleD (this is. unsettling. it’s extremely good but save it for the last from this author, wait until you love them first. The payoff for not-as-it-seems comes towards the end but it really is worth waiting for).

Blood Wind - by Gone2Far speaking of unsettling. THIS ONE. God this fic is so good. Spooky as fuck in a way that’s a little X-Filesy and incredibly well written. I want to live very far from this fic while at the same time wrapping myself in its words so I can borrow a crumb of talent.

In Case series - @halfagonyandhope (yay, they’re on tumblr). This rec list isn’t necessarily in any sort of order because after HL, halfagonyandhope is second fave author. This particular series is SO ROMANTIC and LOVELY and I kinda wanna cry kinda wanna read it again and again. My favorite one in the series is Ya’aburnee but you have to read the ones preceding it to make any sort of sense. Also now that I’m looking at all of these again I’m realizing that apparently the second installment stuck with me more than I expected because I wrote more than 10k words of something that has a vaguely similar theme (which I will post later). 

Qumran and Reset - by J. Roddam. This author only ever seems to have written these two but they’re fucking EXQUISITE. I generally avoid AUs in this fandom because the concept of erasing Jane’s past does NOT sit right with me but Reset is one of the only exceptions I’ve made. It has soulmate vibes without being like, a tumblr soulmate story. Both of them are living SUCH different lives than their canon counterparts but somehow it actually works and it’s beautiful. Qumran is similarly without peer.

Pretending, I: Witness - @inkstainedfingers97. I wouldn’t even know where to start but I love every single thing about this fic - and it’s recently been completed! I was lucky enough to get to binge read a majority of it but waiting for updates was also genuinely thrilling too. Fake/Real Married for WITSEC reasons, real love for obvious reasons. Also the Lorelei dynamic is way more intense than on the show in a way that’s at once very uncomfortable and very believable.

27 Minutes - by Idan. Okay. Okay so this author commented on one of my fics and I almost lost it because I really love theirs. I was smiling for like an hour when I saw the notification from them!! 27 Min is my favorite one but In The Cards is widely rec’d by others for very good reason, it’s so good. The Pretender is also excellent, written based on promos of Orange Blossom Ice Cream and so a bit AU from there.

Eighteen Hours - I would definitely be remiss if I didn’t mention @leafenclaw (and actually, I was remiss because I realized while making this post that theirs were some of those early fics I read that I never +fave etc, so ty for the ask so I can do it now, anon). Leafenclaw writes SO well and I have an extra soft spot for them because they pointed me in the direction of a lot of fics and were one of the first ppl I ever spoke with in this fandom since luckily they’re on tumblr too. Also Kindred (note - both of these are still WIP but being updated/worked on!) Chasing Storms is complete, incredible, angsty, beautiful. Also I kind of want to borrow the idea of writing one story around a set of many prompts like this. I don’t actually think I’ve ever seen anyone else do that?

The Long Way Back - by LouiseKurylo I consider them sort of a friend because they’ve been SO supportive while I was writing  Saving Grace but even before that with a new suit, another pair of socks, and a terrible couch. And I’ve seen them supporting everybody else too - they’re just SO NICE. Their fics are also very interesting, and they sort of bring Jane and Lisbon much more into the real world. There’s more real life problems to go hand in hand with mentalist plot type problems, which makes for very interesting reading. Fischer in this particular fic is FASCINATING. Also, a hot tip @leafenclaw shared with me: Louise’s faves list has 500 stories in it and pretty much everything in there is worth reading.

Last but OBVIOUSLY not least I wanna mention some of the very cute and talented and actively posting people here on tumblr in our little mentalist squad of approximately 12 people lmao. You probably already know @gracevanpelt aka LilyThistle’s Big Blue, Red Road, Breathe, and Collusion. I have an especially soft spot for Breathe actually even though it’s the least plotty of the lot. I just think it works so perfectly on its own, as is, like a quiet little interlude. No muss no fuss as Jane would say - and I love it a lot. @asambergs aka cmbing’s how glad i am that you exist is actually the FIRST piece of Mentalist fic I ever read, and then I was pulled down this slippery slope to end up posting this at 11:52 pm on a Thursday night. And I’m not about to forget @pjane aka epaynter whose words are so beautifully atmospheric and who writes the softest Jane (I love Soft Jane and will fight anyone who disagrees about it!!)

Aaaand a nice and shameless self plug in the form of ao3 links: Come Fly With Me (this is the softest thing I’ve ever written), Saving Grace (an actual, complete, fully plotted fic. 14 year old me is SHAKING), a new suit, a terrible couch, another pair of socks (this last was inspired by @asambergs fics actually, and was the first thing I wrote in this fandom!)

[sapnapsdummy]

— first burn

pairing: fundy/dream

genre: angst w/ no happy ending

warning(s): swearing, cheating, usage of fire to burn things

summary: when dream cheats, fundy decides that enough is enough.

note: lmao fundy angst is my favorite ngl,, this is also posted on ao3 !! this is based off of first burn from hamilton so i suggest you listen to that while you read !!

the cool night air slowly crept into the room as fundy opened the window. a small sigh left him as he gazed up at the night sky, goosebumps making their way up his arms. he stayed like that for a moment or two, allowing himself to pretend that what happened didn’t happen and that it was just like any other night. any other night, fundy would have made sure the children ate, put them to bed, and wait for dream to get home from work.

except, it wasn’t like any other night.

tonight, it was dream who was putting the children to bed.

and fundy?

fundy was trying to figure out how he was supposed to go on about this, after all, there isn’t really a step by step manual on what to do when your husband decides to tell the whole world about the affair he had behind your back.

especially when he told the whole world before he even uttered a single word about it to you.

fundy blinked away tears as he turned away from the window, looking around the bedroom that had once brought him a feeling of warmth and secureness, now nothing but a constant reminder of what occurred when he was not there.

the bed that he used to collapse onto after a long day, relishing in the smell of his husband’s cologne, the same bed he and his husband had spent some nights reading bedtime stories to the children on, was now just the place his husband took that wench onto and did… things.

it no longer brought back fond memories, only feelings of bitterness, humiliation, and anger.

so much anger.

as he thought about it, fundy grew more and more emotional. emotions of every sort were hitting him one after the other, like truck after truck was just ramming into his body, pushing him further and further towards the edge.

how could he? was fundy not good enough? had he not been a loving enough husband? he tried his hardest to make dream happy, he really did. he kept the house clean, made sure there was always a homemade hot meal on the table when he got home, spoke very highly of him when people asked and yet, he picked him.

he picked george.

what did george have that he didn’t?

hot tears were now streaming down fundy’s face, feeling like small droplets of lava on his skin.

he was so tired of crying, so so tired.

fundy bit his lip as a thought crossed his mind, debating on whether or not it was a good idea. he didn’t want to throw a temper tantrum. he didn’t want to act childishly. he had to be the bigger person here. he didn’t want to act like dre-

“snap out of it, fundy! you have the right to react however you want!” he whispered to himself, making his way over to the bed that now disgusted him so much. the floorboards creaked underneath him as he crouched down next to it, reaching under the bed and slide a box out from underneath.

the contents of the box rattled as he picked up and set it on the small ottoman that sat at the foot of the bed. picking up that box had always made fundy feel as he did when dream had first started courting him. he used to feel so free, so in love with the man he called his husband. now, however, all he felt was deep dread and hurt.

fundy’s heart clenched as he slowly opened the box, a choked up sob escaping his mouth. countless letter accompanied with various things like pictures and keepsakes sat in the box, stacked into neat piles. fundy’s throat seemed to be closing up, his breathing becoming more and more ragged the longer he stared at the contents of the box.

“no,’ he thought to himself, squeezing his eyes shut and taking a few deep breaths, “i can do this. i need to do this. i have to do this.”

fundy shakily set the lid of the box down next to it, rapidly blinking to prevent any tears from slipping out his eyes. he sat still for a moment, just gazing into the box. he clenched and unclenched his hands a few times before hesitantly picking up the envelope on the top of the pile.

he turned it over, examining dream’s handwriting, reading the address over and over. it read the address of his father’s home, where fundy had spent this past summer with the children. the same summer dream had done what he did with him. with george.

fundy wrinkled his nose in disgust, thinking about the way his heart had leaped when he saw that letter arrive.

how naive of him.

with a few quick deep breaths, fundy slipped the actual letter out of the envelope and set the envelope on the table. he bit his lip before finally opening the folded piece of paper and reading it.

my dearest, fundy,

oh how i wish i could’ve ran away with you and the kids for the summer. i miss you all so much but, as you know, duty calls. how’s grayson? is he still bullying toby and tommy? are those two still holding hands all hours of the day? how are you, my love? are you getting along okay? i miss you so so much, my dear fundy. i cannot wait for your return with the children next week. i’ve written you twice since i last saw you and with every letter, my heart becomes heavier and heavier. i love you very much, trust that i am longing for the man i call my husband. adieu, best of husbands and best fo men. embrace all my darling children for me.

ever yours, dream

fundy swore he felt bile creep its way up his throat before he swallowed. the tears that he thought he was able to stop for now were now flowing freely, pulling a few broken sobs out of fundy.

he slammed the letter on the table and stood up, going straight to the small trash can in the corner of the room. he hurriedly dragged it over to the table before plopping back down in the spot he was sat in previously.

he sat there for a single moment, letting himself feel the hurt, anguish and just downright betrayal before he grabbed the letter along with the envelope and held it over the candle on the table.

the flame caught the paper within seconds and fundy let out a small sigh as he watched the letter that he had once cherished so much, burn to nothing but ashes.

before the flame could burn his hand, he let the burn piece of paper drop into the empty tin bucket, watching it burn before he turned back to the box.

repeating the process, fundy picked up another envelope. he examined it, opened it, read the letter, then burned it, dropping all of it into the trash can.

it all brought him a strange feeling of contentment and relief.

that feeling, however, was quickly yanked away from him as his husband entered the room.

“the children are asleep for now, the twins kept asking for you- what- fundy what are you.. what are you doing?” dream asks, stopping a few yards away from the table fundy was sat at.

fundy stayed quiet for a bit, still reading the letters and burning them, before looking up at the man.

“you know, i saved every single letter you wrote me. from the very first one all the way to the one i received before the end of summer. from the moment i saw you, i knew you were mine, you said you were mine, you said you were mine, and i really thought you were mine.” fundy mumbled quietly, lighting yet another letter on fire.

dream stayed quiet, opening his mouth to speak a few times only to shut it, choosing to stay quiet. he didn’t know what to say, he didn’t want to hurt fundy any more than he had already.

“do you know what alex said when i told him what you’d done?” fundy asks, humming when his husband shook his head, “he said, “you’ve married an icarus, he has flown too close to the sun.””

dream blinked back the anxious tears that pushed at the back of his eyes and went to take a step forward, intending on trying to console the man he had hurt, only to be interrupted by fundy again.

“don’t,” fundy said sternly, putting a hand up, “take another step in my direction, i can’t be trusted around you. don’t think you can talk your way back in my arms, clay.”

clay.

fundy never called him by his name.

he had only done so once before.

on their wedding day, during their vows.

“i’m burning the letters you wrote me, as i’m sure you’ve noticed. you can stand over there, if you want.” fundy whispered, waving in the direction of the bed as he resumed reading and burning the letters.

“f-fundy, please, just let me-”

dream, again, was cut off by fundy.

fundy puffed out a small laugh, the letter in his hands crumpling as his grip on the piece of paper tightened out of anger.

“i truly don’t even know who you are anymore, clay. i have so much to learn, nut for now, i’m rereading your letters,” he holds a small stack of 4 letters he had just read over the flame, watching the ember lick at the aged paper, “ and watching them burn.”

“fundy, seriously, i’m so sorry! i shouldn’t have done it and i should’ve told you myself! i just.. i just wasn’t thinking right, they were accusing me of fraud and-”

“you published the letters he wrote you. you told the whole world how you brought this man into our bed, in clearing your name, you have ruined our lives, clay! how do you not get that?!” fundy screamed, slamming his hands on the table.

fundy got up, almost laughing quietly to himself.

“i.. i had to! they were accusing me of fraud and-”

“heaven forbid someone whisper “he’s a part of some scheme,”” fundy yells, “your enemy whispers, so you have to scream!” fundy yells, getting closer and closer to dream with every word.

dream subconsciously took a step back, almost as if he were scared of his husband. he wasn’t, he was sure he wasn't, but fundy was.. different now. fundy laughed an empty laugh, gripping his ears, tugging them in frustration.

“w-wait- don’t do that- your ears are sensi-”

“shut up.”

fundy grinded his teeth together, finally meeting dream’s eyes again.

“i know about the whispers, and believe me, i see how you look at sapnap.”

dream fell silent.

he reached to grab his husband’s hand, flinching as fundy snatched his hand away from him.

“don’t! i’m not naive, i have seen men and women around you. don’t think i don’t see how they fall for each and every one of your charms,” fundy yelled, biting his lip as his voice lowered to a small whisper, “they fell.. they fell just like i did.”

dream felt sick to his stomach. he felt as if his insides were twisting and turning, his hands becoming shaky and clammy.

“you’ve practically thrown it all away, clay!” fundy screamed, stomping back over to where he was, picking up a large stack of letters as holding it over the fire, dropping them into the trashcan.

“now you get to watch it all burn!”

a few tears fell down dream’s face, his knees feeling weak.

this is what he had done. this was his doing. this was the result of his selfish acts.

“and when the time comes, explain to the children the pain and embarrassment you put their father through! fuck, clay, when will you learn? they are your legacy, we are your legacy!”

with tears blurring his vision and the need to spite dream fueling his anger, fundy became careless as he set letter after letter on fire, not even bothering to read any at this point. his carelessness quickly lead to his sleeve catching fire, pulling a gasp from the both of them.

“fuck, fundy, hold on!”

dream quickly grabbed a nearby vase, pulling the flowers out of it. he quickly moved towards his husband, going to throw the water on his whimpering form, but stopped when fundy put his good arm out in front of him.

“don’t.. don’t give me your pity water!” fundy yelled, wincing as he quickly ran to the bathroom attached to the bedroom.

he soaked half his shirt as he shoved his arm under the tap, shivering at the feeling of the ice cold water.

dream was gobsmacked, watching as fundy quickly changed his shirt, roughly wiping away the tears that started flowing again involuntarily.

he looked at dream, making eye contact with him for a second. a soft look flashed through his eyes before he squeezed his eyes shut, exhaling calmly.

fundy calmly walked passed dream, not sparing him another glance.

“if you thought you were mine.. don’t.” fundy said before leaving the room.

leaving dream by himself.

[kennythecarrot12]

I’m Leaving

Taken from one of my stories in AO3, maybe someone on this site might enjoy this. 

-

Ever since Jumin and I came back from our honeymoon, I thought everything would change.

I mean, those days left at the resort were heaven. I spent so much time with my husband, it felt like a dream.

….was it?

We got back, and he got triple the work he usually got. Many businesses, contracts, projects, and deadlines were coming up and it felt like I was being pushed aside.

“Jumin, dear, I thought we could go out and see-” I try to say. “Not tonight, MC, I've got to work until late today. The office has been chaotic as of late. I'll be back later.”

And with that, he was gone. It's been this way for months.

I don't think I can live like this.

Because you don't listen to what is so close to you,

Only the outside noise

And I that I'm by your side disappear from your eyes

But… I wasn't helping either.

During his day off, he asked me:

“MC,” I turn to him on the bed. He stared at my eyes. “I was thinking we could go out and look for a new dress for yourself. Seems that you're in need for one.” I narrowed my eyes.

“I already made plans.” He seemed confused. “Which I've already told you. Two days ago.” I turn back to my side of the bed. “I told you I was going out with Yoosung to the park with his cat. You even told me,” I clear my throat. “Alright. Have fun.” I try to imitate his voice.

He only stares at me. I feel his body leave the bed, and I sit up to see where he's going.

He goes to the bathroom and shuts the door. I jump at the sudden noise.

After getting up and dressing up, I see him with his suit on and suitcase in hand.

“I thought it was your day off?” I ask before he heads out the door.

“I have plans now too.” and with that, he leaves before I can answer.  

I'm not going to cry and say I don't deserve this,

Because it's probably that I deserve this but-

That day, I decided to cancel my meeting with Yoosung.

“Are you feeling alright, MC? You've never canceled on me… or anyone actually.” he says over the phone.

I sigh. “yeah, sorry Yoosung. I'm just… not in the mood, ya know?” I say. I felt bad for canceling on him but… I couldn't bear myself faking a smile when i felt rotten inside.

“Alright, but call me if anything comes up! You know you can count on me for anything!” I smile and nod, as if he could see me. “you bet.” and with that I hung up.

Jumin has been even more distant from that day on. He left on more overnight trips than usual, almost like he was asking for it.

I usually called Yoosung or Seven when I was feeling down, as they knew how to cheer me up easily. But I stopped calling.

I wanted to leave.

Leave this worthless life, being a wife that is not even loved.

Being a member in the RFA that didn't deserve their friendship.

--But I don't want It,

And that's why I leave

I began thinking about this a lot.

It would be best to leave. Jumin would be better off.

Before I knew it, I was sending letters to each of the RFA members. I thought it would be better to also send little things that remind me of them.

I told Yoosung that I was sorry for this, that I never meant to say goodbye this way. I kept thinking of my last words to him… but I couldn't remember no matter how hard I tried. In his package, I gave him LOLOL plush toys, of his and my avatars.

To Seven… I now knew what it would be like to run away from family. And that I was sorry I was doing it to him again. I wished him happiness. I gave him a cat plush toy with the words “God Seven” sewn into it.

To Zen… I wished him success in his career and that I would be watching him succeed. I truly appreciate him. I gifted him multiple face masks of his favorite and a copy of our first selfie together.

I wrote to Jaehee how I regret not spending as much time with her, as she was always busy because of Jumin. ‘I always begged Jumin to give you days off.’ I gifted her a coffee machine with her favorite type of coffee in it. I also gave her a poster of Zen.

To V…. I actually recorded to him. I knew he was losing his eyesight and was refusing treatment.  I gifted him a photograph I took of him with his camera when Jumin and I came over. It was a picture of him looking at the sky.

“Hey, V. I um… I decided to leave. Leave RFA and… to leave Jumin. It's just… not been okay for me. I felt unloved. Lonely. I even…” I chuckled. “I even wanted to escape forever without telling anyone… the only difference here is that I'm saying goodbye.” I inhaled. “You will all hate me for leaving so suddenly, but… I hope you understand, V. You know… knew… Jumin the best. You know how he is,” I smiled. “He is perfect in my eyes…” a tear escaped my eye but I quickly wiped it off my face.

“But even perfection has flaws. I wasn't happy by his side. Don't get me wrong, we were okay for a while but… I was too lonely and too neglected. I just hope you can forgive me.” I give a sad smile and turn off the camera.

I send the tape to V’s home to arrive the day the letters will arrive to the other members.

The last one is Jumin.

Because I know that something better waits for me,

That which sweetens salt, and makes the sun come out

Me, that thought I would never leave you, 

that this love was good and for life, 

but today I understood that there isn't enough for both of us.

I went to a lawyer and got the divorce papers. It was easy to move around since Jumin was never around.

The bad thing was paying people off to be quiet about my whereabouts.

Except to Driver Kim. He asked where I would like to go, no questions asked. I trusted him.

Eventually, I got home with the papers ready and signed from my part.

I wrote to him now.

“Dear Jumin,

It's been a hard year. You've been away so long, and I couldn't take it anymore. I'm sorry that I couldn't tell you this in your face, but I knew that once I told you this, you would convince me to stay. I can't do that anymore. On the bed, I left the divorce papers. They're all signed from my side. When you sign them, call my mother and she will pick them up. Please don't try to contact me or tell Seven to locate me… it won't be possible. I'm sorry I couldn't be stronger for you. I'm sorry I didn't have what it takes to be with you. I'm sorry I never gave you a family like you always wanted. I'm sure someone better awaits for you.

Someone that isn't me.

Please take good care of yourself.

P.S. Please take good care of Elizabeth the 3rd, she seems to miss you a lot.

Signed,

MC

I'm not going to cry and say I don't deserve this,

Because it's probably that I deserve this

but I don't want it

so that's why I leave

What a shame but goodbye

I say goodbye to you and I leave

What a shame but goodbye

I say goodbye to you

I could feel my heart pounding out of my chest as I leave the note next to the divorce papers. This wasn't going to be easy. But I need to leave.

To get away.

I pick up my luggage. I leave almost all my clothing, the one Jumin had bought me. I take the one I came into this home with. Mostly consisting of sweaters, leggings, t-shirts, underwear and such.

I inhale deeply as I pet Elizabeth the 3rd. A couple of tears escape.

“I'm sorry… that I'm leaving. If there was a way I could keep you, I would. I know how lonely you'll be here. Same as me… but even worse. You won't have me as company anymore.” Elizabeth purrs and rubs her head on my leg. I exhale.

I leave food and water for her.

A temptation comes from going in my phone. I sigh and log in the RFA chat.

Yoosung, Seven and Zen were in.

MC has entered the chat room.

Yoosung☆: MC! Hi hi hi!

707: MC!!!

707 : SO GLAD YOU'RE HERE!! ☆☆

707 : TELL ZEN HERE THAT CATS ARE THE BEST PLZ

ZEN: *annoyed emoji*

ZEN: There's no point in trying to convince me, I'm allergic lol

MC: hey guys

MC: leave Zen alone lmao he's allergic

ZEN: Finally someone with common sense!!

Yoosung☆: Hey MC you ok?? You haven't been missing your meals have you??

ZEN: Yeah, you have barely logged in this week

707: do u want me to come over?!?!?

707: Jumin is working late today right??? I can keep you company AND see Elly!!!

707: B☆O☆N☆U☆S☆!!

MC: lol I'm ok just tired

MC: and yeah he is working late as usual

MC: but don't worry I'm ok lol

Jumin Han has entered the chat room.

Jumin Han: Hello, MC. Are you and Elizabeth the 3rd doing alright?

MC : yeah.

Jumin Han: I'm glad.

707: ooooooooohhhh!!! Is our heir busy tonight?!?!?!

ZEN: *yet another annoyed emoji*

ZEN: That dude is always busy, I have a feeling MC is always alone;;

Yoosung☆: Yeah… me too.

Jumin Han: Nonsense. She understands I'm busy.

MC: …..

MC: I got to go. It was nice talking to you guys

MC : I love you all

707: awww!!

707 : *hearts emoji*

707: We love you back!!!!

Yoosung☆: have a good day MC! Don't skip meals!

ZEN: call if you need a friend, MC;;

Jumin Han: She has other people she can call other than you, Zen.

MC has left the chatroom.

You didn't realize you had been crying. That was your last chat with them.  

You wipe the tears away and leave the phone beside the letter and divorce papers before leaving the penthouse.

You get some looks from people inside the building, as you were carrying luggage.

Once inside Driver Kim’s car, you told him to drive you to the airport. He seemed worried for you.

You smiled at him. “I'm… okay.” He nods and continues driving. Once there, there was no going back.

“Next flight to… New York… leaving in 10 minutes.” that was your call to your new life.

That Night.

Jumin opened the door to his penthouse, noticing how quiet it was.

A sudden ‘meow’ startled him. It was only Elizabeth the 3rd rubbing against his leg.

By now, he would be hearing MC giggling at the TV show she usually watched. But… the house seemed quiet. Too quiet.

“MC?” He asked out loud. “I'm home.” he was met with more silence.

He checked every room until he got in the bedroom.

He saw a couple of papers on the bed and MC’s phone. He looked confused.

Once picking up the papers, his face went white.

“W...What…?” He said to himself.

‘Divorce Documentation’ read at the top.

This wasn't possible. It couldn't be.

He saw how every page was signed by MC.

He then noticed the paper next to those.

It was a letter from MC. He read it, and hasn't realized he was crying. It was not often he cried, but…

He physically felt his heart shatter.

He had driven his wife away from him.

Jumin then grabbed the phone she left behind, to tell him any clue as to where she had gone off to.

Jumin signed on her RFA account.

MC has joined the chat room.

Jaehee Kang: Hello, MC. How are you?

MC: ljkip

Jaehee Kang: MC?

MC has left the chat room.

Jumin couldn't believe this.

He called his chief of security, telling everyone to see or find out where she went.

He spent all night and all day the next day looking for her.

Jumin received a call from Driver Kim.

Jumin answered immediately. “Yes?? Do you know?” there was a pause. “airport?”

He hung up.

He went to his bed, no, -their- bed and cried. She was gone.

What a shame but goodbye

I say goodbye to you and I leave

What a shame but goodbye

I say goodbye….

And I leave.

☆☆☆EXTRA☆☆☆

His phone suddenly started ringing. It was V.

“Jumin… please go to the RFA chat room. Something has happened.” Jumin immediately logs in from his account.

Jumin Han has entered the chat room.

Yoosung☆: Did anyone get a weird package from MC??? I haven't opened it yet

707: …….

ZEN: yeah… I did too. Open it, Yoosung.

Jaehee Kang: So did I…

Jaehee Kang: Mr. Han…..

V: I don't know what to say. She sent me a tape.

Yoosung☆: a tape?? Why you?? I only got a letter T_T

Yoosung☆: oh nvm there's stuff here!!!

V: She was worried I wouldn't be able to read because of my eyesight.

Jumin Han: She gave me divorce papers.

ZEN: ?????!???????

ZEN: what???

Yoosung☆: omg …

707: she's leaving?????

Jumin Han: She already left… she hasn't been in the penthouse since yesterday, around the time she came in last time.

Jaehee Kang: Wait, Mr. Han. Are you sure? She came in last night and wrote random letters and left.

Jumin Han: That was me. I wanted to see with my own eyes that this was her phone and her app.

ZEN: Wait so she's gone?

ZEN: what the HELL did you do Jumin!!?

Jumin Han: …..

Jaehee Kang: Zen… please. Mr. Han must be having a hard time right now. He hasn't come into work all day today.

Yoosung☆: ….. We were supposed to go roller skating next week. How could she leave us like that?

V: She was having a hard time, Yoosung…

Jumin Han: it's all my fault. If I had been home more often to be there for her… I shouldn't have been mean to her.

ZEN: mean??? So you admit to treating her badly????

V: Not in the way you think, Hyun.

ZEN: Then?? What the hell is going on?;;

707: Jumin

Jumin Han: ?

707: I know where she went, but I'm gonna need time to locate her exact spot as she has no cellphone

Jumin Han: Where is she????

Jumin Han: TELL ME!

707: New York, USA

Yoosung☆: …..

ZEN: How did you find out so quickly??

707: She used Jumin’s account to pay for the ticket with card, but it shows she deposited the same amount of money later on on his account in cash

Jaehee Kang: I can only assume that she didn't want to owe Mr. Han any money…

V: Are you going after her, Jumin?

Yoosung☆: Obviously he is!!!!

ZEN: Yeah… He can't just leave her;;

707: idk

Jumin Han: No.

Yoosung☆: ???????

Jumin Han: She left for a reason. I can't change that. She's as stubborn as…

Jumin Han: point is… she doesn't want to be found.

Jumin Han: I'm signing the papers.

Jumin Han has left the chat room.

[lizzieraindrops]

Your chance to make the sun rise thrice (Chapter 2)

a river that still runs (8803 words)

Beth Childs has come to Helsinki to meet her best friend Veera for the first time in the Herbs on the windowsill universe, an alternate timeline where the original Helsinki massacre was prevented and DYAD routed by Clone Club Alpha’s successful publicity stunt back in 2001. Veera Suominen and Niki Lintula survived and decided to live in a little apartment together as qpp’s. Numerous Leda clones worldwide are now in contact via a secure online network that Veera maintains. 

Note: This chapter is a bit heavier than the rest of the AU. Beth is still struggling with a lot of the same challenges in this universe, even if the events causing them are somewhat different because of such early canon divergence. But the whole point of this story is that things can end up okay no matter how rough it's been. She's getting the help she needs and she's gonna be alright. That said, warning for soft discussion of past abuse, the effects of trauma, depression and anxiety, and some suicidal ideation. And of course, lots of love and learning how to heal, with support from her best friend.

Fun fact: Veera's username is 3mika, and she always sets her font to the precise warm turquoise of hex color #2299aa. She thinks she's hilarious, and she's right. 

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Part 1: Herbs on the windowsill

Part 2: Someday colors

Part 3: Your chance to make the sun rise thrice  |  Chapter 1  |  Chapter 2  |  Chapter 3

***

Beth wakes on a squashy couch that isn't hers. Morning-soft sunlight pours through the window above her, bouncing back off the walls to fill even the shady corners with a warm secondhand glow. Her limbs are soft, splayed under unfamiliar blankets and sinking into the cushions. She doesn't move yet.

The apartment. Helsinki. Beth's really here. She holds herself still, letting the truth sink into her. She half expects the usual anxious tension to clench her into a ball the instant she moves a muscle, but it isn't there. Neither is the invisible weight that so often pins her immobile. She still wakes frequently with both of them holding her body hostage, keeping her muscles unmoving but restless, even in sleep. Right now though, they're gone. She just lies there, soft beneath the window.

It's quiet but not silent. The occasional car on the little road outside chuckles as it passes. A soft rush of water echoes through pipes in the walls, running toward an early riser in another unit. These sounds fall strangely on Beth's Toronto-bred ears, isolated in the stillness of this of this little apartment on the outskirts of the city. Still, the early-morning atmosphere settles comfortably into her jet-lagged bones, murmuring a rhythm for her to sink into. The temporal upheaval of a transcontinental red-eye and a series of exhausted naps yesterday have left her a little unbalanced. And yet, here she is waking up with the day, and the ground under her feels so much more stable than she’s used to.

Beth breaks her stillness with a deep, deep breath that she can feel expanding all the way down to her feet. She stretches, too, but soon pulls the toes that get exposed back underneath the warm, scratchy blanket. The cushions of the old couch creak a little in complaint as she shifts, but her limbs remain supple. For a time, she just observes the sensations. Then, her awareness spreads beyond the couch and the window to the rest of the room.

All around her, an oddly blocky pattern covers the walls. It's one of the first things she noticed when she walked into the apartment yesterday afternoon. The pattern isn't wallpaper like it appears at first glance, but actually a multitude of small photographs. Most of them are unframed, but taped up in crisply aligned rows. In them, she sees the same face infused with a hundred different lives. Just above her, a sleeping, slack-jawed redhead with bulky headphones around her neck sprawls on the very same couch Beth's laying on now. A few rows down, a brunette and a blonde with their long hair in matching wild waves are leaning all over each other and grinning like devils. One of the few framed photos shows a girl with a hospital-short buzz cut and a delighted expression, sitting in front of what looks like a mouthwatering strawberry shortcake. Beth can see at least six others in the background behind strawberry girl. Among them are Mika with her unmistakable scars and Niki with her bright blonde hair, their arms around each other's shoulders.

Morning light glances off the glossy surfaces of the photos on the west wall. The particularly bright reflection off one of the framed photos draws Beth's eye. With a tiny jolt, Beth recognizes one of her own selfies beneath the glass. In it, she's wearing the same old turquoise blue sweatshirt that's spilling out of her suitcase next to the couch right now. Underneath it, she's wearing her track gear, so the photo is at least two years old. She'd had to quit cross-country so she could try to get the shitshow her life had become under control. She vaguely recalls sending it to Mika a long time ago. It's strange to think that her presence has been in this apartment for so long.

She's here. In Finland. Staying with Mika – Mika - and Niki. Far, far away from everything.

Sprawling on the couch she slept on with a sigh as if she hadn’t a care in the world, Beth can't believe she's really gone and done it. She's run so far away that there's an ocean between her and her problems. It’s so much better than she's dreamed, even if it's only for a little while. It’s worth it, even though she'll be going back far too soon. For the first time in years, it feels like she’s where she’s supposed to be right now.

It had all started out as foolish idea she'd floated one Saturday morning, months ago. She hadn't been serious at all. She'd woken up so relieved at not having to get up and go to work, until she remembered her weekly therapy appointment with a hopeless groan.

Putting off the genuinely daunting prospect of hauling herself out of bed, she reached out to snag her phone from on top of her dresser, checking to see if she'd heard from Mika overnight. After all, Helsinki was nine hours ahead, so Mika had already seen most of the day that was just beginning for Beth. They talked so often these days, since they'd first made contact over two years ago. Rarely a day passed without touching base. But there wasn’t anything since Beth had checked last night. She took it upon herself to send the first message of the day.

runwaterblue: god, i dont wanna get up and deal with any of thsi shit today

After her world fell apart, after finding out about Project Leda, after realizing that all her nightmares and more were real, after her father...

runwaterblue: wish i could come visit u and get away form everything for awhile

Mika replied almost immediately.

3mika: you can

It was evening in her time zone, but to be honest, Beth had no idea if she had anything resembling a regular sleep schedule. The girl was always online.

3mika: though you really should go to your appointment. you always feel better afterward

runwaterblue: howd you know i have therapy today

3mika: you always have an appointment saturday afternoons

runwaterblue: yes but how do you remember that? i cant evne remember my own appts lmao

3mika: you mentioned it months ago when you switched from sundays to saturdays

Beth shook her head with a smile. Mika was so good with details.

3mika: anyway. you’re welcome here, if you can get here

3mika:  it would be great to see you

3mika: Niki wouldn't mind. we've had a bunch of Ledas visit us here, it's always fun

3mika: except that one time Dani and Ary got into a fight over football. some French-Italian team rivalry thing. that was not fun.

Beth laughed. It was funny how Mika was so good at making her do that, even on days like these. She leaned back against her pillow and held her phone over her head without sitting up, being careful not to drop it on her own face. She'd done that before. More times than she'd admit.

runwaterblue: i was kidding. id love to visit, but idk how id get there

runwaterblue: u should see the americans go off abt their football lmao. they're nerly as bad as the hockey freaks here

3mika: pls no

3mika: no more sports. it was a year ago and I’m still exhausted

3mika: sports are banned in this apartment.

Beth snorted. Mika wanted nothing to do with sports of any kind, and with Beth's athletic record, the topic had become a point of mutual teasing between them.

In so many ways, they were such different people, DNA be damned. Mika was reticent where Beth was outgoing. (Or at least, Beth had been. She was never quite sure how to think of herself these days.) Clone drama aside, Beth had been a pretty average Canadian high schooler. She got reasonable grades, played a few sports, and kept mostly out of trouble because there would be hell to pay if she didn’t. Mika was a brilliant homeschooled autistic orphan who had been raised in near isolation by her guardian after surviving the hospital fire that marked her skin for life. Beth mostly listened to pop music, and where no one else could hear, the occasional classical symphony. Mika held fast to Finland's weird obsession with death metal and dabbled in literally everything else.

And yet, Mika understands Beth like no one else does. And it's not just because they've both been through all this Project Leda bullshit. Though Beth doesn't know what she would have done without Mika to help her through that, too.

Beth won't ever be able to forget the moment that everything changed. Recognizing a her own face from the mirror on the evening news stopped her in her tracks, as something in her gut caved in with the hollow certainty that it wasn't her. Then face after face flickered before her, a flipbook barrage of déja vu. Blonde and smiling. Scarred and pensive. Braids and piercings and a rakish grin. Beth was rooted in place as people she had never been wearing things she had never worn said things she was never supposed to know.

That utter strangeness on the screen immediately seeped into her life like an oil slick into a river, tainting every thing she thought she knew with clinging uncertainty. Her father was inexplicably even more upset about it than Beth was, yet adamant that they shouldn't look into the matter. But it was already too late to stop herself from thinking. With slow horror, the truth of what exactly his behavior must mean dawned on her. And yet, even with the desperate growing certainty about who her Leda monitor must be, it was hard to believe that he could be anything other than her plain stern father.

He was always a bit strict and overprotective - probably well more than a bit, she realizes these days. But she’d thought that's just what it was like to be a cop's daughter. He'd never done anything really extreme, nothing beyond the firm discipline any kid could expect. He was just not a man to be trifled with, that was all. So until everything she thought she knew shifted that day and threatened to topple every assumption she’d built her life on, she had never truly dared to cross him.

Outright daring him to say to her face that he wasn't her monitor was probably considered a step beyond trifling. He did not take it kindly.

Two months later, Beth and her mother were living in an apartment on the opposite side of the city. It took two months for the two of them to lay plans to leave together, for good. For two months, her every move was watched. She spent two months knowing there would be hell to pay if she didn't give the performance of a lifetime pretending everything was fine, even while sirens blared inside her day and night. Two months was more than enough to teach her things she never wanted to know about the hidden marks fear leaves on the body.

Even after she finally escaped, her life was in tatters and nothing made sense. It wasn’t just the sudden jarring discovery of Project Leda, or the crisis it had forced her to confront. It was learning that, deep down, she had known that she’d never once felt free. She’d unconsciously kept herself from knowing to avoid exactly that conflict of wills that she’d known she would lose.

Trying to come to terms with what had happened and how it changed everything, Beth was continuously losing her balance. Questioning which parts of her life had been screwed over by her father and which by being part of some ridiculous supervillain science experiment was like trying to stand on two kickboards in a pool. She couldn't find her footing, and all she could do was try and stay afloat. She had to repeat her whole junior year of high school that she lost to this shitshow, while starting over at a new school, and only barely scraped her way into senior year. Now that she knew how honestly terrible she'd been at judging who in her life she could trust, it was as hard to talk to old friends as it was to make new ones.

Therapy helped her start sorting out what she was feeling, and how the environment she’d grown up in was really not the healthiest. She hadn’t realized how much she’d learned to doubt her own perceptions. That made constructing any kind of new understanding of her situation an uphill struggle. And of course, her therapist couldn’t help her confirm anything about a human experiment that was so illegal it had been an international secret. As she continued to stumble forward, Beth even started doubting her former certainty of the identity of her Leda monitor. She questioned herself and everything she knew until she wanted to scream with frustration or weep with confusion. The floor of the counselor’s office could have been mopped with her tears. It was, quite literally, driving her mad.

So, finally, Beth had taken up the invitation on the banner of every Leda news feature to "Contact the secure, clone-run Clone Youth Group Network (CYGNet) for answers by emailing info@cygnet.org."

She wanted something concrete that would help convince her brain to stop reenacting these head games that warped her reality. It still insisted on playing through the patterns it had been taught, even in its teacher’s absence. She needed something that could brace her against the ideas that she was really just paranoid, overreacting, accusing, that this was all her fault for making a big deal out of nothing. Even with his other faults (cruelties, her mind whispered) aside, at least his involvement with Project Leda was unforgivable, and she wanted proof of it. Maybe if she had that, she could stop being mad at herself for not wanting to forgive. And if anyone had that proof, CYGNet would.

Maybe it was just because of the sheer blunt honesty about her motives, or the inescapable vulnerability of the message Beth sent, but Mika had replied to her within a day. And she'd been so gentle about it, too, enough to make Beth later question where the stereotype of autistic brashness came from. Then again, over email, Mika had all the time she needed to compose her thoughts and lay them out as softly as she wanted. She didn't have to spit them out as fast as she could to keep pace with a quick and painfully overwhelming world.

Hi Beth Childs,

I'm so sorry for what you had to go through. I still don't know how they got away with doing things like this for so long. I suppose people will always find ways to be cruel. But we've survived this long, and the whole point of CYGNet is to help us all heal. The experimental network has been dismantled, and we are assembling resources to help us. We've brought mental health professionals on to the project to develop custom programs for our needs. We can make them available to you, if you are interested.

I attached scans of some of your files that we recovered from DYAD. There are a few case reports with the signature of the person you asked about, spaced throughout your lifetime. There are also financial records with his name in the list of paid employees. He was without a doubt part of the Leda monitor program. I can provide all of the documentation that we have related to you, if you like, but I thought that would be too much all at once. I know these are hard to look at, but I hope they help let your mind rest. They are very real, and every awful thing we have experienced was also real, no matter how they tried to convince everyone that we were making it all up.

Please take your time with these, and stay in contact if you want to. You can join our mailing list, if you want to know when we have new information or new resources available. We're here for you.

And hey, if you just want to talk to someone who knows what it's like to deal with all of this, I'm here, too. You can reach my personal inbox or IM me at wiz.of.dos@cygnet.org. It'll be okay.

-Veera

Beth had started crying before she even finished reading the letter, much less opened the attachments. She cried so often these days. She only knew why half the time. But this time, it felt like the tears were extracting some of her pain as they left her, instead of just overflowing from the unending wellspring of her directionless distress. All of this was real, and someone else knew it.

Though she was grateful beyond measure for her mother’s untiring support, they were each other’s too-close, ever-present reminders of what they’d survived, trying to act like they weren’t, trying to convince each other and themselves that they were okay. Beth had needed something else, too, something until now unnamed.

This was a handhold, a backstop Beth didn't know she'd been desperate to find. It wasn't just the confirmation of what she’d concluded about her father. The ability speak plainly to someone she didn't feel the need to pretend around was an exhale of a breath held too long. At least one person in the world not only understood, but really and truly didn't want or expect her to act like any of this was normal or okay, or that she would ever be the same again.

Veera – or Mika, as she often went by online – made good on her offer of a sympathetic ear. Their correspondence started off with awkward, grammatically correct messages about the less painful details of their lives. Mika told her about the farmer’s market three blocks away where she went walking early in the morning before it got busy, and the plant stand there that her best friend and roommate Niki (also a Leda) had to ask her to stop buying so many succulents from.

At first, Beth tried to chatter like she used to, but there were no safe subjects. What had happened had touched all of her life. Normally, she’d talk about school, or sports, or her friends. But she was trying to start all over again at a new school with all the struggles that came with it. She didn’t have the time or energy for sports anymore, and talking about them hurt, now. Running used to make her heart sing. But no matter how she tried, there was no joy in the motion anymore. To top it all off, it was as hard to connect with old friends from her old life as it was to try and make new ones. She spent most interactions either doubting her own character judgement or dreading the moment people recognized her Leda face from the news.

She didn’t know how to talk about any of it to anyone. Maybe she could have if it had been just the clone thing or just the dad thing. But the two were inextricably entangled, and she still couldn’t even explain it to herself. It was all unbelievably horrifying, and any time she tried to be honest about it, people ended up disbelieving or horrified. Shocker.

Maybe, though, it wouldn’t be weird to talk about it with Mika. Mika already knew the worst. Beth didn’t have to hide that hurt from her to keep from shaking her world, or to keep her dismissal from hurting Beth. Maybe that’s what was hurting the most: the feeling that even after escaping, she still had to pretend to be okay. That compulsive stifling feeling choked her whenever it bubbled back up. On her bad days, a simple “how are you?” could reduce her to a blank face plastered over a raw tangle of emotions held motionless her own iron grip.

But Mika mentioned having bad days, too. Days came where she was too scared and nightmare-weary to do anything but make herself some tea and soak up some sunlight in the safety of home. Beth could casually say things like after those two months, i still twitch every time i hear a door open, and i wish my body would quit feeling like it doesn’t exist, my legs feel numb. It barely broke the surface of what it was like in her head, but was discomfiting enough for people that she held her tongue at school.

Sometimes, Beth got tired of constantly thinking about all this shit and tried to lighten things up. On one comically disastrous occasion of cultural exchange, she liveblogged Mika her attempt at eating the infamous Scandinavian lutefisk, along with an audio recording of the incoherent horrified noises she made after tasting it. In return, she received a recording of someone, presumably Mika, laughing harder than she’d ever heard anyone laugh before. It made Beth smile. Not many things did, back then.

Slowly, as the formality fell away from their transcontinental conversations, their heavier stories seething below the surface seeped in. Beth had been in therapy long enough now to know that she couldn't just recklessly unload on people the way she did in counseling sessions. But a counselor couldn't always provide the same kind of unspoken solidarity that someone in the same boat could.

Bit by bit, slipped into the chats that were becoming a daily occurrence, they talked about monitors, about what the experiment had really all been for, why that both was and wasn’t important, and how they'd discovered they were a part of Project Leda. Putting words to the pain hurt, a lot. But the ability to lay out long-unspoken truths in front of each other, knowing they were believed in the way that only people who have shared something can, was a healing kind of pain instead of the festering one Beth had been living with.

The two of them had more in common than they'd thought, growing up a world apart. Beth's experience raised under the subconscious wariness of her father's hovering thumb felt a lot like what Mika described growing up largely isolated with her former guardian. But sometimes, whenever they realized that something they'd both thought was normal was pretty not, they got a good laugh out of it despite the weight of their pasts. Mika seemed somewhat accustomed to her normal being considered pretty weird, so she usually took the revelations in stride better than Beth did. Beth wouldn't find out for at least a year after meeting her that it was because of her Asperger's, since it was a topic Mika seemed quite sensitive about.

Mika explained it once, in a conversation full of long pauses on her part and watching the typing icon disappear and reappear on Beth’s. The way she put it, it just meant that her brain worked a bit differently than most people's, processing sounds and sights and all the information it took in at different speeds and with different emphases. The difference could turn everyday things like the sound of a refrigerator running into a splitting headache, or something as simple as the soft texture of her favorite jacket into a kind of bliss. That alternative way of processing also extended to things like words and emotions as well. Sometimes, it took her longer than the world was willing to wait to process them into something that made sense. It often made communication tricky, trying to compensate for the gap in mutual understanding with most people. The world and the people in it could be so overwhelming sometimes, so fast and bright and full of noise and uncertainty and bewilderingly arbitrary social conventions. But the biggest challenge was other people expecting her to do everything the same way they did, ignorant of the fact there were any ways to exist other than their own, and completely oblivious to the fact that she was already putting in at least twice as much effort to communicate with them as they were with her.

And yet, even coming from such a different perspective, Mika gets it. Beth says sometimes i dream of drowning and its not a nightmare and i wake up not knowing how to feel, and Mika says I still dream of burning and wake up not knowing which fires are real, and they both say yeah. And they sit there across the world from each other knowing these things, knowing that it doesn't fix anything. And yet, it does change something. Nothing's any better, really. But somehow, the knowledge that someone else understands makes it a little easier to bear.

And that's just it. Somehow, without ever even having seen her face, Mika sees Beth clearer than anyone. All of her, all the ugly parts she hides so that they can't hurt anyone, and all the good parts that she also hides so that nobody can hurt them or take them away from her. Mika sees all of that and then just tells Beth another story about the Northern Lights she sees on the regular. Apparently, in Finnish, they’re called "fox fires." Beth hardly ever sees the aurora, living relatively far south in a bright city. But her stories about life in the metropolis by the lake intrigue Mika as much as the tales of the twisting green lights do her. And Beth can talk about something lighter again while not having to pretend that the heaviness isn’t there, too, even while she’s just once more trying and failing to explain poutine. For her, the weight never really goes away. But the effort of pretending she’s not carrying it takes more out of her than the weight itself. Mika understands that.

Maybe that’s why Beth had talked it over with Mika first, even before her mom, when she was considering taking a gap year after she hopefully managed to finish her senior year of high school. (God, it was so hard to think about English or math or whatever when just that morning she’d woken from a nightmare about being back in a not-home house that she never escaped.) Beth's mom had been so unbelievably supportive of Beth's recovery, even while she herself was adjusting to the wrenching change in both of their lives. It was both inspiring and a little intimidating. If her mom managed to run a household and raise a daughter all on her own, even while trying to heal from her own trauma, how could Beth not do her utmost, too? She was grateful to be able to talk to Mika about it, to get a reality check from someone who both understood her situation intimately and didn't make Beth feel that pressure of expectation. In the end, Beth did decide to take a year or two off before considering college, and her mom was again nothing if not supportive. Beth figured, after this entire mess, she deserved some time to herself to work on sorting her shit out, and her mom agreed.

After graduating with reasonable if not flying colors, Beth worked a series of part-time and odd jobs that didn't stress her out too much, letting herself focus on her own healing. In between her mom's support, seeing a counselor regularly, and the security of having a friend she could really trust, Beth felt like she was making progress. Slow progress, sure, but progress, nonetheless. Considering that she had seventeen years' worth of lies to unbelieve and emotional trauma to finally acknowledge, Beth figured that there was only so much she could do in the three years she'd had.

Her days were still hard. Getting sleep and waking up and eating and even just existing were still so fucking hard sometimes, and it was horrible. Some days, the thinnest sheet trapped her in bed like it was a car pinning her down. It felt so stupid for such simple things to be so hard. But then her therapist would remind her that that’s what mental illness and trauma was, that this was what the wounds in her mind and heart made her feel like. And once in awhile, sun broke through the shadows, and she had a day that reminded her what an okay day felt like – that okay days existed. That more might.

Now, she’s here, lying in a bright living room so far from home, with her dearest friend in the next room. She’s comfortable, except for the knot in her neck from sleeping oddly on the couch. The soreness pales in comparison to the usual tensions that are so strangely absent. Beth can’t remember the last time she felt this okay. She’s not steeling herself to go to work. She’s not dreading the next conversation with her mother that goes quiet as they both remember awful things they don’t mention. She’s not bracing herself for the next time her brain runs rampant worrying about whether she’ll run into the subject of her restraining order somewhere in the city and have to wonder if he'll honor it.

None of that reaches her here. There’s something about this quiet little pocket of space. It’s overrun with a proliferation of potted plants, from the sprawling lacy-leafed monster in the corner, to the fern peeping out of the kitchen, to the vine cuttings spilling out of an oddly familiar leaf-shaped glass bottle on the sill. Sunlight streaks through leaves and windowpanes and across the colorful patchwork of rugs on the floor. In the midst of it all, Beth is held by a palpable aura of gentleness. It holds her so softly that she doesn't need to hold herself in. It's like the layer of caution that she always keeps wrapped between herself and the rest of the world has simply dissolved away. In this moment suspended in morning light, she is okay.

She feels safe.

The realization undoes something in her. She feels the tears starting, and she expects the taut tension of involuntary stifling that always comes with them to return. But it doesn’t. She lies still and soft on the couch with the water creeping over her cheeks, breath occasionally catching but flowing freely. She savors it in the quiet.

The soft thunk of an ill-fitted door opening breaks into her odd reverie. Mika’s up. Beth sniffs and scrubs at her eyes halfheartedly, but she can’t hide them right now and she doesn’t want to. Mika notices immediately, and comes trotting over with quiet steps, leaning forward all concern.

"Beth," she says softly. She shifts from foot to foot like a nervous cat, watching Beth with enormous eyes. Beth has never met anyone else with such an intense stare. Or maybe it's just the fact that Beth knows beyond all doubt that she's being looked at by somebody who really sees her in her entirety. It's like she's staring right into Beth's soul. But Mika was able to do that long before they saw each others' faces. They've shared so many thousands of words over screens and seas, so many emotions that have gone otherwise unspoken, so many too-early mornings and too-late nights on the fringes of each other's dawns and dusks.

“What’s wrong?”

Finally, a flash of that sick tension runs through Beth’s body. It’s been okay when Mika has asked that before, when it was just silent letters on a screen. But out loud, the question falls on her ears like every well-meaning inquiry she’s ever had to scramble to find an acceptable answer for. The strain begins to cinch tight around her again like coarse ropes across barely-healed skin, ready to compel her to replace the truth with something safer. Her arms and legs tied, she begins to freeze, railing against herself for tainting the softness, the safety of this place.

"Beth." Mika says again, softer but more urgent.

In the gap between thoughts created by hearing her name, Beth seizes the chance to redirect them to the present. She clings to the welling in the corners of her eyes, the warmth of the sun caressing her back. The leaves of trees whisper outside the third-floor window in a mild breeze. The brightness spills over the sill and across Mika’s asymmetrical, half-craggy face and lights up tufts of her short hair as she steps closer. The couch dips as Mika sits down next to her, tilting Beth toward her.

Without meeting her eyes, Mika lifts a hesitant hand that hovers in the air between them, uncertain yet reaching. Her gentle palm falls onto Beth's forearm as softly as a floating leaf. The fingers curl around Beth’s arm just below the wrist, firm but not tight. Comforting.

The softness surrounding Beth seeps back into her, saturating her. As the memory fades like a ripple into water, the tension slackens. But it leaves her shaky, with traces of a familiar ache in her neck muscles, one that goes deeper than the simple stiffness from the couch. She sucks in a few unsteady breaths while Mika gives her arm a gentle squeeze.

“Sorry,” Beth says in a small, awkward voice.

Mika tilts her head. “Why?”

“Uh, I didn’t mean to bring all – this mess, in here.” Beth rubs the back of her neck with her free hand. “It’s so... soft, and okay, and – I don’t wanna ruin it,” she says, trailing off into a mumble.

“Hey.” Mika moves her hand from Beth’s arm to her shoulder. When Beth looks at her, she’s looking right back. Mika's eyes dart down to the floor for a moment, but then return to hold Beth’s with deliberate steadiness. “It’s alright. It’s like this here because we wanted it to be safe to be messy. You’re not ruining anything.”

“... Oh.” She’s steadied by Mika’s fingers curling around her shoulder, by the tendrils of sunlight spreading across her head and back and arms. Mika’s voice is small but steady, and somehow it comes from the same throat that makes that huge pealing laugh. It’s so strange how they sound nothing alike. Until yesterday, Beth hadn’t heard her voice since the lutefisk incident. They’d mostly kept to text and pictures. It had seemed easier, the way it gave them both plenty time to think before they spoke through their different uncertainties. Beth was already planning her trip before they realized that they’d never actually called each other. By that point, it sounded like more fun to meet in person the old-fashioned way.

"I'll make you some tea." Mika abruptly stands and lets go of her. Beth is sad to lose the contact. She flits across the room toward the kitchen in her soft cotton pajama pants, complemented by yet another black graphic tee for yet another Scandinavian metal band Beth's never heard of. Or at least, she'd never heard of them before Mika, who has something to say about all of them, and now Beth knows more than she'll ever need to.

Mika moves in and out of view behind the half-wall that separates the little living room from the kitchen. The fronds of the fern on the counter make a green rustling as she brushes by them. It sends soft feathered shadows waving across the wall opposite the window. Beth hears the rush of water boiling out of sight, and soon sees steam rising from the mug that's being handed to her.

"It's hot," Mika says unnecessarily. She sits down next to her again, this time leaning into Beth with her arm. Beth’s glad for it.

"Have you ditched the bags and gone loose leaf?" Beth says, eyeing the fragments of bright green leaf free floating in her mug.

"It didn't come in a bag. It came from the window."

"The window?"

"It's basil tea. For the fear and pain. Five large fresh leaves in two hundred and fifty milliliters water. We grew it here."

Beth takes a cautious sip. It's surprisingly sweet, and the savory smell of the steam rising from it curls into her sinuses. The aching in her head and neck begin to relax. It's unfamiliar, but it feels like home should, just like everything else here.

"Thanks," Beth says. On an impulse of craving closeness, she leans her head onto Mika's shoulder with a sigh. The sensation of contact deepens as Mika leans against her, too.

Beth holds the cup close, fingers wrapping around its warmth. She takes another sip and gets a bit of leaf stuck in her teeth. The way she scrunches up her face trying to dislodge it pulls a tiny laugh out of Mika.

“You don’t have to be okay here,” Mika whispers. “You can just be. That’s what we do.”

Beth finds her eyes wet again, but she smiles while she sets her mug down and wipes them away. “Kinda already wish I could stay here,” she says with a chuckle.

“... That’s probably not impossible.”

“Really?” Beth asks wryly. “Not even twenty-four hours, and you’d already be willing to put up with me?”

“Twenty-four hours and twenty-seven months.”

Beth melts a little even while waving the idea aside. “I wasn’t serious.”

“I know, but... weren’t you looking at the school here?”

“I mean, yeah, but... really, my mom just thought I deserved a break to get away for a little while. She’d saved up a bit, and I didn’t want to make it a big deal or anything, but she really wanted me to. She knew I wanted to come see you. Checking out the school was mostly an excuse. I know it’s a great place, but... I don’t really think it’ll help with what I wanna do.”

“What do you want to do?”

Beth sighs and leans back, looking at the ceiling. Mika follows her so that they’re still shoulder to shoulder, and pulls her feet up to tuck them in cross-legged.

She flounders for a moment, trying to find where to begin. She hasn’t told anyone this yet.

“This Leda crap has been kind of awful, right? It’s screwed so many of us up. But there’s only, what, a few hundred of us? And that’s not the only reason things get messed up.” She swallows. Her eyes trace irregularities in the ceiling: a knot in an exposed wooden beam here, a sealed and repainted crack there. “Kids like me are a dime a dozen. There’s so many people out there going through hell, just because they got stuck with people who are hurting so much that they hurt other people. And then they go on and hurt more people. It’s a cycle that’s really fucking hard to break.”

Breaths that have become harsh force her to pause and let them lengthen again. A touch on her knee draws her eyes down to a hand resting on it palm up, offering. Beth takes it. Mika squeezes her fingers in reassurance.

“When I was little, I wanted to be a cop like my dad, did you know that?” Mika, eyes wide, shakes her head. “Yeah. That was always my plan. I used to think he was so brave. Wanted to be just like him.” She shudders. Mika grips her hand, steady. “Even if I could do it better than he did, the system is still full of people like him. It’s broken. I couldn’t – I can’t end up like that. I can’t keep being a part of this shit. I want to actually help people.

“I never thought about it before I met you, but the people you brought in to do therapy programs and all for CYGNet? They’re amazing. The stuff I’ve gotten from them has helped me so much. And I don’t know what I’d do without my regular therapist. These people really help people like me. Like all of us. Those are the kind of people I wanna be like.”

Beth’s voice drops and becomes small and secretive, but firm. “I’ve been looking at the social work programs at home. There’s some really good ones at the uni near where mom and I live now. And that’s the city where I grew up. I know how things work there. I know it won’t be easy, but. I could really... do stuff.”

Silence stretches. Beth looks at Mika, only to be completely thrown off by an expression she can’t make heads or tails of. “What?”

Mika’s face is blank yet soft, only barely hinting at her thoughts in the faintest crinkling of her eyes. It’s funny, how quiet her face is most of the time. Beth never would have guessed, going off her online impressions of her. Mika’s so expressive and eloquent with her written words. In person, she is much more subtle. But even after only a day spent around her, Beth is already starting to see how her movements speak volumes in a language of their own. The flickering of her hands flares to life with excitement. The casual shake of her head tosses her hair out of her eyes even when it’s not in the way, like she’s clearing the slate of her mind. And much like Beth these days, she goes very still and tense when she’s getting uncomfortable or overwhelmed, the way she did after a particularly loud whistle at the train station. It shows in her shoulders. They’re soft now though, and she just watches Beth and squeezes her hand once more.

“You’re really amazing, you know,” Mika says.

“Wh- huh?”

“Well.” She looks away and turns their hands over, but doesn’t let go. “After the awful things you’ve been through – nnnh! Don’t pretend,” she says, looking back sharply as Beth begins to protest that she didn’t have it that bad. Mika knows her so well. Beth can’t help but laugh a little. “After all that, you just want to help people. All I ever want to do is get away from them, most of the time.”

Beth quirks a brow at her with a bemused grin. “Really? Because setting up and running an organization that provides mental health resources and extremely important information to a few hundred people is a really shit way to not help people.”

“I never talk to most of them! And CYGNet only has one hundred and thirteen members, not hundreds.”

Beth rolls her eyes with an exaggerated motion. “Yeah, so, you’ve somehow convinced, what, a whole freaking third of a huge group of scared strangers to trust you?”

“A lot of that was Niki and the press team, she’s way better at talking to people th–”

“And you’ve been careful enough and clever enough to keep them and all the information you got from DYAD safe and secure? I can’t even imagine the organization and, and cyber-security and whatever the hell else you put into all this. That you still put in. And look what you’ve done. You’re helping so many people. You found something only you could do, and do it really damn well.”

Mika looks down into her lap, half her face flushed. The raised ridges and swirls of the scarred side are pink, but not as dark. Her shoulders curl in a little, but she doesn’t pull her hand away from Beth’s. If anything, she holds on a little tighter.

“You don’t have to like talking to people to help them. You don’t have to be someone you’re not,” Beth says gently, then pauses as a new thought occurs to her. “Why did you talk to me?”

Mika gives a tiny shrug, eyes still downcast. “You reached out to me. Most people are scared, or suspicious, or hard to talk to, but you were just... honest. You told me exactly what you needed, even if that meant sharing your painful secrets with a stranger. I...” She trails off, looking toward the closed door of Niki’s bedroom. She blinks slowly.

“It reminded me of something Niki said a long time ago. When we first met. We didn’t trust each other at first. But when things got bad, we needed to, and she just... We’d only known each other for a day. She told me a true story that people had called her crazy for, and trusted me to believe her. And when I told her about... my Asperger’s, about being autistic, she just told me something about herself, too, another thing that a lot of people get cruel about when they know. This was back before she came out, too. She was hardly out to herself, then, really. But she told me anyway. ‘Secret for a secret,’ she said.”

“She’s really special to you.” It’s not a question. How could it be, with the sheer softness of love rounding out every syllable and making Mika melt into the couch and into Beth’s shoulder.

“She’s... yes. She’s my family.” Mika looks out the window, and the bright light dances over her nose. “I don’t remember ever having one.”

Beth slings an arm around Mika’s shoulders and smiles as she curls closer into Beth’s side. “Looks like you’re part of a pretty big one, now,” she says, waving a hand at the dozens of photos on the walls circling them.

“I guess so.”

“No need to guess. The evidence is right there. And I’m right here.”

Mika turns those huge eyes on her again. She’s done that multiple times now, even though Beth knows she rarely looks people in the eye. Eye contact is too much, most of the time. She describes it as too intense, too distracting, too intimate. Meeting those eyes – so like Beth’s own, but filled with such a different kind of light – Beth thinks she understands a glimmer of it. If every eye she met were as overwhelmingly expressive as Mika’s, Beth probably wouldn’t meet them all either. It keeps taking her by surprise, coming across their eloquence in an otherwise quiet face. Caught by that gaze, every emotion that lives in it touches Beth. Right now, it’s soft with adoration but shaded with a gradient of doubt. The width and depth of Mika’s eyes reveal a clear view of a vulnerable, aching, healing heart that spent eleven years starving for the love it needs and still hasn’t forgotten the famine.

It might be breaking Beth’s heart. No wonder Niki is always showering her with hugs and kind words and gentle hands on rounded shoulders. Maybe one of these days, Mika will have spent long enough finally getting to soak up all that affection that she won’t look at Beth like this when she says the simple truth.

“Hey. Here I am. Really.” Beth’s voice is a little choked up. She pulls Mika into a proper hug with both arms. Mika squeaks in surprise at being squeezed so emphatically, but returns it all the same. God, but she gives the best hugs of anyone Beth’s ever met. All contact and even, firm pressure and steadiness. “It’s so damn good to see you. I can’t believe you’re...” real, Beth thinks but doesn’t say. I can’t believe I didn’t imagine you. I can’t believe you’re just as kind as your words. I can’t believe how good it feels to be around you. “I can’t believe I’m really here.”

Mika doesn’t say anything. For a moment, one of her hands leaves Beth’s back to fiddle with something, then comes back to give her a little squeeze that Beth returns.

Beth’s phone buzzes a notification behind her on the little glass-top table next to the couch. The table’s wooden base is a round blob carved into the shape of a very fluffy and very ugly sheep with curly horns. Beth’s arms loosen from their embrace as she turns to look at it, bemused. No one but Mika really messages her except for her mom. But if it’s morning here, it’s about time for bed at home. She checks it, just to be sure she’s okay.

But it’s not from her mom.

Mika reaches out to gently grasp her forearm again as Beth shoots her a quizzical look and opens the message.

3mika: I'm glad you're here.

Beth's heart quails.

To think, that her darker days might have kept her from ever being in this moment. Beth might never have gotten to this point, hurt but healing and here. Here, she's seven time zones and an ocean away from the cycle of pain she grew up in, barely aware she needed to escape. She might well feel safer right here in this crossroads of time and place than she has at any other in her entire life. It's a realization that's as humbling as it is nourishing.

Already, the distance this journey has taken her has given her so much perspective. She wasn’t sure, before, whether the work she’s been considering was just a response to what she’s been through – or just a way for the cycle to keep her within its spiral. But she’s seen what Mika can do, what Beth could do one day, if she keeps on.

It won’t be easy. She’ll go back, and deep-seated memories will try to drag her back into small dark places. But being here, even for only a few hours, has already changed her. She can change, and she can grow, and she is already tapping into new strengths that her past has yet to reckon with. She is here, right now, in spite of all of it. And today is not a dark day.

“Me too, Mika. I’m glad to be here, too.” Beth’s tongue stumbles over the name, because she’s never said it out loud before, only read it on a screen.

Surprise sends Mika’s eyebrows up and her eyes wide again, like she’s never heard it before, either. Maybe she hasn’t. She tilts her head again like a question, touching her ear and looking at Beth.

Beth grins. “Mika.” A smile blooms on that curious face, lighting it up. She’s the one who pulls Beth into a hug this time, and it’s both fierce and soft. When she lets go, she leans into Beth’s side again and they stay like that, arms over shoulders and comfortably curled up together, soaking in the warmth of each other’s presence like leaves drink in light. The simple sweetness and companionship of it soothes Beth’s heart, seeking its way into the aching crevices. It’s an odd feeling, both seeping inward and flowing outward, trickling all the way through her until it warms her cold toes in a way that feels both new and strangely familiar.

A long, sleepy yawn announces that Niki’s awake now, too. Soon, she comes out of her room stretching her arms over her head. Mika reaches a hand out toward her to wave in greeting, though she leaves the other arm draped over Beth’s shoulders. Niki smiles at them. That kind smile, too, adds to the warmth washing through Beth. Her feet practically itch with it, and with a growing sensation of déja vu. She fidgets her toes against the floor as Niki walks over to brush Mika’s outstretched hand like a touchstone.

“How'd you sleep? Isn’t that couch the comfiest?” she says to Beth.

“Well, I’ve got a crick in my neck, but I still slept better than I have in years.”

Niki turns her sunny smile on Beth. “Good to hear it. Weird, though, I nap there all the time and my neck’s always fine. Huh. Anyway, I think I might make waffles. You two want some breakfast?”

Mika nods, but doesn’t let go of Beth yet. Beth is lost in thought, trying to remember what that light, floating feeling in her feet reminds her of.

“Sweet.” Niki ambles toward the kitchen and bends down with pursed lips to peer at the fern perched on the counter. “Hmm. You still look a little pale. Let’s get you some more sun.” She brings the plant over to the living room and is fussing over settling it on the sheep table when it clicks for Beth. A physical memory washes over her, for once welcome. She lets it fill her, refreshing like a deep breath of cold morning air her lungs are suddenly hungry for. She flexes her calves and ankles, her legs remembering the joy and freedom of stride and strike. Her bones are finally recalling how they once carried her with ease, even while they're adjusting to the new weight of who she's become. Fully alive again for at least this moment, her soles are practically prickling with the desire to eat up ground.

“How about you, Beth? Do you like waffles?” Niki asks, fluffing the fern’s crinkly green leaves. Mika squeezes her shoulder.

Beth grins and plants steady feet on the blue rug in front of the couch. “Save a few for me? I think I might actually go for a run first.”

[quinlinkin]

take it from me ( i’d be lost without you ) ↳ Q’s twdg writing challenge

character(s): aj, aasim, louis ship(s): aasim/louis ( lousim ) word count: 838 author’s note: so this doesn’t quite revolve around actually doing any hunting, but alas- lousim from little aj’s perspective is way too adorable lmao

[   ao3 link   ]

*credits to the wonderful @stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale​​​ for creating this challenge! you can view the entire prompt list + further details here. happy writing!!

                                                       ― ☼ ―

                                      day seven ; hunting.

AJ has always been an observant kid. He’s the type to ask questions about anything and everything under the sun, to endlessly wonder about how things work, or why people act in all the vastly different ways that they do. He is curious by nature, sometimes perhaps overbearingly so, and Clementine has undoubtedly dealt with her fair share of frustrations because of it.

Today, he’s been assigned on hunting duty for the first time since Clem’s accident. It’s no secret to anyone how positively excited he is to have earned her trust enough to officially join the others as a part of the group.

In his eyes, he’s one step closer to being all grown up.

So, he’s eagerly waiting by the front gates for his comrades to join him, his very own bow clutched securely in his hand. He’s proud to say that the recent archery lessons has produced some increasingly promising results. Aasim had even said so, himself.

Which, speaking of- He can see Aasim approaching now, and unsurprisingly, Louis trails closely behind him. Ever since coming back from the Delta’s boat, the two have practically been inseparable. AJ had asked Clem if it was because of all the trauma, and she had told him it was partly the reason why. Predictably, when he’d asked her about about the other reasons, she’d told him plain and simply; they were together now. The same way she and Violet were, as an example he could more easily understand.

AJ thought it was nice, that they had each other to depend on. He knew how happy Violet made Clem, how they always helped each other through the bad times, especially. He hoped it was the same for them, too.

“Hey, little dude,” Louis greets cheerfully, extending his fist out or AJ to bump it.

He does exactly that, grinning up at him. “Hi, Louis. Hi, Aasim.”

Aasim gives him a short wave. “Got your bow?”

AJ proudly holds up the object in question. “Yup. You got yours?”

Louis chuckles, and Aasim’s lips quirk up accordingly. “You bet.”

“Well, come on. We got lots of work to do.” As impatient as ever, he’s already pushing open the gate before waiting for any kind of response. Louis aids him in his efforts, even if AJ will always insist that he can do it all by himself.

It’s not five minutes into their trip that AJ’s curiosity peaks.

From what he can tell, Aasim and Louis liked to keep mostly to themselves. He’d only ever seen them kiss once, and apart from Louis slinging an arm around the other in what appeared to be more of a casual manner than anything else, they kept their displays of affection more or less on the down-low.

Naturally, when AJ catches sight of Louis’ hand slipping into Aasim’s as they walk together in front of him, it immediately catches his interest. So, he watches them. Head tilted and lips pursed, his eyes roam back and forth from their entwined fingers to their faces, where he can see them exchange the briefest of smiles and a few sparing laughs as Louis occasionally leans in to whisper something in Aasim’s direction, just quiet enough that AJ can’t hear.

Maybe it’s his budding curiosity. Or, maybe he’s simply growing irritated towards their continued hushed conversation, as if they’re completely oblivious to the fact that he remains right there behind them.

Either way, he finds himself blurting in the next moment; “Are you guys in love?”

Aasim trips over nothing. Louis’ head whips around so fast AJ wonders if it’ll fall right off his shoulders. They both end up gawking at him, until Louis finally manages to find his voice.

“What, uh… What makes you ask that…?”

AJ shrugs nonchalantly. “I dunno. Clem says she loves Violet. So… I was just wondering, I guess.”

Louis and Aasim blink at each other, both of their faces turning a slightly darker shade of red as the seconds tick by. AJ truly doesn’t understand the severity of his seemingly innocent question.

“Um…” Louis eventually goes on, considering that Aasim has apparently been stunned into silence. As AJ watches him, a sudden, indescribable look crosses over his features. “Yeah.”

That’s apparently more than enough to effectively snap Aasim out of his trance. Except, now he’s gawking at Louis instead of AJ as he blurts, “Yeah?”

Louis regards him with a certain amount of shyness that looks strange coming from him. “Well, I mean- I do… so… yeah…”

AJ, although observant towards a lot of things, is blissfully oblivious when it comes to others.

That’s all he needed to hear. His question has been answered, after all.

“Oh. Okay,” he says, brushing past the dazed pair to continue on down the trail. And as he goes along, he casually calls over his shoulder, the weight of the situation entirely lost upon him, “If we see any rabbits, can I be the first one to take a shot?”

Louis, despite himself, simply has to laugh.

[pikapeppa]

I'd like to see you do either prompt 11, 20 or 23! X3 Although if you want a off the list idea i have one! Fenris and mage hawke finding out their child is also a mage! Can't wait to read whatever you decide to write! x3

Ayyyy thank you for the prompts! Honestly I will probably fill them all (except the child one - I generally don’t “do” fics with children lmao), but I’ll start with #23: “This is not new. It only feels like it.” (It was easy to incorporate into the Fenhawke oneshot I was already writing! 😉) For @dadrunkwriting, and also for Fictober 2018.

Fandom: Dragon Age IIPairing: Fenris x femHawkeRating: Mature

Read on AO3 instead. 

****************

With all the care of a mother laying down a child, Hawke laid her cards on the table.

The party instantly dissolved into an uproar of laughter and jeering. Varric chuckled and shook his head, and Sebastian absolutely roared with mirth while Anders pounded his fist on the table. Merrill wrung her hands and dithered about Hawke taking poor risks; meanwhile, Isabela began insulting the Fereldan mage with gleeful relish.

Aveline, on the other hand, shook her head in dismay. “Hawke, why would you raise the stakes so high with such a terrible hand? What were you thinking?” she scolded.

Hawke smiled sheepishly and shrugged. “I tried to bluff! Bluffing normally works so well when we visit the Gallows. Cullen still believes that Anders is just practicing voices for an independent opera production at the Blooming Rose.” She winked at Fenris.

Fenris just shook his head and folded his arms. “You don’t have enough coin to pay off the raise, do you?”

“Nope, she doesn’t,” Varric interjected. “I’ve been counting.”

Hawke shot him a mock-offended look. “You’ve been counting my coin? Isn’t that cheating?”

“It’s only cheating if he counts your cards, not your coin,” Sebastian replied. “And that’s only for certain games. I still can’t believe you don’t know this, Hawke.” He grinned at her as he sipped his water.

She threw her hands up in exasperation. “I’m a late bloomer with this game, all right? So sue me!”

“No one’s going to sue,” Fenris drawled. “But you have to pay your debt to me. I am winning, after all.” He raised one challenging eyebrow at her.

Her bright coppery eyes darted to his face, and Fenris fought back a smile at the mischievous smirk that dimpled her cheeks. “Well, Fenris, as you so smugly pointed out, I’ve got no coin left,” she said. “So what do you suggest?”

“Give him the shirt off your back,” Isabela interrupted. Her arms were folded and her smile was broad and wicked, and Fenris watched curiously as Hawke abruptly elbowed the brazen pirate.

“Bels,” she hissed.

Aveline rolled her eyes. “Of course you would suggest making it a stripping game. Trollop,” she said primly.

“Prude,” Isabela returned absently, but her eyes were still on Hawke. She elbowed the mage in return and jerked her chin in Fenris’s direction. “Go on, Hawke, give him your shirt. That’s sure to balance the scales. Isn’t that right, Fenris?”

Varric grumbled something about a perfectly good card game being dragged off the rails, and Merrill began twittering to Aveline about humans and cards and getting naked, but Fenris ignored them; he was too busy watching as Hawke’s cheeks warmed to a rosy pink.

Finally Hawke scoffed and rolled her eyes at Isabela. “Fine, I’ll give him my shirt. But only if you take yours off too, you cheeky bitch.” Fenris noted with interest that Hawke wouldn’t meet his eyes.

Isabela cackled, then pushed back from the table. “Done,” she declared.

Aveline groaned. “Oh Maker’s breath, Hawke, don’t encourage her…”

It was too late. Isabela had already pulled off her thigh-length tunic, leaving her practically naked except for her boots, bright blue brassière, and leather shorts that were hardly more than smallclothes. The brazen pirate carelessly tossed her tunic at Sebastian, then turned to Hawke with a complacent smirk. “There. Your turn, sweet thing.”

Sebastian abruptly rose from the table, almost knocking his chair over in the process. “I have to go and, er, pray. Thank you for the hospitality, Hawke, I’ll see you tomorrow-” He bolted from the table, chased by another wave of laughter and jeering from the rest of the group.

Fenris, meanwhile, kept his eyes on Hawke. She’d finally deigned to meet his gaze, and now it seemed that neither of them could look away. Her expression was more than just the usual mischief. There was something intense in the cant of her eyebrows or the heat of her dark golden eyes, and Fenris simply watched her, waiting to see what she would do.

Finally she rose to her feet. In one smooth motion, she pulled her loose silk tunic over her head.

Isabela and Anders hooted encouragement, and Merrill giggled and covered her face while Varric and Aveline shook their heads and groaned. Without breaking from his gaze, Hawke tossed her tunic across the table and into his lap.

“Satisfied?” she said.

Fenris wasn’t satisfied - not by far. The blood in his veins felt like it was pumping too fast, a surge of heat and something undeniably feral that started low in his abdomen and burned up into his chest.

Without moving his eyes from her face, he studied her half-bared body from the periphery of his vision. A wicked-looking pattern of black ink traced back from her left collarbone over her shoulder, and he could see hints of the tattoo curling around the edge of her ribs. Her breasts weren’t nearly as generous as Isabela’s, and her simple leather bustier was nowhere near as ornamental as the pirate’s blue lace, but that simple leather bustier was the sole focus of Fenris’s attention.

His mouth was dry. His pulse pounded in his ears. He liked her simple bustier. He wanted to see the curves that lay beneath it. He wanted-

“Rynne, darling? I’m home!”

Fenris jolted out of his salacious reverie as Leandra Amell’s voice drifted up from the foyer. Varric snickered as Hawke’s expression transformed from a look of heated challenge to sheer panic.

“Shit!” she squeaked, and Merrill gasped as Hawke suddenly lunged across the table toward Fenris.

Fenris froze. Her supple body, her maddeningly hidden breasts coming closer, the subtle cleft of her cleavage as she surged toward him, her left hand on the table, her right hand reaching toward his lap-

She grabbed her silken tunic from his lap, then scrambled back toward her chair as Isabela crowed with delighted mirth. “What in the Maker’s massive balls is she doing home? I thought she’d be gone all night,” Hawke hissed as she roughly hauled her tunic back on. She ran her fingers through her chestnut hair, then pointed at the still-cackling Isabela. “Can one of you get this one to put her top back on?” she demanded, then ran off toward the stairs. “Mother! I thought you’d be with Uncle Gamlen until…”

Her voice disappeared to the lower level of the house, and Varric sighed happily. “I guess the party’s over, then,” he said. He started gathering the cards as Aveline began collecting their many empty bottles.

“There’s never a dull moment with her, is there?” Anders chirped. He rose to help Aveline with the bottles as Merrill scurried off, muttering something about a rag to wipe the table.

Fenris slowly rose from his chair and wandered toward the liquor table. He knew he should probably help the others to tidy the detritus of the evening, but he felt oddly off-balance.

He leaned his elbows on the railing and gazed vacantly down at the fireplace. This is not new, he told himself. It only feels like it. But it was hard to convince himself when this was the only attraction he could recall.

A moment later, a fully-dressed Isabela sidled up to him. “We’re heading out,” she said. “But you should stay.”

Her tone was innocent - which, for Isabela, indicated that she meant to be nothing of the sort. Fenris frowned. “No. I’ll leave as well. There’s no reason for me to stay.”

Isabela scoffed and cocked one graceful eyebrow. “You’re even stupider than Hawke,” she announced. She then lowered her voice to a murmur. “Listen, Fenris, I only say this because I care.”

Fenris scowled more deeply at the serious expression on Isabela’s face. She pursed her lips. “If you don’t fuck Hawke soon,” she said, “then I will.”

A wicked little smile lifted the corners of her lips, but Fenris was not amused. The Rivaini rogue was so damned nosy, always sticking her nose where it didn’t belong. Isabela didn’t know what she was talking about. Fenris couldn’t be sure that Hawke meant it with the flirting. She flirted with everyone. Cullen could barely make eye contact with her without blushing like an untouched youth.

But it wasn’t about Hawke, not really. It was Fenris himself. He must have been with someone before; he was almost sure of it. But that was the problem. He wasn’t sure.

The surging of lust, the impulse to reach out and stroke her unexpectedly tattooed skin - it was like breathing, easy and confident and good, but he couldn’t be completely sure that he’d… done this before. He couldn’t fucking remember.

Isabela made it sound so simple, when the truth was anything but.

Fenris didn’t want to tell Isabela that. He didn’t want to tell that to anyone. It wasn’t anyone’s business but his own.

He took a quiet, deep breath to calm his frustration, then shot Isabela a little smirk. “I admit I’m surprised you haven’t already,” he retorted.

Isabela winked. “Who said I haven’t?” she drawled. Then she nudged him playfully with her hip and sauntered away.

Fenris rolled his eyes, then followed Isabela and the others down the stairs.

Hawke was hugging Merrill goodbye while teasing Aveline about staying out so late, and Fenris slowly joined the others as they bade her farewell. Isabela kissed her noisily on the cheek and laughed raucously as Hawke playfully slapped her on the ass, and then only Fenris was left.

He nodded politely. “Hawke,” he said.

She nodded politely in return. “Fenris.”

Her eyes were like flames. They danced with brazen orange heat, and Fenris could feel the tips of his ears warming as they gazed at each other. He watched the movement of her throat as she swallowed and the slow rise of her chest as she inhaled, and he remembered the sight of her simple leather bustier…

He wanted to touch her. She was less than an arm’s length away. He wanted to peel back his sleeves, slide his hand beneath her thin silk tunic and up along the golden skin of her midriff.

Such a simple thing to want. Or so it would seem.

He took a step back. “Goodnight,” he said.

She exhaled, then smiled ruefully at him as though he’d bested her somehow. “Goodnight,” she said. “Don’t get kidnapped on your way home. I can’t be bothered to make any heroic rescues tonight.”

Fenris snorted. He could feel his shoulders relaxing and his stomach sinking at her light-hearted levity. “I’ll bring you the eviscerated hearts of anyone who dares to try,” he replied.

She grinned. “Lovely. We’ll make them into a nourishing stew for Toby. Though it’s probably a bad idea to give a mabari a taste for human flesh.” She knelt to scratch her faithful hound behind the ears.

Fenris grunted in amusement, then left Hawke’s mansion without further ado.

The nighttime air was cool as he slunk through the shadows back to his mansion. Fenris breathed deeply as he walked, thankful for the crisp air that cleared the heat from his cheeks and the confusion from his mind.

There was no reason to worry about the blurry fog of his unknown past, because Hawke was simply flirting. It was what she did. The heat in her amber eyes, the intensity of her stare as it hooked into his chest and held him in a tense and breathless stasis: that was just what she did.

He would convince himself of this, in time.

Perhaps.

[humanitys-shortest-soldier]

Akafuri nerd and popular guy au. Except akashi is the nerd

“And Akashi-kun’s partner will be…”

Akashi repressed a sigh. He wasn’t particularly interested in whichever student he’d be paired with. Most assignments like this followed a trend, usually ending with him doing the majority of the work while his so-called partner slacked off.

It was what people expected of him. He was student council president, and his grades were in the top percentile for all of Japan. Of course he was going to ensure that the both of them passed.

Other than his outstanding grades, he wasn’t known for much else. He was quiet, and generally kept to himself. His appearance was a bit startling at first, but once that novelty wore off, he faded into the background of being mostly ignored by his classmates.

Ignored… until an important project like this came up.

“Furihata-kun!”

Akashi bit back a wince. There was a disappointed grumble from the rest of the class. And not because they desired Akashi as a partner…

But because they wanted to be with Furihata.

Furihata Kouki was easily one of the most popular kids at school. He was charismatic, kind, and such a genuinely good person that people couldn’t help but flock to him. He was even voted as the captain of the basketball team this year by unanimous vote.

Akashi knew a fair amount about Furihata. Mostly from the constant chatter he heard around the school. 

And possibly because of something else, although Akashi rarely allowed himself to entertain the thought. There were a number of far more logical reasons why he might pay a tad more attention to Furihata than the rest of his schoolmates.

All because of that one moment back in grade school…

He pushed the thought away. He needed to focus. The rest of his classmates were already dispersing, sliding chairs over to each others desks and talking quietly.

Akashi felt an odd pang of nerves. Should he go find Furihata? Or would Furihata come to him? Did Furihata even know who he was?

Before Akashi could completely think himself mad, Furihata appeared in front of him. All he could do was stare as Furihata grabbed a nearby chair, spun it around, and sat on it backwards in one smooth movement.

“Hey!” Furihata greeted easily, as though they’d known each other for years. “I don’t think we’ve officially met before. It’s nice to meet you!” He extended his hand across the table, smiling brightly.

Akashi stared at his hand, and then his face. And then back at his hand again.

Finally, his brain started working. Akashi shook Furihata’s hand, hoping his palm was less sweaty then it felt.

“It’s nice to meet you as well, Furihata-kun.”

Furihata grinned, flashing his teeth and laughing. A few students turned their heads to stare at his back. Akashi could see the envy in their eyes. “Great! So, uh… did you have any ideas? Because I’m totally blanking.” He smiled sheepishly.

Akashi’s stomach flipped, but he nodded. “Yes, I have a few…”

He listed a few ideas, and was surprised when Furihata actually wrote them down neatly on a scrap piece of paper. After going back and forth, they settled on a topic a few minutes before class ended.

“Sweet,” Furihata sighed, tucking his notes away. He shot Akashi a small smile. “I’m excited we get to work together. I feel like I always see you around school but I’ve never really had the chance to talk to you before.”

Akashi blinked, slightly startled. He never expected that someone like Furihata would even be aware of his existence, let alone notice they hadn’t spoken to each other before. “Yes, I… suppose that’s true,” he stammered awkwardly. He wasn’t use to feeling so out of place like this. 

Furihata laughed, and it somehow made Akashi feel a little less uncomfortable. “Hey, so I was wondering—”

The bell rang, cutting Furihata off. Immediately, several kids surrounded him, punching his shoulder and ruffling his hair as they urged him from his seat.

Furihata batted their hands away playfully, grinning and laughing with his friends. None of them even glanced at Akashi.

Except, strangely, Furihata did turn back to him. He waved, meeting Akashi’s gaze. “See you tomorrow, Akashi-kun!”

Akashi could do nothing but stare as Furihata and his friends left the room.

Well, he thought to himself, that certainty hadn’t gone as expected. 

I am in love with this prompt! Popular guy Furihata is all I’ve ever wanted in my life and ugggggh I love him! This was suppose to be a three sentence prompt (yeah, okay lmao) but… clearly I’ve gotten carried away. I was going to wait to finish the whole thing and post it but I figured I would try something different this time. I’m gonna try and post the whole thing in small parts like this, and then when the whole thing is done I’ll probably upload it to AO3. I’m almost done with the next part but I was feeling inspired and wanted to post something… so here we go! (Also thank you guys for being super patient with my lack of updates recently. I’m definitely still writing, just… slowly.) Hope you enjoy!

[safarikalamari]

Coincide - Chapter 2

Previous - Next

Chapter Summary: Senior year begins

Words: 1555

A/N: lmao i almost forgot it was sunday cause i was getting caught up another wip sigh

-

AO3

or

“Race, I got my intern placement!”

Mush bursted in Race’s dorm room, waving his phone. Tugging his headphones down, Race beamed at Mush as he freed himself from his own mess of electronics, almost tripping over his extension cord as he rushed to hug him.

“Mush! Congrats, man!”

“They were just swamped, they meant to get back to all of us sooner but, anyway...they put me at the hospital just down the road! Riverside!” Mush excitedly explained as Blink then crashed into Race’s room, leaping onto the two of them.

“Isn’t it great?” Blink beamed at Mush as the two met each other’s gazes.

“Mm, fantastic,” Race was quick to interrupt lest they start making out then and there in his room. “Part-time or…?”

Turning slowly from Blink, Mush shook himself back to reality and smiled at Race. “Yeah, part-time. They’re working around my classes surprisingly.”

“Oh, yeah, Mush’ll be moving in with me too,” Blink added, an arm wrapping around Mush’s waist.

Race stared at Blink, wondering when he got so behind on his friends’ business. “You live kinda far from the hospital. How’s Mush going to get there?”

Mush shrugged, unbothered by this detail. It didn’t slide so easily under Race and he bit down on his tongue, wanting to remind the two that Mush didn’t even have his permit.

“I’ll take the bus.”

“The bus doesn’t go that far out,” Race retaliated, frowning a little at the thought of Mush walking the rest of the way.

He knew Mush could handle himself just fine, but it was still a trek and after a long day, Mush didn’t need the added exhaustion.

Blink seemed just as calm about this as Mush was, his head resting on Mush’s shoulder. “We’ll figure it out. I’ll see if I can get different hours at the shop.”

Race held himself back from rolling his eyes, knowing that there was no chance of that. Blink liked his chaotic schedule and the last time he had tried to change his days, it ended with a cranky Mush in Race’s bed, hogging all the covers.

“No, don’t– I’ll drive him,” Race blurted out, then rubbing his forehead at his sudden offer.

He was busy enough with school, but his concern for Mush was overpowering and he held his gaze as his friends looked at him.

“Race, that’s–” Mush began before he and Blink exchanged a look. “Well, let me pay for the gas then, okay?”

Race’s familiar grin came back then as he held out his hand. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

Finally, the tension in the room had broken and the three went back to their exuberant hugging, a few tears of joy shared between the three of them.

“What say we go out and celebrate?” Race suggested, his mind begging for distraction from what he had just promised.

Mush and Blink’s face lit up at this idea and Race made a note to remember where his medicine was for the impending morning hangover.

~

After several scheduling arrangements, Mush and Race finally figured out a way for Mush to get to work and for Race to not stay out too late for Mush’s sake. Ever thankful, Mush buried Race in gifts until Race had to plead for him to stop, explaining that the friendship was simply enough.

“Yeah, but...what if I don’t get off until midnight or something?”

Race quirked his eyebrow, laughing a little at his friend. “Then we’ll get Blink to pick you up. You do know he gets off then sometimes, right?”

“Oh,” Mush giggled a little and shook his head. “Sorry. Just nervous I think.”

“You’ll be fine,” Race reassured, throwing an arm around Mush’s shoulder as they walked up to the hospital. “Hell, they won’t want to let you go. Before you know it, you’ll be a doctor here!”

“I’m just going for nurse right now,” Mush smiled. “Doctor’s a bit much.”

Not quite finished with his teasing, Race poked Mush’s side. “Whatever you say, Doctor Meyers.”

“Oh my god, you’re so weird,” Mush rolled his eyes, despite the smile that stayed on his face. “But thanks, I really appreciate it.”

Falling into their signature handshake, Mush and Race said their goodbyes, Race watching Mush until he disappeared into the staff room.

While a small worry grew at the back of his mind, Race knew Mush would be able to handle whatever came his way. Mush was more than qualified with his caring heart and strong soul. Even when they were kids, Race could see how much Mush needed something like this, just like he need his dancing. Except, Race had almost given up and no matter how much time had passed, that regret would never leave him.

Maybe it was just him getting caught up in old memories, but Race didn’t rush to leave the hospital. He took his time through the lobby and into the parking lot, squinting a little at the sun that brightened the day. A few birds flew overhead and Race smiled, accepting the sign of reassurance as he made his way over to his car.

With each step his heart became lighter and he whispered a small “Thanks, Andre,” into the passing wind, turning back to look at the hospital once more before climbing into his car.

~

“He should be finished in just a few, we’re a little short staffed tonight,” the secretary smiled, sympathetic, though her eyes did not share the same sentiment.

Race didn’t really mind if he was being honest. With Friday night upon them, there wasn’t any pressing matters at the time, he was just looking forward to seeing Mush. Returning the secretary’s smile, Race went to settle in to one of the lobby chairs and tugged out his phone.

He switched idly between apps as he adjusted in the chair until his legs were draped over one arm and his back pressing against the other. He paid no mind to the stares as people passed by, he was comfortable and it was their loss.

As if true to the secretary’s word, Mush showed up less than five minutes after Race had settled in and he laughed at his friend.

“Why do you always do that?” Mush asked as Race got to his feet.

“What, enjoy the comfiness of a chair?”

Mush looked back at the chair, the fabric worn and cushions lumpy. “Didn’t look like your position was too comfortable.”

“Look who’s talking, Mr. Drapey,” Race poked back. “Surprised Blink’s lap hasn’t collapsed yet.”

“You’re just jealous,” Mush laughs as the two cross the parking lot to Race’s car.

“You wish!”

As they drove to the apartment, the teasing continued on only with the occasional break for Mush to talk about his day.

“They’re thinking of moving me to another floor, but I’m not sure I can handle it,” Mush sighed, propping his elbow on the car door.

“What do you mean?” Race asked, turning a little from the road for a moment.

Mush grimaced, a hand running through his hair. “The patients in the ward aren’t terminal. Well, yet.”

Race raised his eyebrow a little at this, but kept his mouth shut as Mush shook his head.

“Some of them will get better, leave the hospital for good, but it’s the ones who won’t that worry me. I don’t know if I could handle losing a patient, even if I’ve only known them for a day.”

Pursing his lips, Race thought of what to say, if there was anything to say. His brother had gone so abruptly, to watch someone die, slow and painful, was unfathomable. All he wanted was to reassure Mush, but at this point, Race felt his words would only go so far.

With a sigh, Race held his hand out across the partition, glancing at Mush when he could. Mush took Race’s hand, his hold only relaxing as Race rubbed a thumb along the back of his hand.

“It’ll be tough, but I know you’ll be able to do it. It’s always hard to say goodbye, but you’ve given them the best care and they’ll thank you for that.”

“Thanks, Race.” Mush’s voice was small and he squeezed Race’s hand.

The ride became quiet, the two unbothered by the silence shared between them. Their hands held firm and it wasn’t until they finally pulled up to the apartment that they took their hands back.

“You’re the best, Race. See you tomorrow,” Mush grinned as he got out of the car and Race gave a little wave.

Waiting until Mush was safely inside, Race started the journey back to his dorm. He still didn’t know how to feel about Mush’s situation, filled with worries that would’ve never crossed his mind, but he knew he and Blink would be able to support Mush through and through.

Race himself had grown, and while the loss would never leave him, he had found his way with family and one friend in particular that never gave up on him. He was ready to take on new challenges, borrow from his own experiences, be a shoulder for someone to lean on.

All Race hoped was that his efforts weren’t in vain nor seen as prideful. He just wanted to help the ones he loved and surely there was no shame in that.