#AND weather will be no obstacle as I plan to no longer feel cold. I will be making others nauseous and chilly. and fking with street lights

[lastgirl0nearth]

Honestly my real ambition is to become a ghost so I can go on endless danger free nightwalks anywhere I want in the world

[peachessndreamss]

Private Bennett's Lover - Part 2

Summery : Tom Bennett and Mrs Randall can't seem to keep away from each other, despite the risks.

Characters : Tom Bennett x Married!Female OC Mrs Randall

Warnings : Canon typical language

Word count : 8K

A/N : Getting this edited and ready took way longer than I planned so I am sorry about that.

Series Masterlist l peachessndreamss Masterlist l peachessndreamss ask box

Rain had started the evening before and truly set in overnight, the entire sky was blanketed in dark clouds making the morning feel more like the dead of night, the rain that lashed down in sheets was icy cold and bounced up everywhere it hit the earth. 

Tom watched the torrent pouring down as he heard the words he’d dreaded most. Even on warm and bright days the assault course was daunting, a 6 mile course over uneven and changeable terrain, dotted with obstacles which made crossing No Mans Land look like a summer stroll in the park, but on a day with heavy rain and brutal cold winds it was a horrifying prospect. 

The only small candle Tom could hold onto as he changed into his physical gear was that Mrs Randall might be in her drawing room when they ran past, she might notice him. Tom had struggled to keep thoughts of her from his mind. Whenever he found himself idle, which was more often than not, Tom couldn’t help but wonder what she was doing, if she was thinking of him and when he might see her again. 

Tom was buffeted out of the barracks and into the weather alongside his fellow Privates, all of them desperate to get this over with and get back inside. Within minutes of being exposed to the rain Tom’s clothes were soaked and sticking to his skin, his breath was forming clouds in front of his face and his vision was inhibited by the driving rain. 

Despite the cold Tom was sweating as he threw himself up the wooden wall, his fingers gripping onto the wet wood and sticky mud as he hauled his body upward, his white t-shirt dragging through the filth.  As he jumped down the other side into a pool of ankle deep filthy water he brushed the back of his hand over his forehead, unable to tell if he was wiping away sweat or rain from his face. 

After a few seconds to catch his breath Tom set off again, moving around the outer wall of The Big House and finally coming to the place he was certain the drawing room overlooked, this was mostly just a stretch of leaf strewn woodland path, but there were hidden hazards like deep puddles and coils of barbed wire hidden by overgrowth. Tom slowed his run significantly and turned his attention from the path ahead of him to the upper windows of the house above the perimeter wall. The windows of the house were glowing with light but through the rain Tom wasn’t able to make out if anyone might have been looking down from them. 

While distracted Tom moved too far from the centre of the path and his foot caught a concealed coil of wire, the wire wrapped around his foot and pulled the limb from right under him. Tom crashed down to the path, his hands slipping on the wet leaves and his face slamming into the ground, bright white lights burst behind his eyes and his mouth was suddenly filled with the earthy taste of mud and the coppery tang of blood. 

He cried out in pain, shock and humiliation as the sounds of laughter rang out from behind him, the thunder of running feet shook the earth and rattled Tom’s head as he scrambled to get back on his feet, his hands slipping from under his weight as he tried to push himself up. 

Tom felt a strong hand grip the back of his t-shirt and yank him up. Tom clumsily found his feet as he blinked rapidly, trying to get his vision to settle. 

“Get moving Bennett,” the Lieutenant Commander shouted in Tom's face before shoving him forward, Tom stumbled again but with a shake of his head managed to set off, his pace slower as his head throbbed but at least in a straight line. 

Tom felt his forehead grow warm and he brushed his palm over the skin, seeing it come away dirtier with mud and bright red blood. He touched his fingers to the space above his eye, feeling a hot, slick sensation and seeing the tips of his icy white finger tips crimson. 

“Fuck,” he spat but he didn’t dare slow his pace again or stop to feel the wound any further, he knew he’d only get shouted at again and probably punished. He allowed himself one more glance at The Big House, now hoping against all hope that Mrs Randall hadn’t seen him fall. 

For the rest of the week Tom nursed his damaged ego and fussed over the nasty gash above his eye. After a few days of fairly good natured teasing Tom’s fellow seamen had all but forgotten the incident and were on to the next thing. 

As the next Saturday rolled around and Tom found himself making the walk up to The Big House, he couldn’t even bring himself to care about missing another weekend in the village, another opportunity to drink in the pub and chat up the barmaid. 

Even the cut above his eye and the yellow and purple bruise around it couldn’t take the spring out of his step as he made his way across the green lawns, made lush by the rain and now the sunshine that warmed his body. 

Bill gave him little more than a tertiary look before telling Tom he would be working in the garages that day, on the east side of the house. 

His shoulder slumped slightly as he made his way around the side of the house and toward the out buildings where the stables had been converted into a large garage, the shadow of the house left him feeling cold and his mood dower, he felt it was unlikely he'd run into Mrs Randall in the while he cleaned her husbands car. 

The converted stables were dark, cold and smelt damp, even with the doors open wide, providing a teasing view of the glorious sunshine that was tantalisingly close but utterly out of reach. 

Tom found a bucket and sponge in what once would have been a manger but was now being used for storage. The Vice Admirals black Bentley was parked half in and half out of the stable block giving Tom full access to the vehicle. The lower half of it was caked in the red mud of the county, most of it had dried but a cursory rub of it with a dry sponge told Tom he would need to soak the muck off, making this job far more taxing than the week before. 

He filled the bucket with icy water from an outside tap before throwing the sponge in, splashing the cold water back on himself, it soaked through the fabric of his trousers and instantly chilled his skin. He cursed to himself before lifting the bucket off the ground and carrying toward the back of the car, setting it down near the back wheel. 

Tom picked up the soaked sponge and squeezed the excess water out before slapping it on the top of the vehicle and starting to rub in large circles. The water ran down the curves of the car in rivulets, some of them snaking up Tom's wrist and down his forearms. As the water reached the crook of Tom’s elbow he decided it was going to be a miserable day. 

He was tipping out his 4th bucket of dirty water when he spotted Mrs Randall.  She was making her way around the side of the house, her stride quick and purposeful, the sun shining on her face and a small smile turning up the corners of her lips. 

Tom straightened up, finding it impossible to take his eyes off her and she walked toward him. He was struck by the thought that she was so different every time he saw her, as if every time they’d met he'd meet a new woman and find something new to like about her. 

“Private Bennett,” she greeted with a smile as she strode straight past him and into the darkness of the garage. 

“Mrs Randall,” Tom replied with a smile, turning on his heel and following her inside, not bothering to re-fill the bucket. 

“Back for more punishment?” she teased as she rubbed the side of her boot on a boot brush fixed to the back wall of the stable. 

“Wild horses couldn’t keep me away,” Tom replied with a grin as he lent against the car, pleased that he’d managed to clean at least the top half before she turned up. 

“Speaking of which,” Tom added, inclining his head toward her, “Have you been riding?” 

“Walking,” she replied, “I enjoy walking and the grounds here are quite extensive.” 

Tom nodded, his idea of “going for a walk” had always been to the local pub or to a dance in the hall in town, he’d never had much of an opportunity to go walking for the pleasure of it. 

“And what do you do on these walks?” Tom asked. 

“Think mostly,” she replied with a shrug, moving to rest on the edge of a workbench that ran around the edge of the room,  “I find it’s when I do my best thinking actually, and just about the one time I’m ever really on my own,”. 

“Wha’ about out here?” he asked, his eyes flicking to the open expanse of ground in front of the stables that was completely deserted as far as the eye could see, “I’d ‘ave thought we’re quite alone out here,”. 

“Hmm,” she considered for a few seconds before pushing off from the workbench she’d been leaning on and moving toward him, “Quite alone,”. 

Coming to stand in front of him, Mrs Randall reached up and touched her fingertips to the cut on his forehead. A shiver ran down Tom's spine at the warmth of her hands and the gentleness of her touch. 

“What happened?” she asked softly. 

“Made a tit of myself on the assault course,” Tom replied with a shrug, his bravado faltering when her touch lingered far longer than it needed too. 

“Wasn’t paying attention you see." 

“What had you so distracted, Tom?” she asked, her soft voice above a whisper and her touch now a caress. 

“I was looking for you, I wanted you to see me” he replied softly before reaching up and taking hold of her hand at the wrist.  

Her skin was warm to the touch and Tom felt a tingle in his fingers as he brought her hand away from his forehead and to his lips. He took a slow breath as he brought her palm toward his mouth, catching the spicy, warm scent of her perfume before pressing his lips to the centre of her palm in a gentle kiss. He saw her breath stall in her throat and her eyes widen as his lips lingered for just a moment before releasing her hand. 

She let her hand and arm drop like a dead weight back to her side, her whole body suddenly vibrating like a taut string someone had plucked. Her palm burned where his lips touched her as if his lips left a brand on her skin and her stomach fluttered as if full of butterflies. 

“I do see you Tom."

She took a small step forward, positioning one of her feet between his and bringing their bodies far closer together than polite society would allow. Mrs Randall brought her hand up to his face, slipping her fingers into his hair, the tendrils silky to the touch. She lifted herself up, half terrified and half thrilled to press her lips to his in a soft kiss. While Tom had been stunned into inaction for a few seconds it didn’t take long for him to come back to his senses, wrapping his icy hand around her and pulling her body hard against his. 

Surprised by his sudden movement she drew her face back from his but Tom moved his other hand up her body and brought it to rest on her cheek, using it to hold her as he brought his lips back to hers. His kiss lacked her gentleness, his mouth claimed hers with a fiery need that spread through her body, making the skin on the back of her neck prickle and the tips of her fingers and toes go numb. 

Tom’s tongue slipped along her bottom lip and groaned as the taste of her filled his mouth. He felt his head spin, like he’d had a few too many pints and stood up too quickly, she was the most intoxicating woman he’d ever kissed and he tightened his hold on her as she pressed herself harder against him, feeling how her soft body moulded to his own. 

Mrs Randall gave a small whimper and Tom could have believed they were the only two people left alive, until the grating, carrying voice of the Vice Admiral reached their ears. 

“...saw her coming back from her walk, heading toward the stables I think,” he was saying, his voice reaching them on the gentle breeze that blew across the lawns. 

With a look of horror she wrenched herself out of Tom’s embrace, immediately missing the feel of his body and the fire of his kisses. She looked around her frantically, wondering if there was any possible alibi she could give for being alone with him. She looked back at his face and found his blue gaze blazing and his mouth open as he breathed deeply. She touched her fingertips to her lips before taking an unsteady step backward. 

“I-I-I” she stammered, but found she didn’t have the words for any of the thoughts and emotions currently raging through her. 

“Go on,” he said, motioning toward the open doors, the more distance they could put between them the better. 

He watched as she turned and took a few unsteady steps before reaching down to grab the bucket and sponge off the floor beside his feet, the bucket was empty but the sponge was still wet enough to make a reasonable look of being in the middle of his task if the Vice Admiral decided to stick his head in the stables. 

Turning his attention back to the car he could only hear the sound of her steps changing from the cobbles of the stables to the crunch of gravel outside and he breathed a quiet sigh of relief knowing that there was no reason for the Vice Admiral to expect they had been together. 

“Ah here she is!” The Vice Admirals' private school accent grated on Tom as he rubbed the sponge halfheartedly over an already clean part of the roof. 

He kept his head down and face turned away from the open doors so not to be seen or be noticed. 

“Were you looking for me, darling?” Tom heard Mrs Randall reply, the falsely cheery sound in her voice that Tom could tell was entirely fake. 

Their voices drifted away to an indistinguishable sound carried by the breeze as the two of them walked away from the stables and back around the side of the house, leaving Tom alone in the cold, dank and dark. 

He dropped the sponge back in the bucket and stood stock still, staring at his own reflection in the car window. He touched his fingertips to his mouth. Had she just kissed him? Did he pull her body into his own and slip his tongue along her lips? Was anything from the past 20 minutes real? The spinning feeling in Tom’s head was back and he placed a steadying hand on the car. 

Of all the reckless, dangerous, illegal and just plain stupid things Tom had ever done in his life, kissing the Vice Admirals wife was surely the most reckless, dangerous and stupid of all, and despite that, the corners of Tom’s mouth tipped up in a smile. She’d kissed him first, she wanted him just as much as he wanted her, and Tom was confident their kiss wouldn���t be just a one time thing. She’d be back for more. 

With that thought burning in his chest like a candle Tom didn’t feel so cold anymore and somehow the stables were less dark than a moment ago. With a newly found spring in his step Tom picked up the bucket and went to refill it. 

More than an hour later, Mrs Randall watched Tom return to the barracks across the east lawn, the sky had remained clear and the afternoon was warm and bright. Tom had taken his jacket off and slung it over his shoulder, he walked with a confident swagger and appeared to be whistling to himself.

She saw him look toward the house, his eyes scanning the bottom floor windows, instinctively she took a step backward further into the shadowed interior of the room, not wanting to be caught watching him. The memory of their kiss consumed her thoughts, in some way she thought she could still feel the press of his body against hers 

The sharp knock on her study door brought Mrs Randall out of her thoughts and she called for them to enter, moving toward the desk and sitting in the large leather chair that creaked as she sat. The Housekeeper entered, her black uniform absolutely immaculate and a small slip of paper clutched in her hand.  

“This is everything left in the wine cellar,” she said, placing the list on the table, “one more party and we'll be dry,” she added, a note of disapproval in her voice. 

Mrs Randall knew the Vice Admirals parties had taken a toll on the Royal Navy’s cellars, but she’d not realised they were quite so close to running out. She looked over the list, her brows furrowing. 

“Thank you,” Mrs Randall replied, “I’ll speak to Vice Admiral Randall about making some orders, but this will do for now,”. 

“And the menu for Saturday?” The housekeeper asked, taking the small slip of paper back off the desk and tucking it into one of the many pockets of her dress. 

“Oh the usual please,” she replied, finding her mind was already wandering. 

“Very good Mrs Randall,”. 

The housekeeper turned and left the room with barely a sound, only the snap of the door closing confirmed Mrs Randal was alone again. 

Glancing back out the window, Tom was long gone and he'd likely be back at the barracks by now. She sighed softly and folded her arms around her middle, her hands grasping the opposite elbow. When she thought about Tom the fluttering feeling returned to her stomach, her cheeks flushed with heat and she couldn’t help but smile to herself. 

In her year and a half of marriage, those stolen moments in the stables were the first time she had felt desirable. With Tom, there had been no question that someone had wanted her, and wanted her as more than just a pretty thing to parade around and host dinner parties. Kissing Tom had been a moment of madness, and every second of it from stepping up to him to ripping herself from his arms made her feel alive. 

The small clock on the mantelpiece chimed the hour and she sighed deeply, sitting up straight at her desk she pulled the small stack of envelopes toward her, flipping the top one over and opening it with a flick of her thumb. 

Back in the barracks Tom was lounging on his bed, cigarette between his lips as his shipmates started to return from the village in ones and twos, most of them clearly a little worse for wear after an afternoon in the pub. One of the more sober men caught sight of Tom and grinned at him. 

“Did ya have fun at Big House?” he asked sarcastically, “Cleanin’ up after the Vice Arsehole?” 

Tom rolled his eyes in the direction of the sailor before fixing him with a dark glare. He took his cigarette from between his lips and tapped the ash off into an empty tin can at his side. 

“Better t’be up there than catchin the clap from some 2 bob whore,” Tom replied coldly. 

The man who’d spoken to him flushed with embarrassment and Tom got a vicious thrill of satisfaction to see the man's cheeks colour and his mouth flap open like a fish out of water. 

“Fuck off Bennett,” he spat before throwing himself onto his own bed and glaring at the ceiling. 

“Ah come on mate,” Tom taunted, turning on his side to look over at his fellow sailor, “VD can ‘appen to the best of us, but givin’ it to your poor wife must have really stung." 

Tom only had half a second to get off the bed and on his feet before the other man was on him, grabbing him by the collar and shoving him against the wall. His head bounced off the concrete wall, the impact making lights burst in front of his eyes and his ears ring but he still laughed. 

“I didn’t give anything to my wife,” the private spat, his face turning an uncomfortable shade of red. 

Tom raised his eyebrows and smirked. 

“So, did you ge’it from her then? I heard times were hard back home but…” Tom’s voice trailed off as he glanced around the room and found grinning faces of other sailors. 

“You fucking bastard,” the other man spat as he pulled Tom away from the wall and slammed him back into it. 

The blow should have winded Tom but he’d been ready for it and just laughed again. 

“There’s a war on mate, nothing wrong with your good wife getting a job to help support the family, although most men might mind about their Missus going on the game." 

Tom only had a few seconds to duck as the other man let go of his collar, pulled back a balled fist and thrust it forward, crashing with surprising force into the spot Tom’s face had been just a second before. The man’s fist connected with the concrete wall with a sickening crunch, he howled in pain, snatching his fist back and cradling it against his stomach. Tom watched, his face unimpressed as the other man staggered backward. 

“You fucking bastard, you fucking fuck,” he spat as he turned and staggered along the line of beds toward the door. 

Tom shook his head and scoffed in disgust before taking a cigarette from the pack on his pillow and lighting it as he sat down on his bed. He glanced around the room, finding every other pair of eyes in the room watching him carefully. 

“Good time in town?” he asked no one in particular. 

There were a few murmurs from around the room but no one else attempted to engage Tom in further conversation. Tom smirked and shook his head before lying his head back on his pillow, letting out a curl of smoke between his lips. 

On Thursday morning Tom became aware there would be another party at The Big House that Saturday night. Saturday, during the day, would also be the last time he was expected up there to perform some menial task or another. He hoped his final task wouldn’t be to fix the window he was planning to use to get to the party. 

Saturday morning dawned grey and wet, looking out toward the sea from the ballroom it was almost impossible to tell where the grey sky ended and the grey sea began. Behind her she heard the floorboard creek and a small cough. She turned and saw Tom stepping into the room from a side door. 

“What have they had you doing today Tom?” she asked with a shy smile as he stepped further into the room, letting the door click shut behind him. 

“Polishing silverware,” he replied. 

“Oh, he’s having another bash tonight,” she said with a sigh, feeling faintly embarrassed that Tom had been polishing the knives and fork’s they’d use that night. 

“I’d guessed as much,” Tom shrugged, not wanting to let on that he was already well aware, “the kitchen was in a frenzy,”. 

“Yes,” she agreed, a fleeting look of embarrassment crossed her cheeks, “all seems a bit silly with everything else going on,”. 

Tom’s eyebrows quirked upward and he raised and dropped one shoulder. 

“Is just how the world works, someone’s dancin’ and someone’s dying,”. 

“God Tom,” she sighed, pressing her fingers to her mouth, “you must hate me,” she added, looking away from him and down toward the floor, a crease appearing between her eyebrows. 

“I don’t ‘ate you,” Tom said, his voice softening, “I don't think I could if I wanted’t”. 

She lifted her eyes back to his face and felt the heat of his gaze wash over her, making the fine hairs on her arms stand on end. Her eyes were drawn to his mouth, she remembered in vivid detail how his lips had felt against hers, how she’d tasted him on her tongue and felt her entire body awaken, as if he’d breathed life into her. 

Seized by a bone deep ache to feel his mouth on hers again she glanced over her shoulder, the doorway she’d entered the room through was ajar and the slice of corridor beyond was empty. 

“Come with me,” she said softly, taking a few steps toward him before passing him and walking toward a seemingly solid wall in the far corner of the room. 

Tom’s brows furrowed with confusion, but he stepped after her, their steps making the old floor of the ballroom crack and pop. When she reached the far wall Tom watched with fascination as she pushed gently against a seam that was unnoticeable unless you were an inch away from it and a small portion of the wall swung inward and she stepped through. 

Tom followed, ducking his head so not to bump it on the low lintel of the hidden doorway. The space beyond the wall was cold and dark, the walls were bare stone and lights were bare bulbs that glowed dimly. Behind Tom the secret door swung shut. 

The Old House was built with a maze of seemingly endless corridors and passageways that ran around the rooms and parallel to the main thoroughfares of the house. These hidden places meant the staff could move through the house quickly and unseen. 

She only took a few steps away from the door before she stopped and spun on her heel, knowing most of the staff would currently be focused in the kitchen there was next  to no chance of the two of them being found. 

Tom hadn’t been expecting her to stop so suddenly and he barely stopped himself before crashing into her.

“Whoa, watch yourself,” he said, steading himself and finding her so close to him he could have counted her eyelashes. 

In the close and dark space he breathed deeply, his nose catching the dank smell of the corridor, the spicy burn of her perfume and something else undefinable that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. 

Without hesitation Mrs Randall lifted her arms and slipped them around his neck before bringing her lips up to meet his. She moaned softly as she felt the warm caress of his hands at her waist and his strong grip and he drew her toward him, pressing the length of her body against his. As their lips moved against one another, his left hand slipped up her back and grasped at the back of her head, feeling the soft tendrils of hair beneath his fingers as he gently angled her head to the side. 

She broke away from his lips for a second, her eyes opening and meeting his. Even in the semi-darkness Tom couldn’t mistake the passion in her eyes, he felt stripped by her gaze, like he was the first man she’d ever looked at like this. That thought made his stomach twist and his heart squeeze in his chest, it was thrilling and frightening, and Tom never wanted her to stop looking at him like that.  

He brought his mouth back to hers, this time his tongue flicked along the seam of her lips before slipping between them and taking a taste of her. 

Mrs Randall’s hands slipped from the back of his neck round to the front of his shirt, gripping at the material and trying to pull him closer toward her, wanting to feel the press of him all over her body. Tom tightening his arm on her waist and she was shocked and aroused when she felt the hardness of the muscle between his thighs as it pressed against her stomach. 

With practised ease, Tom manoeuvred the two of them around and pressed her back against the cold stone wall. The sudden icy contact made her gasp but Tom pushed himself closer to her, sharing the heat of his body with her. 

“Jesus Tom,” she breathed, breaking her lips from his and breathing heavily. 

He chuckled softly as he used his left hand to take hold of her right wrist, pulling her fist off his shirt and pinning her arm to the wall behind her, their hands at face height. He kissed along her jaw and up to the lobe of her ear, biting down softly on the flesh and hearing her quiet moan filling the small space. 

Tom used his other hand to loosen the first few buttons on her silk blouse, the soft and flowy fabric slipped easily against her and exposed the delicate skin of her chest. 

Tom’s breath caught in his throat as he eyed the soft tops of her breasts where they heaved with her breathing. He moved his mouth back along her jaw to give her an innocent peck at the corner of her mouth before dropping his head lower and kissing the swell of her breast. 

He released his hold on her right hand, feeling it drop down beside her body, his left hand then travelled to cup the breast his mouth currently wasn’t working over. His kisses were hot and wet but her skin was burning on his lips. He experimented with a soft bite at the height of her breast and he was rewarded with another breathy moan and a roll of her hips. 

She moved her hands to grasp at his back, her nails clawing at the rough fabric of his work shirt, the scent of the soap he used for his hair filled her nose as her mouth and chin brushed against the crown of his head. 

“Oh God Tom,” she moaned.

To her own ears her voice had sounded like a strangers, breathy and needy. She grabbed at his hair, threading her fingers into the soft strands and yanking his head up away from her breasts and crashing her mouth back into his. Pushing her tongue into his mouth without a second thought as she ground her body against his, feeling a thrill from the slow, undulating movement and the friction between them. 

Tom squeezed at her breast as he pressed forward with his hips, there was no way she could be unaware of the effect she was having on him. He broke away from her lips and breathed her name, letting his hand slide up her chest to her neck where he pressed his thumb against the hollow at the base of her throat. 

“What are you doing to me?” she whispered against his lips, “You’re making me mad." 

Tom laughed softly before kissing along her jaw, his breathing heavy and his blood pumping noisily in his ears as he fought to regain control of himself. 

“Nothin’ mad about this,” he said softly, “Nothin’ mad about how badly I want you." 

“Jesus,” she whispered, her eyes closed as he kissed from below her ear up across her cheek to the tip of her nose. 

“We can’t do this." 

“Why not?” Tom replied, his voice still soft as he kissed softly up her nose to her forehead. 

“I- I’m…I’m married,” she said, stumbling over her words as she struggled to think straight. 

Tom brought his mouth back to hers and any further arguments died on her lips as his tongue slipped between them and everything else in the world ceased to exist. 

From somewhere in a distant room a clock chimed the hour and broke whatever spell had settled over Tom and Mrs Randall, the two of them drew apart, both breathing heavily, faces flushed and lips wet. 

“I have to go,” she breathed before bringing her hands to the front of her blouse and attempting to do the buttons up with shaking fingers. 

Tom’s own hands were steady, as he reached forward and took charge, buttoning up the final two tiny pearl buttons and smoothing his fingers over the collar. The silky fabric looked rumpled and creased but there wasn’t anything else to be done about it. Just like there was nothing to be done about her bee stung lips or the pink flush on her chest and neck. Tom was certain she’d never looked more beautiful. 

“I’ll come back tonight,” he said as he ran his hand over his own head, getting control over his hair. 

“Tom no, it’s not safe,” she replied, her eyes moving between his eyes and his lips. 

“I don’t care,” he said with a shrug. 

She opened her mouth to argue but he cut her off with a kiss, just a quick, soft peck on the lips before straightening up and smiling. 

“I’ll see you later,” he said before taking the few steps back toward the hidden door and slipped through it. 

She could just hear his tread as he crossed the ballroom over the thundering of her heart and the thumping of the blood in her ears. She stayed put, the icy stone at her back suddenly much more uncomfortable without Tom’s warmth to counteract it. She placed a trembling hand over her racing heart and pressed her eyes closed. 

Whatever there was between her and Tom was madness, a risk to both of them in so many ways it should have been unthinkable but despite the risks she knew she would see him again and she would kiss him again, he’d hold her again and she’d taste his hot skin. The risks paled in comparison to the way he made her body feel. 

Once Mrs Randal felt she’d regained her composure she carried on along the staff corridor and up a tightly twisting flight of stairs to the 1st floor of the house before following another concealed corridor right into her own dressing room via another concealed door. 

Her gown for the party that night was hanging on the front of the wardrobe, the beaded bodice and skirt caught the last rays of weak sunlight that filtered through the west facing windows casting rainbows all over the pale yellow walls. 

“Mrs Randall?” a voice came from her bedroom where there was a maid laying a fire ready for the night, “can I draw you a bath?” her maid asked as Mrs Randall stepped into the main bedroom. 

The maid's eyes narrowed at the appearance of the lady of the house, her flushed cheeks and bright lips combined with the dishevelled look of her blouse and hair had the maid wondering what she could have been getting up to on a Saturday afternoon that left her looking like the village girls after they’d gone for a roll in the hay with the sailors. 

“Please,” Mrs Randall replied, her voice distant, “as hot as you can make it." 

The maid nodded and went to draw the bath. In the meantime Mrs Randall sat on the edge of the bed, wringing her hands in her lap, her mind unable to think of anything other than Tom Bennett and his addictive kisses. 

Once the bath was ready she undressed, leaving her blouse and skirt in a pile by the door that the maid attended to while  Mrs Randall sunk under the scalding hot water up to her neck. The maid passed her a bar of magnolia scented soap and left a large linen towel on the back of a chair for when she was finished. 

She stayed in the water far longer than normal, lathering the sudsy bar of soap between her hands over and over and once steaming water had turned cold she finally lifted herself out and stepped onto the waiting mat and wrapped herself in the towel. In the mirror over the small sink she noticed her cheeks were no longer flushed and her lips looked less swollen. 

After drying herself and dressing in her underwear Mrs Randal stepped through from her bathroom into the dressing room. 

The maid was waiting for her, looking bored, she’d been sitting on the seat at the dressing table, her feet swinging back and forth as she absent mindedly fiddled with the silver handle of the hairbrush. She shot to her feet when Mrs Randall entered the room. 

“Sorry,” the maid muttered, her eyes on the floor. 

“Don’t be sorry,” she replied, “I’ve been a rather long time."

“I’m very sorry Mrs Randall” the maid started as she carried a silk shift toward her, “But there are no more stockin’s, your last pair laddered and there’s no ration for them until next month." 

Mrs Randall just nodded as she slipped the shift over her head and let it fall down her body in cool, silky waves, a lace trim finishing about mid-calf. 

“Nothing to be done about that, I’m sure no one will notice." she replied. 

“I can draw a line on the back of your leg, I’ve seen it magazines, makes it look like you’ve got your stockings on even if you ain’t,” the maid offered, looking pleased with her suggestion. 

“What a clever idea, we can use brown eyeliner, that’ll do the trick." Mrs Randal agreed, smiling at the girl who seemed to flush with pride. 

An hour later she was standing with the Vice Admiral in the entrance hall of The Big House,  wearing a diamond tiara but no stockings and greeting guests as they arrived. 14 guests that evening, navy men and rich industry moguls with their wives who’d come to rub shoulders, discuss deals and drink someone else's wine. 

“A vision as always,” someone greeted her with a kiss on both cheeks and she laughed politely. 

The party ate their evening meal in the formal dining room before moving into the ballroom for dancing, drinking, gaming and cigar smoking for the men. Ever the hostess she made several rounds of the guests, checking if they needed more to drink, an after dinner snack or anything at all she could help with. 

By 11 pm her feet ached from standing in her heels and her cheeks ached from smiling and laughing. No one at the party would have ever known how she could think of nothing but Tom and the possibility he could be hiding around a corner, waiting for her. 

Mrs Randall excused herself from a circle of women who were discussing the trouble getting hold of fresh seafood in London and made her way out of the ballroom, turning to the right and around the corner where there was a small flight of stairs that would take her directly up to her rooms. The stairs were out of sight to anyone who wasn’t directly facing them. They were deeply carpeted like much of the house and a dark wooden bannister ran up one side. 

Sitting about 6 steps up was Tom Bennett, he lounged back on his elbows, his long legs stretched out in front of him and a smug smirk on his face.

“Jesus Tom,” she hissed, her hand flying to her chest, stopping in her tracks at the shock of seeing him sitting so brazenly in her house, “anyone could see you!”.

“No one has yet,” Tom shrugged, bringing one of his hands up to his mouth to run his thumb over his bottom lip. 

“And if they did it would be just about the last thing you'd ever do,” She hissed walking towards him, glancing over her shoulder in the direction of the ballroom to make sure they were still alone. 

Tom laughed, looking like a man without a single worry on his shoulders. 

“Tom you really can't be here,” she said, her voice quiet as she reached the bottom of the flight of stairs. 

Having Tom in the house, while it was full of guests, suddenly brought the terrible risk they were both taking into sharp focus. If anyone saw the two of them there would be a series of very awkward questions, followed by nasty accusations and rumours running wild and while she might end up a social pariah he would lose his job and who knows what else. 

She took a few tentative steps up the stairs, stopping when she'd reached about the same place his knees were. The staircase was relatively narrow so Tom’s body was blocking her from moving much further. 

“Tom please, I need to get up the stairs." she said softly. 

“You could just,” he paused for a second to smirk up at her, “Step over me, Mrs Randall," 

She narrowed her eyes at him for a second before taking a further step up, bringing her feet level with his hips. She lifted her right leg, making to step across his body but in a single quick movement he had grabbed hold of her at the ankle, his warm fingers wrapping around the bare skin. She stumbled slightly, catching hold of the bannister for balance. Her breath caught in her throat and her heart started to thunder, heat spreading up her leg from the place Tom touched her. 

Never taking his eyes from hers, he ran his hand up the curve of her calf and back down to the delicate bone of her ankle. 

“No stockings,” he mused as he sat up and pressed a single kiss on the ankle bone. 

“There’s a war on,” she whispered, her voice shaky, “stockings are a luxury." 

Tom scoffed before turning his eyes to her ankle and how his hand looked holding it, he smirked and pressed a second kiss to the inside of her ankle. 

“You've got diamonds but a pair of nylons are out of the question?” 

His fingers traced up and down the curve of her calf again, his fingertips brushing the back of her knee. 

“Please Tom,” she pleaded softly, acutely aware that the risk of getting caught went up with every passing second. 

He looked up at her, his bright blue eyes looking dark and stormy. His fingers moved back down to grasp her ankle before he released her. She stumbled again as she tried to place both feet together and hold onto her balance. Tom stood in a smooth, swift movement with one of his arms slipping easily around her waist and steadying her.

Standing on the step above her Tom gazed down at her, studying the curves of her face and the colour of her eyes. 

“Please what?” 

“Go, before you're caught." 

“I’ll go, but you’ll be seein’ me again,” Tom replied before pressing his mouth to hers in a single bruising kiss. 

He loosened his hold on her waist and slipped down the stairs as quiet as a ghost, she watched him go, her whole body aching to be held by him again. After a few minutes to calm her thundering heart she returned to the party, trying to forget the feeling of his lips on her skin and hoping his warm hands hadn’t smudged the eyeliner running up the back of her leg. 

Tom was able to slip back into his barracks without being caught, he sank into his bed and closed his eyes with a smile on his lips. Despite the long day he felt as awake and energised as he ever had before, he knew he’d struggle to get a wink of sleep that night but somehow he didn’t mind that when he had every moment of that day to relive, every touch, moan, sigh and kiss was his to revisit and relive in detail. 

Sunday morning dawned bright, the Vice Admiral had started his day by attending the weekly Holy Communion held in the barracks chapel while she’d had coffee and toast in bed. 

After breakfast Mrs Randall had moved to the library and was sitting in a large wingback chair looking out across the lawns and down towards the waters edge, a small paperback sitting forgotten in her lap. Even from several miles away the smell of the salt water carried on the wind when it blew in the right direction and this morning she'd thrown the library windows open, blowing out the stale smell of cigar smoke and bringing in the salty tang of the sea air. She even occasionally heard the calls of the seagulls as they circled overhead. 

There was a polite knock on the open library door. 

“Yes?” she called. 

“Mrs Randall, the Vice Admiral would like to see you in his office,” the butler announced primly. 

“Summoned like a common sailor,” she muttered to herself as she stood and followed the man out of the library and toward his office. 

The butler knocked and opened the door on her behalf. The office beyond the door was brightly lit from the sun streaming through the window. A fog of cigar smoke hung heavily in the air, the desk was strewn with maps, letters and lists. On the top of all the others was a letter with the royal coat of arms at the top, followed by a short note, written in a small, tidy hand. 

“Ah darling,” he greeted, not looking up from the map spread in front of him.

“You wanted to see me." 

“Yes,” he replied, finally looking up at her. 

As their eyes met she felt nothing, no tingle of attraction, no spark of desire. She might have been looking at a stranger as much as she was her husband, the man she'd promised to love, honour and obey. His own eyes showed nothing more than friendly recognition, she was merely someone who lived in his house and nothing more. 

“I've been summoned to High Command,” he said, indicating the letter on the desk. 

“It’ll be two weeks of conferences, planning and marching orders I expect, dreadfully boring stuff,” he added. 

“Will you be shipping out afterwards?” She asked, her thoughts more focused on the men in the barracks just down the hill rather than the one sitting in front of her. 

“Oh possibly,” he replied with a shrug, “or there’s talk of a posting for me overseas, there in need of a man in India to run the Royal Navy posts over there and I heard last night I was top of the list,” he added, his body seemingly puffing up with pride. 

Mrs Randall nodded, still standing on the edge of the rug like a Private brought in for a reprimand. 

“That was all,” he said after a beat of silence, “and I'll be off tonight,” he turned his attention back to the map. 

She opened her mouth to speak but found there was nothing to say. She didn’t want to thank him for summoning her here and announcing his plans to her like she was a member of the staff, she didn’t want to know anymore about where he was going and she couldn’t think of a single pleasant thing to say before leaving. So she left in silence, closing the door behind her with a satisfying click. 

With little else to do she headed for the boot room, changing into a pair of hardy leather boots before striding out across the lawns towards the woodlands that made the eastern edge of the property. 

Once in the shadow of the trees she finally felt able to breathe clearly, the air here was fresh but held onto the scents of rotting leaves and stagnant water. The ground beneath her boots was soft with leaf mulch and scattered with broken twigs and other debris. In the trees birds trilled and chirped at each other, flitting from branch to branch, knocking loose leaves toward the ground. 

She'd not slept a wink the night before, her mind completely possessed by thoughts of Tom and his promise that she'd see him again. She'd fantasised about hearing the floorboards outside her door creak before her door was pushed open and he sought her out. But the morning had come and her room grew bright with the rising sun leaving her with a headache and sore eyes. 

The Vice Admiral would be gone for two weeks, and after those two weeks they might be packing up their lives and moving halfway around the world but with Tom time seemed different, he made minutes of stolen conversation feel like hours, he made an hour of stolen kisses feel like days, two weeks of him might just feel like a lifetime. News of the Vice Admiral’s trip to London would make its way round the barracks quickly enough and with a thrill she found herself believing last night's fantasies might become her reality.

[haifengg]

Genshin Men Confessing pt.1

Note: This work is purely fictional and any similarities with already existing stories is concidental. This is also set in the Genshin Impact universe. I might elaborate on some of these.

Starring: Ayato, Diluc, Kaeya

Pairing: CharacterxGN!Reader

Genre: Fluff!

Diluc. You only had seen him a bunch of times. Altogether maybe 10. Being a traveling merchant you only came to Mondstadt a few of times of the year. You always looked forward to seeing the city of Mondstadt with its huge windmill-like towers and their many local specialties. It was a welcome change compared to cold Snezhnaya and you always volunteered for the trips. Seldomly someone was opposing your wishes because it was a difficult journey. One of many stops in Mondstadt was the Dawn Vinery. And it wouldn’t be exaggerated to say you love it there. Not just because of the wine and the view but also, and maybe especially, because of its owner.

Every year you came back you worried he might have gotten married or met someone while you were away. Sometimes, on the long way there, you imagined what it feel like to confess your childish crush to him. But soon after these imagines reality got the better of you and you reminded yourself not to be ridiculous. You were not just a merchant. In fact you represented the chartered trading company of Snezhnaya. But overall, to him, you probably were just a merchant. You were all the more surprised when you reached the vinery and had Diluc waiting for you. He greeted you with your full name, which was a difficult undertaking by itself and when he shower you around. You always had to check the premises and take notes for your reports but it got to your attention that this time he was very calm and besides telling you the general information about the grapes and crop and harvest - he also included little anecdotes, about him and his brother. When your visit came to an end later at night and the carriage was being prepared to take you and your colleague to the next inn, Diluc began to stall. To keep you tangled up in conversation. By the fourth time your colleague called for you he finally mustered up the courage to speak what was on his mind. “Would you mind staying for a bit longer? Maybe just the night? I will get you to the inn tomorrow myself so that you can continue your journey but please stay for dinner. I have been impatiently awaiting your next visit and can’t bear having you to leave so soon.”

Ayato. As the head of the Kamisato Clan he was practically old fashioned and classy. He knows that dating publicly would mean for everyone in Inazuma to know and that you ‘d most likely be the talk of town. So he confesses his feelings to you in a heartfelt and honest love letter. This letter was unlike any of the kind you received before. Well written, the words wisely chosen and the seal of his family embellishing every page. He writes about how he thought about you since you came home as Ayakas friend for the first time and how he is worried that you only noticed him as her older brother and never saw him in that way. He also compliments your character and manner, the way you treat the people around you and the servants when you visit their estate. He says that he was secretly looking forward to every one of your visits and even more to the ones you didn’t announce beforehand. Nevertheless he informs you about the obstacles if you would be to date and that regardless of how you may feel - his intentions are honest and truthful. He intends to be with you for what may come.

(The actual letter is here as a separate work.)

Kaeya. Man is drunk. And he doesn’t even mean to let you know. Yet. He was planning on taking you up on Starsnatch Cliff and telling you then. But the day you were supposed to go, a sudden change of the weather scotched his plan and surprised the both of you halfway there. And now you’ve been sitting at the tavern, near the fireplace, enjoying a friendly beer together. Just the way it has always been. So you thought. You have known him for so long and you have spent so many nights at the tavern that you wouldn’t have dared to imagine that tonight might be different. Little did you know. After his third or fourth beer and after your drenched clothes dried he began to talk. And just to make sure there are no misunderstandings here: Kaeya is a man who knows how to hold his liquor well. His tolerance for alcohol, especially beer, was impressive. It therefore was quite unusual for him to go on blabbering after just the fourth pint. So he starts by venting about the weather and how you’re probably going to catch a cold and that he is very sorry for insisting on going even though you had concerns about the weather. He admits that you were right (which painted a satisfied smile on your face) and that he only did it because there was something he wanted to talk to you about. When you asked what it was Kaeya looked around, making sure no-one sat particularly close to the two of you and sighed. And he let go. Of all the things he prepared to say and the speech about how he felt and all the grand words he looked up to describe every little emotion to the last detail. He just reached for your hand, giving you the chance to pull away. But when you didn’t he just looked at you and smiled weakly. “I like you.” You asked him since when. Still not pulling your hand away. Kaeya quietly admitted to pining for you since almost half a year and when you heard that you squeezed his hand tightly. “Don’t worry.” You said. “I’ve been into you much longer.”

💕 @kpopsnowball

💕 @soleilsuhh

💕 @jeonghanmoon

💕 @himitsu-luna

🌿 haifengg masterlist

[hel-awaits]

Compiled List of Elder Futhark Runes and Their Meanings.

A list of runes and their meanings that I compiled from watching EVERY video in the runic series by Arith Harger. All credit goes to him and his youtube channel.

Fehu ᚠ: Power, luck, fortune, cattle, feminine, fire, life, new beginnings, nourishment, comfort, luck (Norse positive energy,)sexual energy.

Inverted: failure, loss, greed, bad luck, infertility, negativity, loss of a loved one. 

Uruz ᚢ: Aurochs (giant bull,) strength, health, endurance, vigor, persistence, courage, male, rage, warrior spirit. Thor(his uncontrollable rage,) unconscious power, fury resourceful, manifestation. Tread lightly with power. New beginnings, change, growth. Your true self and getting to know you. Overcoming your wild nature. Healing, inverted: weakness, physical and mental fatigue, health issues, see a doctor. Change your lifestyle. Your own power used against you. 

Thurisaz ᚦ: Chaos, destruction, defense, strength, protecting without strategy but with rage. Boundaries. Know your limits. There are barriers you'll overcome later. Potential risks. Snakes. People betraying you. Regenerating, fertilization, breaking barriers. Inverted: Sexual and menstrual problems. Take no action. Possible trap. 

Ansuz ᚨ: Odin, creation, breath, intelligence, communication, speech, poetry. Reversed: Miscommunication. Unable to be heard. 

Raido ᚱ: Journey, other worldly or physically. The need to find the right path. Reaching a goal. Evolution, sleipnir, spiritual journey, shamanic sacrifice. Prepare for journeys.

Inverted: Don't take the advice of others, think for yourself. Feeling stuck. Accept the inevitable. Trouble will pass. 

Kaunaz ᚲ: Torch, intellect, knowledge, power, ancestral knowledge, creation, self control, inner strength, will to create, magic, energy, passion, lust, vitality, protection. Heimdallr, warmth, friendship, love, 

Inverted: Lost love, friendship, destruction. 

Gebo ×: Giving, taking, trade, gift for a gift, sacrifice, gift from the gods, gift from Odin, give to the poor, compensation, give with an open heart, be yourself, soon feel honor bound to help but don't help TOO much. 

Wunjo ᚹ: Joy, hope, harmony, happiness, family, kinfolk, attraction, like mindedness, favor from the gods, will to live, fulfilling life, good news, relationships will work. Finding yourself. 

Inverted: Be guarded emotionally, use logic. Sadness, fear. Be patient. 

Haglaz ᚺ ᚻ: Hail, violent change, long term good, inevitable, bad news, catastrophe, destruction in life, chaos, obstacles that can't be overcome. Disruption, fate, heed the warning, ymir, norns, harsh cold, unpredictable weather, your limitations, the unexpected, harmony, death. Rethink plans. Hope. 

Naudiz ᚾ:  Need, necessity, hard times are coming/here, poor life choices in the past, take action, limitations, constraint, obstacles, learning through necessity, control negative emotions, recognize limitations.

Isa ᛁ: Ice, focus, self preservation, concentration, self control, being in control of our ego, facing harsh reality, self reliance, aware of our existence, our own hidden power, will, defense against our emotions, pulling ourselves from the darkness, emotional fragility.

Jera ᛃ: Year, end of the cycle, reap what you sew, cyclical actions, you’ll be becoming greater, reward for honorable actions, when life is tough...dig deep and stay strong, favorable moment, harvest.

Eihwaz ᛇ: Yew, gaining spiritual knowledge by going up and down the world tree, learning rune mysteries of life and death, sharing knowledge. Trees: apple yew and ash. Connection between realities, life from death, circle of life, past growing into the future, mysteries of death, hidden secrets, movement towards enlightenment. Set yourself free of the fear of death, Yggdrasil. 

Pertho ᛈ: The unknown, interacting with fate and the norns, the web of the wyrd, Norns, events yet to happen, having to guess due to lack of knowledge, limitations beyond your control, free from worry, let the universe decide, good omens, joy, stagnation that you can turn to your advantage. 

Algiz ᛉ :  Elk/moose, protection, higher self, connection to the gods, listening and being attentive to that which is beyond the physical world, awakening, spiritual defense, cosmic stags eating at the needles of Yggdrasil, being in contact with the divine, human life reaching for the divine.

Sowilo ᛋ:  Sun positive, success, light, strength to move forward, guidance, hope, knowing our own power and strength, faith in ourselves and the choices we’ve made, the seat of the soul.

Tiwaz ᛏ:  Justice, sacrifice, balance, wisdom from a higher state of rationality, self sacrifice for the well being of the whole, something bigger than you, the greater good, denial of selfish actions, righteousness, rationality, victory, faith, fairness, empathy, no justice without empathy and rationality, spiritual warrior, honor, bravery, 

Berkano ᛒ: Birch goddess, growth of the self, rebirth, change, end of a cycle, throw away what no longer has a purpose, life and renewal, (mental and spiritual) let go of old mentalities, Female (blossoming of the true self), motherhood, let go of the past, be happy, taking care of life.

Ehwaz ᛖ:  Horse, team work, trust, solidarity, common goal, cooperation, unity, friendship, finding real value in friendship, harmonious connection, movement, journey, travel, wild inner self, hunger for change, filgia, relationship between body and spirit, rational and magical, shaman.

Mannaz. ᛗ: Higher reasoning, mankind, true essence of the human, divine spark in the structure of human intelligence, thought and memory, the difference between the human spirit and everything else, cycle of everything, connection of the anima and animus, male and female consciousness (trans?) balance between conscious and the subconscious, the memories of the ancestors.

Laguz ᛚ: Water, fluidity of life, the ocean, lakes, waterfalls, the underworld, afterlife, movement, voyages, source of life, fluid water, beginnings, evolutionary process, primordial life, origins, cyclical existence, wisdom, history of mankind, instinct, psychological power, depths of our conscious, what lies buried in our mind, collective wisdom. 

Yngwaz ᛝ: Earth god, fruitful attributes in male sexuality, agriculture, growth, male growth, masculine magic, break social rules towards gender, opportunity for men to come in contact with the supernatural, male spirituality, male potential, male role in the origin and continuation of life, gestation of male abilities, peace, wealth.

Othala ᛟ:  Homeland, ancestral roots, evolution, leave a legacy, learn, spreading knowledge, individual growth, wisdom, reach out and help people reach wisdom, better world through knowledge spreading, property, right to shelter, family, protection, finding your roots, creating a safe space for others, respect peace, hope, hearth cult.

Dagaz ᛞ: Dawn, day, light, end of a cycle and beginning of a new era. Creation, birth, life, development, experiences. Settling down, rest, coming home, our roots are deeper than the illusion of identity. Our true roots of the mind. New cycle, rebirth, a new hope.

[cupidcreates]

Hi, I hope the last day of 2020 will be a success for you. I have a request for yandere Dabi and / or Chisaki when they hear that their dear, affectionate s/o call them "love" or "happiness of my life"

Affectionate Names

With Yanderes Dabi and Overhaul

(Oh my fucking GOD beech I’m SO SORRY this took LITERAL MONTHS to post. I promise I’m never gonna let an ask sit for that long again holy crap. I really hope this was worth the wait bestie, I tried really hard to make it cute for you nonny. Hope you like it!)

Touya Todoroki - Dabi

Disgust, Anger, Hatred, Fear, Dabi’s used to these emotions playing across the faces of the people he interacts with. He knows how he appears to others, how his very visage causes visceral reactions of discomfort in others. He’s fine with that, in fact he revels in it.

If it’s not the abject loathing of a stranger than it’s the cool detachment of his allies. Dabi finds a sort of warmth, even an odd sense of comfort in their gazes. It’s distant, reserved, and to the point; Dabi never has to question what his allies want from him or what their intentions are.

The indifference many find cold is rather temperate to Dabi. 

The fair weather is what he likes. Nothing too cold, nothing too hot, nothing can be resurrected from mild memories.

Dabi was content with this treatment.

Until he met you.

It had been a long time since anything stoked the kind of fire in his chest like you did. Heat typically coincided with anger, but you didn’t make him angry.

That’s not to say he didn’t mistake it for anger at first. He definitely wanted you dead, seemingly at random, for a few days after seeing you pass by him on the street.

But after a while of reflection he realized you didn’t ignite his hate the way thoughts of his family, his father, or society did.

No, this was a completely different feeling, something brand new.

Something to be explored, immediately.

There was something about you he needed, something you had that he had to get for himself.

And Dabi’s not one to not get his way.

He set out to have you, and have you he did. It took longer than he might have liked (though, anything but immediate compliance is too long for Dabi) and you put up a better fight than he would have expected but he did eventually get you swept away from your previous life.

In his mind he won you over.

In your mind, and in reality, he stole you away from your home in the dead of night and trapped you in an undisclosed location until you eventually broke and developed Stockholm syndrome.

After all, he wasn’t mean to you. He kept you fed and watered, the basement stayed a nice mild temperature, and the rats that scuttled about were actually kind of cute when you looked at them the right way.

You were eventually happy, which is what Dabi wanted as it finally allowed him to get close to you.

He wasn’t sure what he wanted from you. He’d started by simply sitting by your side (once you had calmed down enough to let him do so without screaming) then he progressed to holding you (awkward as it was at first) and once he could trust that you wouldn’t run off he allowed you free roam of the hideout.

Free roam as in you were attached to his hip.

He brought you nearly everywhere, as if he was a child and you were his favorite stuffed bear. He wasn’t sure why he felt he needed you around, but he figured he’d find out if he gave it enough time.

And it’s not like you were trouble, you were actually very helpful, getting him out of more than a few scrapes and sticky situations.

He eventually surmised that this, whatever you two had going on, was something like the affection he missed out on in his youth. It was nice to hold your hand, nice to sit you in his lap as he listened to Shigaraki drone on about his next plan, nice to spend a night with you on the rooftops. 

The time he spent with you didn’t strike a chord in him like his first encounter with you did, but he was content.

He could only ever be content.

He didn’t need anything stronger than baseline serenity.

Or so he thought.

He thought right up until the night he was sitting alone in his room (room being a generous term for the hovel hole in the wall he kept his nearly flattened mattress in) dissociating after a very long day.

Dabi tried not to dissociate frequently, it was best to stay aware of your surroundings when you’re a wanted criminal, but when he did allow himself to fall into this state he was typically here for hours. Nearly comatose as he fled back into his mind.

You knocking softly at the door went completely unnoticed, in fact he didn’t even realize you were there until you had entered the room and sat next to him on the mattress.

Your presence took him completely by surprise and shocked him out of his stupor. It took him a moment to recover his composure and re-mask, and in those several seconds with his guard down you saw Dabi’s face more youthful and innocent than you ever had.

You’d asked him a question, he was aware of that much, but the only thing he caught, the only thing he registered was the word at the very end of your sentence.

“Are you okay, love?”

Love

Rather forcefully Dabi was taken back to his childhood; before his quirk manifested, before his siblings were born to replace him, before his own family turned on him in favor of his youngest brother. It had been so long since someone had called him love; so long since his mother would come into his room early in the morning and brush his bangs out of his face, softly calling to him to wake him up and ready him for the day.

Having already been in a vulnerable state, the name cut through him like a knife. Shaken to his core by the memories ripped fresh in his mind he was, for the first time in his life, grateful that his tear ducts had been burned away so long ago.

He gave nothing away, his face already masked up again and his demeanor its typical cool indifference. He spoke to you as he always had, the tremble in his voice only perceptible to him.

He pushed his head into your shoulder and was silent for a while, just taking in you presence, before offhandedly telling you that he didn’t mind if you called him that again. In private of course.

Love

He thought he could get used to that.

Kai Chisaki - Overhaul

Open affection was not only not necessary in Chisaki’s life but also abjectly disgusting.

Perhaps he never really had good examples of tender kindness and open endearment as a child. Maybe he simply couldn’t comprehend affection in the way others could.

In any case, physical fondness and other such displays of the sentiment were completely foreign to Chisaki.

He didn’t mind this, he had much more pressing matters to attend to. Having a partner of any sort other than business would only slow him down.

Oh but you just had to come along, didn’t you? Had to go nosing around where you didn’t belong, a foolish venture already, and then you had to be incompetent's enough to get yourself caught waist deep in his business.

It didn’t matter, you didn’t matter, whatever you knew about what he was doing didn’t mean a damn thing. All he had to do now was keep you quiet.

For good.

He had to kill you, this much he knew. He’d have no issue doing it, after all who were you anyway? A nosy little cashier at a run-down shop on the brink of bankruptcy. You had no family, if you did they certainly didn’t care about you if the state of and neighborhood your apartment was located in was anything to go by.

You were a threat to the sanctity of his mission, a potential interference to his operation. Simply put you had to go. This was fine, nothing personal. Just business.

But oh you just had to didn’t you? Had to look at him with the most pathetically pleading eyes he’s ever seen as you begged him to let you live. You already knew what he was up to, undoubtedly you understood the torture and death he willingly inflicted upon others. You knew the pleading would do you no good, surely you knew your death was inevitable.

Except that it wasn’t, was it.

Because you had to, you had to come along with a face too sweet to be atomized. Had to, somehow, worm your way into his brain and stop him from dismantling your upper body.

Was this your quirk? Were you somehow influencing him? It had to be something of your doing, the tightness in his chest and warmth in his stomach was something of your doing.

He couldn’t do it. Couldn’t bring himself to destroy something so precious, so pure even. He just couldn’t do it.

But no obstacle comes without workarounds, and he didn’t have an underground labyrinth of empty rooms to not be used.

So if killing you was out of the picture, his only recourse was to keep you hidden away. At least long enough for him to figure out a permanent solution for you.

Living toys are so much more fun to play with anyway.

He kept you holed up in a secret room, watched your every move as months passed. You were very interesting to him, in fact he found almost all of his (precious little) spare time consumed by you. He made sure to visit you daily, though your fear kept you mostly mute at the beginning.

Once you were sure he wasn’t going to obliterate you, he noticed you relaxed and even opened up a little bit. You even allowed him to touch you gently a few times and, to his surprise, he never broke out after his skin made contact with yours.

He figured you must have been sent to him, by some divine or cosmic intervention. You grew on him quickly and he made sure to pamper you in any way he could, moving you to a larger, more luxurious wing of the lair and making sure you had three meals a day of only the best quality food.

One morning he’d decided to visit you earlier than usual, walking down the long hallway towards your room and considering the topic of conversation today.

As he neared your room he overheard you speaking with the associate assigned to your meal delivery today. Pausing just outside the door he caught the tail end of your conversation.

“...so lonely until Chisaki visits. The room is lovely but he’s truly the only happiness of my rather dull life.”

Chisaki considered this for a moment. Perhaps it was a clever deception? Something for him to intentionally overhear and cause him to lower his guard?

Couldn’t be though, he’d never visited you this early, if you wanted to deceive him you’d have waited until your evening meal to speak these words.

A sudden, rather disconcerting warmth overtook Chisaki; Like a flower of light suddenly blooming in his chest he was overtaken by the urge to abandon everything and stay by your side until he withered away and his bones turned to dust.

Regaining his sanity he shook the thought from his head. He’d worked too hard for too long to let go of this now. No, he’d have to continue with his operation, the consequences of letting go now would be too great.

He was, however, sorry to hear that your life thus far had been dull. Had you said this months ago he would have scoffed, because of course the life of a cashier was dull; but now, after months of you having been here, it should have improved.

The only assumption left for him to make was that this must have been his doing. Fair enough on his part, as he couldn’t be sure trusting you was a wise idea.

But if this was how you truly felt about him, maybe he could consider letting you have greater roam of the property. He might even allow you time outside.

Only if you brought your happiness along, of course.

[jaskiersvalley]

CW major character injury (beartrap)

Splitting up for winter seemed like the most sensible idea. Geralt would head north with Ciri and, at his insistence at not leaving his muse, Jaskier. Meanwhile Regis would lead the others south, down to Touissant for a bit of downtime. Privately Geralt also hoped their infuriatingly stubborn Nilfgaardian shadow would opt to head for the warmer climates and leave them alone. It wasn't even that Geralt was worried about the man following them. Over the weeks it had become abundantly clear that he was trying to help in his own way, even fighting off a stray bandit or two to keep their tail clean. Rather, Geralt simply couldn't be bothered to exert the energy to get to know yet another person and it was another mouth to feed. Given his rather solitary nature, the fact he was travelling with a ragtag bunch was already quite exhausting.

As luck would have it, Geralt ended up with the Nilfgaardian trailing after them, heading steadily north. The weather got colder and sometimes Geralt caught the whiff of another camp fire, creeping a little closer as it that small lessening of distance would give their tail a smidgeon more warmth. It was pathetic and Geralt was more than a little pissed off. Still, at least the trip up to Kaer Morhen would lose him. Nobody was foolish enough to try and reach the old keep alone, even Witchers succumbed to the trail, a human by himself stood no chance. So either their foolhardy idiot would find shelter for the winter in the surrounding villages or he would perish.

They were at the bottom of the mountain, one last night to get some rest before they braved the slopes. Jaskier and Ciri definitely needed sleep and to give their bodies a break. Geralt was content to meditate, keeping them safe. In the distance he could hear their Nilfgaardian make camp, daring to stray as close as he ever had. Frustrated, Geralt found himself wishing that a bear would appear and deal with the annoyance for him. Alas, he couldn't hear or smell a bear in the region despite the villages mentioning that there had been some bears sighted earlier in the year. Thankfully the local hunters had taken care of them. Lost in thought, Geralt almost didn't register the sound of something snapping shut before a pained cry echoed in the forest. Immediately he was up, sword in hand while Jaskier was on his feet too, looking around in the darkness.

In the distance Geralt could hear pained hitches of breath plus a few agonised grunts. Whatever had happened, it wasn't the swift death he'd wished on the Nilfgaardian. There wasn't anyone or anything else in the vicinity so whatever had happened, the idiot did to himself. Probably stabbed himself with an arrow in the dark. Despite all his ill-wishes, Geralt couldn't bring himself to ignore someone in trouble.

"It's the Nilfgaardian. He's in trouble."

There wasn't any argument when he set off, Jaskier and Ciri behind him, treading carefully, a flaming torch lighting their way. Geralt almost wished they hadn't had the torch because then he wouldn't have had to see the scene in front of him in full colour. The Nilfgaardian was on the ground at the edge of a small clearing where he'd obviously planned on making camp. However, the stench of blood around him suggested that something hadn't gone according to plan. Walking up to him, Geralt watched as the man realised he wasn't alone and jerked upright. A beartrap kept him rooted though. His hands were bloody, even worse, his palms had been cut open from where he'd obviously tried to pry the metal from his leg. What struck Geralt though was just how young the man looked. Wide blue eyes stared up from shock paled skin, lips almost white enough to be missed. Only slightly older than Ciri, probably about twenty, Geralt couldn't fathom why someone so young was so desperate.

"You'll need to keep still while we get this off," Geralt said, crouching down. The young man tried to scramble away but aside from leaning back, he couldn't go anywhere. "Why don't we help with the pain a bit?" Hand raised, Geralt prepared to cast axii. Before he could, a rock connected with the man's temple and knocked him out cold as Jaskier stood behind him, hand wrapped around the lightly bloodied rock.

"That will keep him still and out of it," he declared. "It was the kindest thing."

"Or you could have let me use axii to keep him calm." Geralt tipped the man's head to the side to check how badly the rock had split his skin. It was going to give him quite the bruise, possibly a black eye and one hell of a headache. Still, it did made life easier and Geralt pried the trap off. It had snapped in bone deep, probably even broke his leg. Humans were fragile like that and the trap was meant for a bear. Sighing, Geralt looked around the miserable excuse of a half made camp. It screamed of skills learned on the fly, for the sole purpose of survival rather than something practiced in safety before being put into reality. "Grab his things. We'll head up to Kaer Morhen tomorrow and take him with us."

They had more in the way of bandages with them and, while the man was unconscious, Geralt did his best to clean the wounds, splint the leg and bandage it as well as the cuts on his hands. There wasn't much to be done for the headache of the future though.

In the morning Geralt roused from his meditation to find a pair of blue eyes staring at him.

"You going to make an example of me and kill me?" The accent was harsh despite the soft voice. It wasn't what Geralt had expected coming out of the man's mouth.

"Yeah, I wasted all the bandages on you just for that. Name's Geralt."

"Cahir Mawr Dyrryn aep Ceallach."

"Quite the mouthful. Cahir alright with you?" The nod was answer enough and Geralt set about getting breakfast ready. It was only thanks to the events of the previous night that he kept an eye out for more beartraps and avoided falling victim to one himself. He set it off with a stick and winced as it splintered under the metal jaws.

Despite their best efforts, by the time they'd loaded Cahir onto the cart strapped to Roach, his cheeks were flushed with fever and Geralt could smell the sickness on him. The valiant effort to get to know his new travelling companions better was foiled by the way Cahir kept drifting off, a combination of sickness and from the hit to the head. When he woke, it was only Jaskier's quick grab to the back of his shirt that kept Cahir on the cart as he threw up over the side.

It wasn't looking good. The first night they stopped, Geralt helped rebandage Cahir's injured leg. As the cloth fell away, it became amply evident that infection had thoroughly set in. The cuts were an angry red without defined edges to the inflammation while the wounds themselves were puckered with puss.

"It's fine," Cahir tried to reassure with a wobbly smile. "I've survived worse." Which may have been true but he'd probably also been in a place with better medical supplies. The gnarly scar below his collarbone and through to his back attested to his words but Geralt didn't think it was caused by an old, rusty beartrap. If they didn't make it to Kaer Morhen soon then no amount of surviving worse injuries was going to mean anything.

Come next morning Cahir was no longer quite so chirpy. He was still and silent on the cart, Ciri sat next to him and sometimes gesturing for Geralt to look, worried that Cahir had stopped breathing. He hadn't but his deathly pale complexion wasn't giving Geralt much hope. They were still at least a day and a half out from Kaer Morhen, maybe even two because of the additional weight on the cart.

A fever peaked and fell in cycles, each time Geralt hoped it would be the last but, before long, he reached to feel Cahir's skin and winced at how hot to the touch it felt once more.

By the time they made it up to Kaer Morhen, Geralt feared it would be just a corpse for a funeral pyre that they'd be dragging in. By some miracle it wasn't. With Eskel's help he pulled Cahir off the cart, floppy as unresponsive as he was, there was still air in his lungs and an erratic heartbeat in his chest.

"What did you bring us this time?" Lambert teased before getting a better look and his grin turned into a frown. "Well shit. I'll get Vesemir."

It took three days before Cahir was declared out of immediate danger. Geralt spent a lot of it down in the infirmary, sitting next to him. The others could start Ciri's training and Jaskier was no doubt pleased to get to spend time with Eskel again. It left Geralt in the quiet, watching over someone who he had convinced himself he hated. But this wasn't the person he'd conjured up in his mind. Barely older than Jaskier had been when they met, Cahir didn't look like he had any youthful optimism or naivety.

"I'm sorry." Geralt murmured, watching as Cahir slept, breath a little less thready. He should have been better. Shouldn't have judged, not when he was on the other end of so much of it himself.

By the time Cahir roused, everyone had settled into their winter routine. Ciri trained most days, reading tomes Vesemir left her when it got too cold for the outside obstacle course. It left Geralt free to sit with Cahir, watching as glazed eyes opened, unseeing. The worst thing was, not once did Cahir cry out for someone or reach for an invisible source of comfort. In all his years Geralt rarely found someone so lonely. Even Lambert, in his training days, had called out for his mother and, of late, for Aiden. It was a struggle to believe Cahir had nobody.

"Why?" The first word from cracked dry lips and Geralt jumped. He grabbed a wet rag and dabbed it against Cahir's lips, squeezing a little water into his mouth.

"Why what?" There were a lot of questions Cahir could have and Geralt wasn't a mind reader. He startled when a weak hand clasped around his wrist, keeping his hand close. It felt all too natural to take the rag in his other hand so he could cup Cahir's sunken cheek.

"You stayed."

Something told Geralt this wasn't something Cahir had encountered before and it broke his heart. Why nobody would stick around for him was baffling. Even a Witcher had more people looking out for him, he was certain. He cleared his throat, trying to think about why he stayed. It was true, he had no reason to. "I wanted to."

The soft 'oh' from Cahir pulled at something in his chest. He let Cahir tangle their fingers together shyly, looking up at him from the infirmary bed with so much awe and gratitude, Geralt didn't know what to do with it. So he sat back down into his chair and kept holding Cahir's hand. There was a lot of talking, of getting to know each other in their future. But, for now, Geralt was content to offer whatever comfort he could, vowing to be better than all those who had come before him.

[princesspiratecat]

The Rise and Fall of the Shepard Family Part 22: Spring, 1083

(This is a long one, but hopefully worth the read!)

Part 1& Part 2

Part 3 & Part 4

Part 5 & Part 6 & Part 7

Part 8 & Part 9 & Part 10

Part 11 & Part 12 & Part 13

Part 14 & Part 15 & Part 16

Part 17 & Part 18 & Part 19

Part 20 & Part 21

Never before had Gwendolyn felt so happy as she did when her sister had arrived to visit her at her little hovel. She hadn’t been able to stop the tears from flowing, and soon both of them were wiping them away. 

After the servant had left, Gwyn had demanded to know everything, but Gwendolyn didn’t know where to begin. There was so much to tell, and all of it pained her to speak of. 

“Is this really where you are now residing? This little hovel?” Gwyn turned a discerning eye towards the house as they walked nearer to it, and Gwendolyn felt herself blush with shame. She had tried to keep it neat and tidy, but there wasn’t much she could do without a proper set of tools. The hovel was just too poorly constructed for even the most basic of shelters. It felt like a blessing when the weather had finally turned and she no longer had to worry about rain falling on her bed. She could only hope it would not snow or rain again.

“I’m afraid so. The day of my birthday Marcelle hastily had my bags packed and drove me here in a covered wagon. He told me this would be my new home after we arrived. I should have suspected something that morning based on his behavior.....but I fear, I blindly trusted him.”

“Do not blame yourself. How could you have known what he was going to do? This has taken us all by surprise. When I found out you had been sent away, I could hardly believe it. It is Marcelle that must take the blame, not you.” As they reached the front room, Gwendolyn stoked the fire and began to prepare a meal, as the sun would be setting soon and she imagined her sister must be hungry. She immediately noticed how much food there was in the basket, and it was of better quality than what she normally was given.

 “What do you mean, us? How did you come to find out that I was here in the first place?” They sat down to a nice hot bowl of soup Gwendolyn had made from a fat hare she had caught yesterday. 

“I didn’t. Francine wrote about a month ago, and the letter had been given to me by Oswin.”

“Oswin? You mean, Oswald’s younger brother?”

“The very same, yes. I had thought it strange that she hadn’t invited me to visit her for such a long time, but in the letter she explained that she had suddenly been forbidden to see me by Marcelle, yet didn’t say why. In her next letter, she told me that the engagement had been broken off, and you had been sent away, but that she didn’t know where you had gone. When I confronted Aélfgiva about seeing you, she said she would talk to Marcelle. Not long afterwards, he wrote to say that a servant would fetch me in the morning to take me to you, and here I am.”

The humiliation that Gwendolyn had endured upon being sent off was awful in and of itself, but the idea that her entire family was now somehow tainted, and not good enough to associate with any of the Allards, hurt her even more. “ I had not thought that my exile had been extended to my entire family. This is worse than I had imagined.” 

“What exactly did he say to you? How did he justify his actions!? How could he bring you to this shithole, in the middle of a forest?!”

Slowly, Gwendolyn revealed all that her sister did not yet know. She tried not to dwell on the parts of the story that were especially painful, and rushed through his unkind words when he had dragged their family down to the mud, implying that they were nothing. She found it was nearly impossible for her to say the exact words he had said about their father, because the loss of him was still fresh pain for both of them. But somehow she got through it all, and then shared how she now viewed everything. 

“This hovel....this dung heap of a house, is his feeling about me, about us- made manifest and clear. But it’s worse than our house was. It’s worse than anything I’ve ever had to endure. And I was left alone to fend for myself when the snow storm came. I had to find food for myself, otherwise I would have starved.”

There was such anger on her sister’s face at hearing those words. “What about your dowry?! We had so many excellent animals. Surely it was worth more than this!”

“Oh Gwyn.....don’t you see? This is my dowry. This hovel is now all that I have....” Putting her troubles into words made them all the more real and soon Gwendolyn could not stop the sobs from violently shaking her body again. She got up and leaned her head against the counter, as the tears just kept on coming. 

Gwyn said nothing, but silently cried as well. 

“I’ve been clinging to the idea of Frances for months now. And I cannot understand why he hasn’t come to see me, even if it’s just to say goodbye. Am I really so terrible that I do not deserve such simple consideration? How can I be his future bride one day, and the next not even fit to say a single word to him? I cannot make sense of it......” she was sobbing so hard now that she could not continue. 

“Oh, please don’t upset yourself further. I do not believe Frances has any idea where you are”, said Gwyn. That got her attention and her head snapped up.

“What!?”

“I do not believe any of them know. Marcelle must have kept it a secret from all of them, because if one of them knew, they would all find out. Frédérique would never keep a secret like that from her brother, nor would Francine. The letter that she sent made it clear. He could not write to you, so she wrote to me. And that is why Marcelle forbade any of them from speaking to any of us.”

“I had not considered that. But....you must be right.”

“Perhaps that is also why Marcelle sent me a map and allowed me to see you. He still thinks that his children will blindly obey him. Indeed, he must feel very comfortable with that idea, which is why he didn’t think it necessary to keep you and I apart any longer. If his children don’t speak to us, he has no reason to continue punishing you.”

“Yes. He may also not want to be seen as the type of man who punishes two young girls who have done nothing wrong. I noticed how he sent a lot more food, of higher quality this time around. He even sent linens. He has never done that before. He wants to appear the good benefactor still- at least to you and Aélfgiva.”

After a long silence Gwendolyn gained some composure of herself and sat down by the fire again, staring into the orange flickering flames. It gave her some relief to know that Frances didn’t know where she was, and perhaps hadn’t given into his father so easily. Everything her sister had said made perfect sense. 

“I like to think that Marcelle has some heart left. I like to think that he still cares about us. Only his pride got in the way", said Gywn. Her sentiments may have been true, but Gwendolyn no longer wished to think about him. It was now time to turn their minds to the task of getting her out, and how they would accomplish that.  

“I must speak with Frances. I must. I have had so long to ponder the situation, if I don’t get any answers, I fear I will lose my mind and go mad.”

"Of course you shall. And I will assist you in any way that I can.”

The next morning they poured over the map and calculated that Gwendolyn had been taken over twenty miles from the Allard estate to the hovel, which was in the middle of two very small villages that neither had heard of. Having no money and few resources, the main obstacle in her leaving would be where she would go. She could not stay at the orphanage, and of course going back to the estate was impossible. 

“If only you had parted on better terms with Oswald, then perhaps we could ask his family”, Gwyn said. 

“What better way could there have been? Oswald did not want to break off the engagement for any reason. I tried to spare his feelings as best as I could, but given that I hadn’t seen him for so long....it was difficult. I realized that day that he had changed beyond recognition to me, and I no longer knew him.”

“You have been engaged most of your life to someone, and yet still remain unmarried. Do you not ever wish you had married Oswald instead? At least you would not be alone now.” 

Gwendolyn’s features clouded into sadness, as she had realized the same thing her sister spoke of from the very beginning of her troubles. Her life seemed to consist of always waiting, always hoping, always dreaming of having a family of her own and finding that she belonged somewhere, and she resented it. 

“Maybe, but would I have been happy? What Frances and I had was real, and what Oswald and I had was a youthful fancy. I know that now that I am older. I can never go back.” 

When they tallied up their resources, it was decided that Gwyn would return home when the servant came to fetch her, as was planned. She would then combine the meager allowance she and Edith were given at the orphanage, and income from the pelts of the animals Gwendolyn had caught, and try to procure a horse. Then she would ride back and come and fetch her sister, then they would ride to Grimsby. She would speak with Frances at any cost and Gwyn agreed that it was imperative that she do so- even if it meant further punishment from Marcelle.

The next morning was a cold one, and snow began again to fall upon the ground, but only lightly. Despite the foul weather she knew she would have to shelter herself from, she felt better than she had in months. 

“You have Mama’s strength, and you will get through this. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

She tenderly embraced her sister goodbye, and watched the wagon grow smaller and smaller as it slowly disappeared down the road, which was beginning to freeze. She sat down upon a log and got lost in her thoughts, contemplating how happy the visit had made her. It had brought her comfort, relief from her loneliness, and hope all at once. She was lucky that she still had some family left, even if they were orphans now. I’m not alone. I have the love of my sisters. 

She turned to head into the house, but then heard a horse in the distance and stopped to listen. It was the sound of a single horse, and she wondered if something had gone wrong with the wagon. Was her sister in trouble? The sound grew closer and closer, and she headed back down the path to the road, shivering slightly in the cold. But it was not the servant or her sister on this horse. It was Frances.

[shinydelirium]

MLQC Season 2 Chapter 8 (Kiro) Part 2 [Scramble] & [Bad Signs] Translation [CN]

***SPOILERS*** THIS POST CONTAINS HEAVY SPOILERS FOR CONTENT NOT YET RELEASED ON EN SERVER!!! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!!***

For the previous translations of Season 2 Chapter 8: Part 1

Enjoy~

[Scramble]

Tomorrow is Kiro’s new song conference.

This will be Kiro’s first public appearance since the “black powder incident”.

There are still many things to prepare and Kiro’s plan to “disappear out of thin air” has been resolved and things are on track again.

Such an ordinary and busy life makes me feel a long-lost sense of peace.

At 7 o’clock in the evening, I opened the door of the office and put my coffee and supper for overtime work on the table, but found that everyone was gathered around watching something.

MC: What’s going on?

Kiki: A large passenger plane almost crashed.

Kiki spoke and pointed to the live video taken by a witness on the screen.

Kiki: I heard that the aircraft was affected by strong air currents which caused the aircraft’s instruments to malfunction. During landing, it almost ran off the runway. Look, it’s so thrilling!

MC: Are there any casualties?

Willow: Although it landed safely, there is probably still some psychological aftermath.

Willow: By the way, boss, didn’t you also go to the airport today? Didn’t you know how serious it was?

I took the newspaper and scanned the headlines that were in bold.

“Fright in the air—Captain Evolver turned the tide and saved 189 passengers”—Was it that serious?!

Kiki: In fact, it is also a good thing. The relationship between ordinary people and Evolvers was so tense some time ago. This news can ease the relationship.

Kiki: Oh yeah, boss, here is the venue layout for the new song conference. You can take a look.

Kiki’s words brought me back to the present, and I took the plan from her.

The company attaches great importance to this event and has specially contracted the central square with the largest traffic in the city center and selected 3000 fans to participate in this new song launch event.

The surrounding LED screens and bus stations were all taken over by Kiro advertisements and even the subway stations printed the promotion of Kiro’s new song release in advance.

MC: Our security measures must be handled well, and there must be no mistakes and follow-up propaganda must be kept up while the iron is hot.

MC: Wait a minute, what’s that webpage right there?

Kiki: Oh, this—

Willow: …Don’t look at it, boss.

I didn’t listen and grabbed the mouse and clicked on the webpage. As soon as I looked, the huge bold words caught my attention.

“Freshly released--11th Annual Lightning Protection Ranking for Media Graduate’s Employment”

Kiki: Boss, your approval rate is only 10%.

Willow: You have to add the votes cast by a few of us to switch back and forth for you.

MC: ….Why are you so concerned about such boring things!

Willow: Hehe, this is not for you to fight injustice.

Kiki: But don’t worry, as long as Kiro stands on the stage, everything will be fine. He is our ace artist.

I clicked on the comment section of “Miracle Finder” and found that there were still many insults against the show and Evolvers.

Kiki: Speaking of, there was a high school student who came to the company last week and said he was looking for the boss. His words were very intense and I didn’t know why.

Kiki: It could also be affected by recent public opinion to express dissatisfaction with our program.

Thinking of countless harassing calls, rumors from the outside world, obstacles and prejudices during the filming of “Miracle Finder”…

I couldn’t help but clench my fists. Then, my heart ignited an unprecedented fighting spirit.

MC: Alright, it’s time to kick away the negativity and theories that have accumulated before!

The cold light from above shines into the empty, confined dim space. The dark grey staircase in the middle continues to spiral up like a snake sleeping in the shadows.

??: Sir, the undercover agents F-45 and U-2 of the Task Force have died.

??: …Also, the young man said that no more medicine will be provided to us during this time. If we want to trade, we need to show greater sincerity.

Thinking of the dark gray-eyed youth, the reporting man showed fear on his face.

??: …The experimental record of the transaction at the auction is indeed fake and it appears to be bait released by B.S. itself.

The man in the wheelchair did not respond and seemed not to care about the news reported by his subordinate.

He only looked at the detailed information in his hand.

“The Inverted Smile Film and Television Company’s veteran variety show “Miracle Finder” has reached a new record. The company and the Task Force have reached a filming cooperation and the crime documentary has been a great success”…

His gaze fell on a line of words, showing a thoughtful expression.

It turns out that the producer who was taken away by the Task Force is also from B.S.

A smiled appeared on his lips and his fingers seemed to tap the handrail lightly in a steady rhythm.

??: Sir, we can’t wait any longer. The organization’s recent actions have been constrained everywhere. We must find the person behind it…..

The man in the wheelchair raised his head and looked at his subordinate gently.

??: Don’t worry, there is still plenty of time.

??: When the fish bites the hook and jumps out of the water, you will naturally see the person fishing on the other end.

??: Right now, we have found the best fish to bite the bait.

[Bad Signs]

With Kiro’s return, my work has been on the right track.

The days seem to blend together and there has been no room for breathing.

Early the next morning, I drowsily walked out the gate of the residence, ready to go to the company.

A newsstand was set up next to the entrance and several people were distributing free newspapers while saying something to the pedestrians passing by.

Enthusiastic woman: Hey, miss, come here.

MC: Ma’am, what is it?

I took the newspaper from her in wonder. My eyes quickly swept across the headlines of today’s news.

“In-depth restoration of airport accident; the flight nearly crashed due to the Captain’s Evol!?!”

I skimmed through the full article and found that today’s news’ explanation of the aviation accident was a big reversal compared to yesterday.

It turned out that the accident wasn’t caused by turbulence, but because the captain’s Evol was out-of-control.

Yesterday’s news was just to quell the recent series of press releases against Evolvers, concealing the facts.

Is that really the case….

Looking at the vicious words above, I frowned slightly.

The people handing out the newspapers yelled the truth about the media’s hidden information while continuing to distribute newspapers to passing pedestrians.

The crowd of onlookers whispered on one side and from time to time, their conversations trickled into my ears.

Passerby A: The truth about yesterday’s emergency landing accident was not what was reported on TV at all.

Passerby B: Obviously this Captain’s out-of-control Evol affected the flight and yet they said he was a hero. I think this kind of person shouldn’t be in this type of industry.

Passerby C: Yeah, Evolvers shouldn’t be engaged in this kind of business when they are responsible for public safety!

The ridicule of Evolvers and the dissatisfaction with the truth about the media hiding things continued on. Some are justified but some are just unfounded.

Hearing everyone’s increasingly violent words, my heart feels weak.

The life that has been calm for a short time seems to have caused waves again.

As soon as I got to the company, my cell phone rang and I saw it was an unfamiliar number.

MC: Hello? May I ask who’s calling?

The other end was quiet for a while, and then I heard a somewhat stiff voice.

??: Cancel today’s event or you will face the consequences.

The person on the other end deliberately lowered his voice but I could still tell that he was a young boy.

MC: Sorry, I don’t understand what you are talking about.

MC: Hello…?

He suddenly hung up.

I was confused and wanted to call back but only the sound of a dial tone was heard.

Getting all kinds of strange phone calls these days, I didn’t pay too much attention to it but I still increased security measures for the afternoon activities.

I put down my phone and looked up at the weather outside the window feeling a little disturbed.

In any case, I hope everything goes well in the afternoon.

On the empty train station platform, a staff member made an announcement, urging passengers to leave.

After confirming that no one remained, he walked out of the kiosk, put a “suspended operation” sign in front of the train and left.

In a corner where no one noticed, the elevator door slowly opened and a thin boy stepped out.

He lowered his head and walked to the car door, slightly raised his hand and the sign was pushed aside.

When he raised his hand again, the train door seemed to be torn open arbitrarily by some force.

The boy went straight in.

The quiet train suddenly rumbled and lurched forward.

-End of Part 2-

Continue to Final Part 

[littleredlie]

chaos - part one

chaos masterlist 

1.5k+ words 

“you don’t smile anymore,” she cups his cheek while her heart shatters to pieces, her dark brown eyes can no longer recognizing the green-eyed man that sat in front of her. “i miss your smile.” a sob dares to escape from her throat, a single tear drips down to their conjoined hands where his grip is strong and his thumb absentmindedly caresses her soft skin. she is meddling with the barely used hair tie that adorned his wrist, the one she gave him.

who was he? she didn’t know.

his eyes look empty, sad, angry, lonely, dark, all in one and it tore her apart. this was not the man she met three years ago. this was not the man she fell in love with. 

“i miss you eren,” she whispers as the hum of the blimp vibrates around them. the skin of his constrained hand is cold contrasting her warm skin, which she gained from whipping around in the air for the mission they just fulfilled. the chaos of their actions dying down as they got further and further away from marley and eren’s destruction.

the couple was on one side of the room they were in, but she knew that she didn’t have much time left to talk to him. it was only a matter of seconds before hange came out of the cockpit or levi walked back over from the hushed conversation he was having with armin and mikasa. the highly skilled soldier wasn’t even that far but he wanted to give the two young adults a little space as much as possible. but it wasn’t like her lover was talking. 

her darker hands abandon his touch and she stands, taking a few steps back.  zeke yeager’s body finally comes into her vision and she could tell that he was listening. but she ignores him. despite eren’s plan and his importance, she did not like him. she probably got that from levi. yelena stood in between the yeager brothers, but she avoids looking the tall woman in the eye.

“i would like for you to come back,” hesitantly, her hand raises from her side to tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear. he looked like a damn mess but to her, he looked so beautiful. and she knew it was because she hadn’t seen him in so long.

the titan marks were slowly disappearing off of his face and when she pulled her hand away, her fingers grazed them softly. this caused him to finally look up at her and her full lips deliver him the smallest of smiles. he could see the small teardrops decorating her black skin and the way her eyes were filled with worry. worry for him. 

before either of them could say something, levi walks over and she distances herself from the titan shifter, firmly placing himself beside the man who was shorter than her. “you should go check on your brother.” the older man says, his eyes looking at eren but addressing her. he wanted her to leave, because he knew that her admiration for eren would cloud her judgement. he already witnessed the great strength she had to use to restrain herself when he kicked eren earlier. 

“okay,” she softly says, her hands clutching the bandage that was wrapped around her hand and up her right arm, blood staining the white fabric. “you would think that after all the couple of years you spent training me, i would get out of this unscathed.” the horrors of the night flash behind her eyes and she shuts them tight. so many bodies, so much blood, so much chaos.

“get better before you die.” levi bluntly answers and she looks at him to find him looking at her. she gives him a firm nod and walks towards the cockpit door. before she enters she looks back and sees eren sitting, watching her walk away while levi is still looking down at him, a steely look stamped onto his face.

she opens the door and steps in. her eyes cast on the floor as she walks closer into the cockpit. her distracted mind causes her to run into hange who is overlooking onyankopon’s ability at flying the blimp. “i’m sorry hange.” she rushes out, her heart hammering in her chest. the brunette scientist lays a hand on her shoulder and grins. 

“no need to look so scared, i’m not going to throw you off the blimp,” that brings a smile to both of  their faces. hange could see the weathered down look on her face because they also could see the obvious affection that she displayed towards eren. when he disappeared behind enemy lines, the worry manifested in her actions, and now hange didn’t know what eren’s actions would push her to.

“of course.” slightly bowing her head, she then continues to her destination and hange continues working.

“onyankopon, how long do you think it’ll take to get back to paradis?”

“a few hours.” her brother looks out to the landscape below, the hum of the blimp is louder there. “how are you doing, nyame?”

“i don’t know, kopo.” she sits in the seat to his right, assisting him with some of the buttons. “did you know he’d do this? did yelena?” her brother is quiet for a while, but nyame doesn’t say anything that could possibly accuse him. 

“everything will be alright.”

“will it?” she whispers, her mind going back to times where everything was better. times where she would find her stare lingering on eren and those private and secret moments the two would find together. shy and hesitant kisses and hand holding. what has she gotten herself into?

her hand passes over her thick hair, there is blood matted into it and it disgusts her. taking the hair tie from her wrist, she wraps the curls oh her head into a bun as best as she could. the quick movements of her hands was a technique that she learned from sasha, someone who always had her hair up. nyame used to always have her hair down, but when she started learning how to use the odm gear, sasha advised that she either cut it or put it up in a practical design. 

the braids must have come undone when she had to thwart the flying obstacles thrown by the beast titan. the thought reminds her of the throbbing pain emitting from her right arm. her movements were sloppy when they were put under the test of speed and it caused for her throw her body onto sharp debris. connie had helped her bandage the wound as soon as she landed in the blimp. but what she really wanted to do was discard of the black and white uniform that she still had on and wash off all the grime that was present on her body. 

“don’t think like that, nyame.” her brother gives her a soft look, the only comfort he could give his little sister at the moment. “but hopefully next time you’ll listen to me when i say don’t join the military.” the teasing pulls out a chuckle from both of them.

“i had to make sure you weren’t gonna go and get yourself killed. but it all wasn’t so–” nyame’s interrupted by a commotion coming from the room she was previously in. her and her brother’s eyes meet and he gives her a nod, getting her to move out and see what it was. she moves around hange, who’s focusing on something else, and towards the door.

when she is back out there, jean is at the entrance, clutching the bodies of two bruised children. “who are these brats?” nyame is able to catch as she steps further into the room, the door to the cockpit closing slowly behind her.

“they killed lobov and used his equipment to board the ship,” there is a slight anger accompanied by sadness and nyame feels as if there is more to the story. “and then... this girl shot sasha. i don’t think there’s any hope for her...” the last of his words got softer and softer, as if falling into a void where he hoped that what he said would become false.

at that mikasa and armin run past the trio and out to where they last saw sasha. nyame hesitates, not knowing if she would be allowed to grieve with them. sure, she had gotten close to them over the years but she was still an outsider. she looks to eren and he has a look of shock on his face. but she couldn’t decipher him, which saddened her even more. and without a second thought, nyame also leaves the room, chasing down her comrades.

the sight that was introduced to her eyes is a heartbreaking one. connie passes by her towards the room she just came from. she can see the tears swimming down his face and the tension on his forehead. mikasa and armin are crying and screaming beside their fallen comrade. 

sasha is gone.

all nyame can do is stare. her heart slows and her hands clenched into fists ignoring the pain that radiates from the action. her vision gets blurry as tears begin to silently escape. the sound of screams overcoming the sound of her thoughts. a pressure begins to grow in her chest and she realizes that it is her heart breaking even more. staring at the scene before her, disbelief grows at her brother’s words. everything will be alright.

and in a harsh whisper, while looking at the empty eyes of sasha braus, nyame proclaims it. “will it, kopo? because i don’t think it will.”

____________________________________

A/N okay, so this fic idea has been on my mind since i watched sasha’s death and we met onyankopon (it was easier to add another black character, not like that will stop me). and i am fucking obsessed with eren and levi. i will continue this cause i fucking love this anime/manga. i will be following closer to the manga though, so like yeah. i also had a short reiner fic in mind, but that won’t be a series like this one will be. let me know what you think

part two

[tangent101]

Pricefield Dabbles

I found this list of “send me a ship idea” from @writsgrimmyblog and realized I could answer most of these for Pricefield! So... here we go! =^-^=

1. Who makes the first move and how? 

Max Caulfield after being dared by Chloe to kiss her now.

2. Who is the most insecure and what makes them feel better? 

It would be easy to claim Max, but to be honest both are equally insecure. Chloe is just better at hiding it except when things really start to pile up. What used to make Max feel more secure was taking photographs, at least before someone went and fucked that all up for Max. Now? Chloe helps Max feel better. As for Chloe... sappy as it sounds, Max helps her feel better. When you play LiS you see her slowly calm down and heal over the five days you see them together. Max is very much the catalyst for Chloe’s growth and healing.

3. Who is the most romantic? 

That depends on how you define “romantic.” But the person most likely to indulge on a whim to show the other how she feels is Chloe. Max is more likely to show her affection through physical actions - little kisses, spontaneous hugs, and the like... but Chloe loves the more sweeping gestures. Dragging Max out to a club to go dancing, making her dinner, or even bringing her to an art museum because Max commented on some artist who’s being exhibited there.

4. Who can’t keep their hands to themselves? 

It’s about equal. Chloe has no sense of personal space and is very bouncy. If she gets excited and enthusiastic she’s all over Max. But it’s Max who is more spontaneous and physically romantic with hugs and eventually kisses. Seriously, in LiS it’s Max who initiates the kisses we see, and I suspect that never truly changes for these two.

5. Who says ‘I love you’ first? 

Chloe. But it’s casual. The first person to say it in a tone that gets the other to blush and bite her lip is Max.

6. Who would they ask if they ever had a threesome? 

Steph. Max never met her as far as we know, but she was likely in college when the events of LiS happened. (Damn it, now I have another idea for a fanfic! Not a threesome, but for where Max and Chloe end up soon after the end of LiS....) Steph is very much a geek and Chloe likes and even trusts her. I could easily see Max becoming good friends with her as well.

While there are a lot of folk who’s want to see Rachel with them... well, even if Rachel were available, Max would feel entirely too self-conscious and feel that Chloe would be better off with Rachel. It wouldn’t work out without something to initially draw Max and Rachel together and then the two of them reaching out to Chloe. So with an existing Pricefield dynamic? Amberpricefield isn’t happening.

7. What do they get up to on a night out? 

They probably relax and enjoy each other’s company, helping each other in the kitchen cooking after a hard day working crappy jobs while trying to get Max’s pictures out there.

8. What do they like in bed? 

Cuddling. Sex is great and all that but just being together, touching each other gently, looking in each other’s eyes... realizing they’re together on a grand adventure called life and yeah it sucks at times and they miss those they left behind but... they’re together. That’s what’s important.

9. What's the most embarrassing thing they've done in front of each other?

Deliberately or accidentally?

Max would say the time she tried to do a striptease in front of Chloe and ended up falling on her ass because she had trouble getting out of the tummy-control nylons she picked up rather than stockings which you can take off one leg at a time. 

Chloe would claim she has no sense of shame but she probably feels rather wretched about some of the times Max ended up holding Chloe’s hair out of her face when she got shitfaced drunk and was worshiping the porcelain throne (and that’s one reason why she used to cut her hair short, damn it!)

As for accidentally? Walking in on each other when someone was... scratching an itch in the shower, shall we say? Though there was also a certain thrill to that so it might have become a game at times....

10. What two songs, two books and two luxury items do they take to a desert island? 

For Songs? Syd Matters "Obstacles" (Max absolutely loves this song), and oddly enough “Paradise by the Dashboard Light” by Meatloaf (for Chloe at least, Max hates the ending of that song).

For Books? Chloe loves the Lord of the Rings. Max is amusingly enough into Jane Austin’s Pride and Prejudice.

And luxury items? A solar-powered laptop with a huge screen and hundreds of movies downloaded into it, and a solar-powered fridge stuffed full of food and booze (Chloe said the second part. Actually she mentioned the laptop as well and even added “solar-powered” seeing she’s a bit of a geek under her at-times punk exterior).  

11. What do they hide from one another? 

Chloe hides the fact that at times she wishes Max could have saved Rachel, somehow. But she’s never going to ask as she doesn’t want Max to get hurt. As for Max? She hides that she still hears that bastard’s comment of “always take the shot” when she takes a picture and that at times it fucks up an otherwise perfectly fine photograph even though that bastard is rotting in jail.

12. What first changes when it starts getting serious? 

Max loses her nervousness. Seriously, when things get tough she suddenly hardens and becomes “SuperMax” and pushes up her sleeves. Chloe is very impressed with her and loves her to pieces, but also doesn’t want to see Max go through something like that again as afterward Max does fall to pieces and Chloe doesn’t like seeing her hurt. As for Chloe? She actually takes a backseat and does whatever Max tells her to. She trusts Max. 

13. When do they realize they should get together? 

They realized it when swimming in Blackwell’s swimming pool after the school was shut down for the night. But neither thought the other felt the same way. When Chloe watched Max strip down to jump into the pool she had to look away as she realized she was enjoying watching Max undress and Max... Max was talking in the pool and just... realized. She wants Chloe to remain by her side. Always. The kiss the next day in Chloe’s bedroom just was icing on the cake, even if it took them a couple more days to become “official” in each other’s eyes.

14. When one has a cold, what does the other do? 

Chloe makes a homemade soup for Max. She’s actually gotten fairly decent with her soups and experiments with various recipes. She then babies Max even as Max is all surly and insisting she doesn’t need to do this.

When Chloe inevitably gets ill afterward, Max repays the favor with the rest of the soup (Chloe’s realized that she usually gets sick afterward and has taken to making enough for a week at that point) while hiding her own symptoms as she’s still suffering a bit from her cold. But she’s not going to let Chloe know that because otherwise Chloe will push herself too hard!

15. When they watch a film what do they choose and why?  Who gets the final vote?

Bladerunner (the director’s cut). It’s their favorite. And it’s always unanimous. Though sometimes they indulge themselves with lighter fare like Princess Bride or Labyrinth. Or even Lord of the Rings because Chloe is a secret Tolkien fangirl

16. When the zombie apocalypse comes, how do they cope together? 

Max warns Chloe a couple days ahead of time and they get as much canned goods and the like as they can and then “go camping” - they end up far outside of the cities and someplace defensible until the military or cold weather ends up taking care of the zombies. 

17. When they find a time machine, where do they go? 

Yeah... no. No playing with time. Not anymore. Well, unless they met the Doctor at which point they go wherever the Doctor suggests because it’s the freaking Doctor, of course they’re going to go with her!

18. When they fight, how do they make up? 

Max shrinks in on herself and looks all hurt and Chloe just... she gets flustered and starts apologizing and then they start apologizing to each other and finally start laughing as the silliness of apologizing for “making” the other apologize just gets to them.

19. Where do they go on their first date? 

That depends on what you consider a “date” - I mean, that Blackwell swimming pool could have been a “date” after all. But their first real date after leaving Arcadia Bay? Chloe saw a little restaurant on the side of the road and then smiled, looked at Max, said “hey, how’d you like to go out for dinner? Just the two of us, and our stolen Blackwell money...” and Max blushed and said “we really shouldn’t spend it unless we have to” and Chloe just sweet-talked her into it and the food was only halfway decent but it was being together that just made it work for each other.

20. Where do they go on holiday? 

They’re kind of working retail and the like in hopes of getting Max’s photographs to various galleries. So there’s no actual holidays per say. But they have plans for Paris, one day. And they visited Chloe’s step-dad in Arizona and that went surprisingly well, David stopped being a step-douche and has kind of become a second dad for Chloe, and loves both Chloe and Max. Oh, it wasn’t all roses and the like, but it was David who reached out to them, and Max helped talk Chloe into visiting and giving David a chance. It worked out.

21. Where do they get nervous about going with one another? 

Chloe always gets nervous about going to a gallery with Max. She tried bleaching the blue out of her hair but... well, that just turned it into a mottled pale blue-green that she’s now just growing out and she’d have hacked it off by now but Max actually likes her hair longer so Chloe’s been putting it off. She still feels nervous going into art galleries and the like, she’s blacked out her sleeve tattoo with a black sharpy and is dressing less punk these days while trying to fit in with Max. But she still feels like an outsider at times.

As for Max? She’s nervous whenever they go into a club or go dancing. She thinks she can’t dance and that there are lots of girls better than her but... Chloe loves her. So she goes outside her comfort zone for Chloe. And enjoys herself. 

22. Where does their first kiss happen? 

Chloe and Max were in Chloe’s old bedroom and Chloe double-dog-dared Max to kiss her. Max did so. Chloe was very shocked and pulled away (useless lesbian that she is). Their next kiss (multiple kisses) was a couple days after they left Arcadia Bay.

23. Where is their favourite place to be together? 

To be honest? The place doesn’t matter. What matters is just... being together. 

24. Where do they first have sex? 

In Chloe’s truck a couple weeks after having left Arcadia Bay, and then finding a motel room because a truck isn’t exactly the most comfortable of places to have sex in, especially an older truck like Chloe’s was.

25. Why do they fight? 

Chloe thinks Max is pushing herself too hard and refuses to accept that she is talented. Max gets annoyed because Chloe just stacks dirty dishes in the sink rather than on the counter because if they’re all in the sink then you can’t wash them you have to take them out and Chloe just stacks more dishes on the counter next and... yeah.

26. Why do they need to have a serious chat? 

It was about Chloe’s step-dad. Chloe wanted nothing to do with him after they left Arcadia Bay. It didn’t matter that David helped in dealing with the Dark Room situation, Chloe had too many memories of David hitting her, and blaming herself for instigating David at times though that doesn’t forgive David’s actions damn it! But... Max insisted. She talked to Chloe about David, and about how Chloe’s mom allowed this to happen and blamed Chloe instead... and even about how she should forgive David and move on. 

In the end? Chloe feels a lot better about listening to Max. David will never replace William. But he’s kind of stopped being her step-dad and is more her real dad now. Enough at least that Chloe’s the one who calls David.

27. Why do their friends get annoyed with them? 

Chloe will blow off plans to get together because she doesn’t want to. Sometimes it’s because Chloe is exhausted after working retail and they are trying to make ends meet but... yeah. And Max? Oh Max, we love you dearly but will you start actually believing in yourself more? You’re a talented photographer and when Victoria or Steph tell you you’re good, just accept it rather than try to insist they’re wrong. *shakes head*

28. Why do they get jealous? 

Max remains jealous of Rachel to this day. And she does get a bit miffed when Chloe compares Max to Rachel because Rachel was so much more awesome than Max is and is Chloe wanting Rachel by her side instead of Max? 

As for Chloe? She’s scared that Max regrets her choices and will leave. She is so scared of being abandoned. Max left for five years... yeah, it wasn’t Max’s choice, her parents moved away when she was only 13, but part of her feels that Max could have made more of an effort to remain in touch even as she realizes she in turn could have. And she’s scared Max will find someone else.  

29. Why do they fall a little bit more in love? 

Chloe sees Max doing something, be it suddenly geeking out over a perfect photography opportunity or a bit of art or even just a computer game, and her heart just... contracts. At times she has to restrain herself from spontaneously hugging Max, especially if Max was geeking out while taking photographs as she doesn’t want to ruin a perfect shot. 

As for Max? Waking up and seeing Chloe sleeping next to her... she falls in love deeper and deeper every day.

30. Why does it work (or not work) between them?

Because they’re Max and Chloe. And they’ll always be together. Always.

[warau-okami]

Why so many Japanese children refuse to go to school

By Alessia Cerantola BBC World Service

In Japan, more and more children are refusing to go to school, a phenomenon called "futoko". As the numbers keep rising, people are asking if it's a reflection of the school system, rather than a problem with the pupils themselves.

Ten-year-old Yuta Ito waited until the annual Golden Week holiday last spring to tell his parents how he was feeling - on a family day out he confessed that he no longer wanted to go to school.

For months he had been attending his primary school with great reluctance, often refusing to go at all. He was being bullied and kept fighting with his classmates.

His parents then had three choices: get Yuta to attend school counselling in the hope things would improve, home-school him, or send him to a free school. They chose the last option.

Now Yuta spends his school days doing whatever he wants - and he's much happier.

Yuta is one of Japan's many futoko, defined by Japan's education ministry as children who don't go to school for more than 30 days, for reasons unrelated to health or finances.

The term has been variously translated as absenteeism, truancy, school phobia or school refusal.

Attitudes to futoko have changed over the decades. Until 1992 school refusal - then called tokokyoshi, meaning resistance - was considered a type of mental illness. But in 1997 the terminology changed to the more neutral futoko, meaning non-attendance.

On 17 October, the government announced that absenteeism among elementary and junior high school students had hit a record high, with 164,528 children absent for 30 days or more during 2018, up from 144,031 in 2017.

The free school movement started in Japan in the 1980s, in response to the growing number of futoko. They're alternative schools that operate on principles of freedom and individuality.

They're an accepted alternative to compulsory education, along with home-schooling, but won't give children a recognised qualification.

The number of students attending free or alternative schools instead of regular schools has shot up over the years, from 7,424 in 1992 to 20,346 in 2017.

Dropping out of school can have long-term consequences, and there is a high risk that young people can withdraw from society entirely and shut themselves away in their rooms - a phenomenon known as hikikomori.

More worrying still is the number of pupils who take their own lives. In 2018, the number of school suicides was the highest in 30 years, with 332 cases.

In 2016 the rising number of student suicides led the Japanese government to pass a suicide prevention act with special recommendations for schools.

So why are so many children avoiding school in Japan?

Family circumstances, personal issues with friends, and bullying are among the main causes, according to a survey by the ministry of education.

In general, the dropouts reported that they didn't get along with other students, or sometimes with the teachers.

That was also the case for Tomoe Morihashi.

"I didn't feel comfortable with many people," says the 12-year-old. "School life was painful."

Tomoe suffered from selective mutism, which affected her whenever she was out in public.

"I couldn't speak outside my home or away from my family," she says.

And she found it hard to obey the rigid set of rules that govern Japanese schools.

"Tights must not be coloured, hair must not be dyed, the colour of hair elastics is fixed, and they must not be worn on the wrist," she says.

Many schools in Japan control every aspect of their pupils' appearance, forcing pupils to dye their brown hair black, or not allowing pupils to wear tights or coats, even in cold weather. In some cases they even decide on the colour of pupils' underwear.

Strict school rules were introduced in the 1970s and 1980s in response to violence and bullying. They relaxed in the 1990s but have become more severe recently.

These regulations are known as "black school rules", reflecting a popular term used to describe companies that exploit their workers.

Now Tomoe, like Yuta, attends Tamagawa Free School in Tokyo where students don't need to wear a uniform and are free to choose their own activities, according to a plan agreed between the school, parents and pupils. They are encouraged to follow their individual skills and interests.

There are rooms with computers for Japanese and maths classes and a library with books and mangas (Japanese comic books).

The atmosphere is very informal, like a big family. Students meet in common spaces to chat and play together.

"The purpose of this school is to develop people's social skills," says Takashi Yoshikawa, the head of the school.

Whether it's through exercising, playing games or studying, the important thing is to learn not to panic when they're in a large group.

The school recently moved to a larger space, and about 10 children attend every day.

Mr Yoshikawa opened his first free school in 2010, in a three-storey apartment in Tokyo's residential neighbourhood of Fuchu.

"I expected students over 15 years old, but actually those who came were only seven or eight years old," he says. "Most were silent with selective mutism, and at school they didn't do anything."

Mr Yoshikawa believes that communication problems are at the root of most students' school refusal.

His own journey into education was unusual. He quit his job as a "salary man" in a Japanese company in his early 40s, when he decided he wasn't interested in climbing the career ladder. His father was a doctor, and like him, he wanted to serve his community, so he became a social worker and foster father.

The experience opened his eyes to the problems children face. He realised how many students suffered because they were poor, or victims of domestic abuse, and how much this affected their performance at school.

Part of the challenge pupils face is the big class sizes, says Prof Ryo Uchida, an education expert at Nagoya University.

"In classrooms with about 40 students who have to spend a year together, many things can happen," he says.

Prof Uchida says comradeship is the key ingredient to surviving life in Japan because the population density is so high - if you don't get along and co-ordinate with others, you won't survive. This not only applies to schools, but also to public transport and other public spaces, all of which are overcrowded.

But for many students this need to conform is a problem. They don't feel comfortable in overcrowded classrooms where they have to do everything together with their classmates in a small space.

"Feeling uncomfortable in such a situation is normal," says Prof Uchida.

What's more, in Japan, children stay in the same class from year to year, so if problems occur, going to school can become painful.

"In that sense, the support provided for example by free schools is very meaningful," Prof Uchida says. "In free schools, they care less about the group and they tend to value the thoughts and feelings of each single student."

But although free schools are providing an alternative, the problems within the education system itself remain an issue. For Prof Uchida, not developing students' diversity is a violation of their human rights - and many agree.

Criticism of "black school rules" and the Japanese school environment is increasing nationwide. In a recent column the Tokyo Shimbun newspaper described them as a violation of human rights and an obstacle to student diversity.

In August, the campaign group "Black kosoku o nakuso! Project" [Let's get rid of black school rules!] submitted an online petition to the education ministry signed by more than 60,000 people, asking for an investigation into unreasonable school rules. Osaka Prefecture ordered all of its high schools to review their rules, with about 40% of schools making changes.

Prof Uchida says the education ministry now appears to accept absenteeism not as an anomaly, but a trend. He sees this as a tacit admission that futoko children are not the problem but that they are reacting to an education system that is failing to provide a welcoming environment.

[themurphyzone]

PatB Oneshot: Thunderous

Summary: Brain understands the scientific reason behind thunderstorms. Unfortunately, reason doesn’t always work against fear, no matter how much he denies it.

FFN Link

The lightning flashes, touching the world with a brilliant white glow. The blinding light is swift and merciless.

Atmospheric discharge, Brain scolds himself for shielding his eyes. It’s only natural for mice to want darkness while they sleep.

Multiple lightning strikes.

Alone. Metal. Blinding.

No escape. No mercy. Nothing except all-consuming terror.

The large, furless hand presses him against a cold surface. A switch is flipped and the overhead light blinds him instantly. He’s helpless and vulnerable, but poked and prodded and jabbed anyway.

His stomach lurches, and he brings his knees up to quell the unpleasant feeling.

Curling into a ball is far safer. Less exposed. He can account for his limbs this way. He clutches his stiff, crooked tail between his trembling hands. They always went for the tail, those humans.

It was flesh and blood and bone like the rest of him, but they didn’t care.

A rumbling comes soon after. At first, it’s nothing more than a low growl. Then it increases, louder and louder until a furious snarl deafens him and rattles the shadow-covered walls.

His stomach lurches against his will.

Air compression, Brain searches his memory for the textbook passages on meteorology. Warm fronts, cold fronts, density.  

But it’s an exercise in futility. His memory fails.

He wrings his tail, aware that he could break it more but he can’t stop. He’s intelligent. He’s supposed to think. But he can’t. The terror cruelly blocks him from thinking.

An instinctive squeak rises from his throat. He pushes it down. He no longer speaks the language of primitive mice. He has the ability to reason, to think, to explain. There’s no room for baser instincts in this new, confusing world.

Pinky stirs from the other straw bed. Brain hears his narfs, imagines Pinky stretching his entire body like a spoiled cat before settling into a new position. Pinky’s long tail flicks against Brain’s shoulder. He considers swatting it, but there’s another forceful boom and the thought quickly dies away.

He’s locked into this vulnerable ball now. If he uncurls, he’ll be swept away.

He’s facing away from Pinky, but he’s not sure if that’s a consolation. The intelligent side tells him to hide all weaknesses. But his instincts tell him to pull warmth from any available source.

He’s old enough to regulate his body temperature by himself. He doesn’t need help.

Snowball doesn’t count. The hamster was as cold as his name implied.

There’s a soft pressure against his head, and his ear twitches as Pinky hums and curls his lanky body around Brain. It’s not unusual for him to come and invade Brain’s bed even though Pinky’s own designated sleeping area looks the same, albeit somewhat messier.

Brain untucks one foot and tries to push Pinky off his bed. Somehow, he finds the strength to allow one limb out in the open. But it’s like pushing against a fuzzy brick wall.

Pinky snorts, and Brain can practically feel the smile against his fur.

It’s like pushing a fuzzy, ticklish brick wall then.

A long growl sounds from above, and Brain quickly pulls his foot in. His shoulders tense and his heartbeat quickens, but Pinky tightens his embrace before the thunderclap reaches its climax.

Pinky’s breathing is even and calm, his chest gently rising and falling against Brain’s back. Brain tries to match it.

It’s difficult, but he manages.

Slowly, Brain lets go of his tail. It falls back into a more natural position. He takes Pinky’s hands instead.

He hasn’t known Pinky for long, but his unreasonable instincts tell him that if he lets go, nobody will anchor him against the storm.

o-o-o-o-o

He’s two years old now.

A thunderstorm is either an obstacle or an instrument in his plans. His intelligence is unmatched, and he quells his childhood fears through sheer willpower.

There’s an unusually severe thunderstorm tonight. Brain draws up a more complicated and elaborate plan for another tomorrow night, believing it’s unwise to leave the lab in this weather. For once, self-preservation outweighs his reckless impatience for world domination.

Lightning flashes. Thunder rumbles.

Pinky is close by. The idiot plays with toys designed for a human infant’s developmental level. He doesn’t realize the heart-shaped block can’t fit in the circle-shaped hole. But he tries anyway.

Brain folds the elaborate blueprint and sets it aside.

A thunderclap takes him by surprise. His stomach lurches in that familiar, unpleasant way again. The walls shake, and for a fleeting second Brain believes the lab will collapse from the weight of the downpour.

Pinky shifts his position and leans against Brain’s head, singing some inane tune about an old man who bumped his head on a waterspout and made friends with an itsy bitsy spider. He still hasn’t given up on the ill-fitting shapes.  

Brain rolls his eyes and pushes back, refusing to support any more than half of Pinky’s body weight. He reaches for his nearby notepad and pencil, ready to draft another plot of world domination.

Let the lightning and thunder come.

He’s anchored, after all.

A/N: Inspiration comes from a combo of a similar scene in Friends? by skimmingsurfaces (again, I cannot recommend their fics enough) and how we’ve had a few scattered thunderstorms in my area recently. Brain’s used storms in his plans before but I really really really love the idea that he has a fear of them if they’re big enough.  

[elmidol]

Tenacity and Rebirth

Three Blind Tooke Part Three Death Is An Art

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Three Blind Tooke 

 Part Three: Death is an Art

 Chapter Sixty-Two: Tenacity and Rebirth

 If not for you,

I could never survive

This one moment,

The most painful of my life.

 The chaos of battle was not a new experience for you, although the change in perspective remained a novelty. Too accustomed had you grown to observing the carnage through the lens of your scope. In that moment, you would not have traded your position for anything in the world--that would have stolen you away from the nearer proximity to Kylo. Your grip on the lightsaber that had belonged to his mother tightened. The ground under your cheek shook as the planet itself was assaulted by blasts from weapons of war. You stumbled, regained your footing, and surged towards the Force users. Finn and the Knights of Ren had also taken paths to bring themselves closer to Kylo Ren, Rey, and Not-Rey. Other Force users that had--stupidly, you thought--aligned themselves with the First Order worked to thwart these actions. If not for them, Finn might have been at Rey’s side when Not-Rey and Kylo both called upon the Force to knock her back several paces. Her body hit the ground, albeit not as hard as it might have had she not recovered enough to use the Force to lessen the impact.

 What you were working to do would be suicide. Someone yelled that to you--a Knight, an officer, a stormtrooper, a Resistance member, you did not know. It hardly mattered. You would not stop running towards Kylo Ren. A body slamming into yours rendered that statement a lie. You and the assailant landed on the ground. Rolling, you quickly activated Leia’s lightsaber and used the plasma blade to impale their throat. The blaster that would have been used to kill you, that had been on a trail to meet your gut, tumbled out of their grasp as their floundered, perished. You deactivated the blade in unison with pushing yourself back up onto your feet. Winded, you mentally swore at the delay that this had caused.

 Fissures were forming in the ground at each clash of Not-Rey and Kylo’s blades. The power swirling about them had kicked up a wind that lifted pebbles, stones that were the size of fists. You suddenly wished that you had grabbed your helmet for protection. There was no undoing the past, however, and so you simply changed course. Rey had heightened reflexes, which meant that if you were beside her, you stood a greater chance of succeeding. In the interim, you endured those pebbles cutting into you, beating you, bruising you and drawing blood.

 Rey, possibly sensing you, paused until you were only a few feet away--in hearing range, which allowed you to heed her words. “He’s so cold. I haven’t felt anything like this since… I was small and on Jakku.” She shuddered, the shiver not from the weather. Its emphasis on what she had said made you hold your breath for a beat. The pair of you activated your lightsabers, two Skywalker blades that were meant to protect the last of that bloodline. You followed along a few steps behind her, mimicking her actions to effectively dodge any projectiles as well as deflect First Order soldiers that successfully broke through all obstacles and arrived where the pair of you were.

 You readjusted your grip on the lightsaber that was in your possession. You knew that your fighting stance was incorrect; you had never before wielded such a weapon, and, yes, a part of you did fear it. You recalled how it felt to be injured by the plasma. Knew the impact it had. You were concerned that it would ricochet into you, that you would lose a limb. That you would fail Kylo. Yet the timorous voice in your head that preached these potential failures was one you disregarded as you pushed onward.

 Rey linked an arm into yours, yanking you out of the way of one blaster bolt, released you, and used the Force to stop a second that would have pierced the both of you--you in the arm and her in the clavicle. You bared your teeth, looking in the direction from whence it had come. This allowed you to also check on Cardo’s status. The medic remained kneeling over him, two other Knights of Ren nearby, keeping away foes. As Rey turned on her heel to refocus on the task of joining Kylo, you looked to Not-Rey. They looked so alike, Rey and Not-Rey; and as the Darkness in Kylo grew there were shadows forming on Rey’s face. As though this might drown her, the bond they shared in the Force threatening to crush both. Watching her in the corner of your eye, however, you could not help but note that there was also a Light that refused to go out. Instead it grew brighter in the face of Darkness. If one went to an extreme, the other shifted to encompass its opposite on the spectrum. The Force balanced itself by using these two.

 Not-Rey and Kylo were thrust back from one another after a coupling of their blades temporarily linked them and they both called on the Force for more strength. It was Not-Rey that drew nearer to the two of you as a result. Rey locked blades with her family member, and you ran past her towards the amber-eyed man that was not bothering to look at you. His hand surged forward when you were near to him, and you were tugged into his grasp. Still his eyes did not consider you. You clutched at his hand with both of yours, which took additional effort as you fought to keep hold of the lightsaber that was in your possession.

 “Kylo!” you growled out, weakly slamming the metal of the weapon’s hilt against his wrist. That did earn his attention. He lowered you so that your feet were once more on the ground, however he did not release you. He barely lessened his hold. “I’m on your side.”

 “Are you?” The challenge was punctuated by additional pressure from his thumb. Another bruise, you passively thought. His eyes roamed along your face, drinking in your expression for signs of deceit. Finding none, Kylo did at last remove his hand from your throat. You staggered forward, managing to catch yourself before you could collide into him. “I will kill her.”

 “That’s fine! I just don’t want you to kill Rey!” It was infuriating but understandable, his entire attitude. The coolness of his gaze sent an icy chill through you, and now you shuddered just as Rey had when she had sensed the changes he was undergoing. You felt some of it, and yet it was different--because you felt his emotions as well, felt his loss; and because you loved him. “I…” You scanned the various skirmishes taking place nearby, and in truth you were surprised that Kylo as giving you the time to do so. That he was not actively pursuing Rey and Not-Rey. Your very presence aided in leveling him out. It helped him to center himself. “If Finn is here, he can help me keep Rey away.” Finn would understand and would agree. This was not about hurting Rey. It was saving her and others. Not-Rey had made her decision and would not stop until she was killed. The same blood that ran through their veins was a curse, nothing more.

 Kylo nodded in assent, his eyes momentarily darting to Not-Rey. Then he half-turned so as to engage the nearest First Order soldiers that were preventing Finn from getting closer. It was as though they had understood that keeping him away from Rey aided the First Order. It kept Not-Rey alive, which sealed the deaths of Order of Ren and Resistance members alike. The red blade cut through two enemies before you could even injure a single target. Kylo was faster, adrenaline and hatred equally fueling him. Another enemy impaled simultaneous to a different individual being crushed with the Force. Finn, perhaps sensing the enclosing Darkness, pivoted. His wide eyes returned to normal immediately upon seeing you. The two of you nodded at one another in understanding.

 Together, the three of you cut through the First Order enemies that had kept you apart. You spoke to him, quickly explaining the plan; Finn nodded the entire time, verbally agreeing though he wore a pained expression near the end. Neither of you wanted to hurt Rey. It did not matter that there was no way around this. Nothing was going to lessen the blow.

 “As soon as we take care of her, I can use a comlink to get hold of Rose or Poe.” A truce, you understood. A way to relay to the remainder of the Resistance that the only enemy to pursue was the First Order. You glanced towards Kylo only to find that he was no longer paying attention. “I know it will happen.” Finn was not relying on Kylo, but on you. You pinched your lips into a thin line, feeling simultaneously confident and helpless. “Ren?”

 In slow motion, Kylo met Finn’s gaze, which briefly narrowed. Kylo nodded. You understood nothing, which frustrated you. There was no time to dwell on these thoughts, however, as both men began to head for Rey and Not-Rey. Licking your lips, wincing at the injuries you were beginning to feel, you moved to join them. Because he was not locked in battle with Not-Rey, Kylo Ren was not exuded as much Darkness, which meant there were less stones in the air. Less things cutting into you. Your fatigued body screamed for you to stop, but you would not listen. You could not rest. You would assist Finn in convincing Rey that she had to keep back away from her relative.

 How could you explain that blood did not determine family? This was what she had longed for, and you could well remember the ache you had felt when you had believed you had lost your entire family.

 Rey reached a hand towards the three of you, and it felt as though you had walked straight into a wall. Perhaps you would have been thrown backwards had Kylo and Finn not sensed what she was doing and each raised a hand to deflect her power. Maker, you despised how the Force could be used against you. Wiping sweat off your brow with an arm, you resumed walking to her and endured her glare while offering one of your own. Finn caught her blade on the end of his. Not that she had swung in earnest; she had known she would not harm him, but had given into frustration all the same.

 “No!” she screamed as Kylo Ren took her former position, engaging Not-Rey. You held a hand behind your back, felt the hilt of the lightsaber wobbling, and opened your fingers. Leia’s lightsaber returned to her son so that he could kill the woman that had assisted in her execution. “No!” This shout from Rey was weaker, and she dropped down to her knees.

 Your heart ached at the sight of her tears. Finn glanced at you, sending the message that he had to remain alert, ready to stop her should Rey leap up. Telling you that he had to remain on his feet so as to fight any foe that approached. You, on the other hand, could lower yourself to the ground and join Rey. You placed both of your hands atop hers. She curled her hands into fists, her glare harsher, crueler, a flicker of hatred piercing you.

 “Who that woman is doesn’t define you,” you said, not even sure where the words were coming from. Kylo? Finn? Rey? Yourself? “I’m so sorry, Rey. I…”

 “Just...don’t.” She shook her head, allowing the first of her tears to fall. “There is nothing you can say...nothing…” Her voice caught in her throat. You nodded, respecting her wishes. Looked over her shoulder towards Cardo. Could not tell if he was still alive. Did not know if Kylo Ren had lost a member of his blood family and found family on the same day.

 The cacophony of battle dwindled to a low buzz as your mind worked to shield you from anything that was not Rey or Cardo or Kylo. Yet even for those important individuals, you discovered that your attention wavered. Remaining in place yielded the result of an adrenaline decrease. Exhaustion began to work through your limbs. Injuries screamed, demanding your attention. Chest heaving, you greedily drank in air while searching Rey’s face with your eyes then your hands when you could not be certain there were no hallucinations. Rey did not bat away the limbs. The intended targets of touch were the shadows that played along her countenance. These traces of darkness assisted in amplifying the similarities between her and Not-Rey.

 Rey enveloped you in her arms and buried her face in the crook of your neck. Her hands were in constant motion. She was reaching with the Force and using that power to aid Finn in halting potential injury to any of the three of you. You placed both of your hands on her back. Returned the embrace and remembered how she had done the same for you when she had agreed to remain behind on the day of Snoke’s demise. She had stayed for you. The two of you had never met before that, not officially, and yet she had felt in the Force that connection. With Not-Rey, you could tell, it was solely because of the blood they shared and Rey’s desire to find her family that she struggled with. She knew that there was no connection beyond that, that Not-Rey would kill her with little to no thought if given the chance. She had been sold by her family, a kind of rejection that she had not been fully old enough to comprehend at the time. Now she had been rejected again.

 As much as you wanted to tell her that it would be okay, you were afraid that fate would prove you a liar. Leia had already fallen in this battle. Cardo could be on the way to losing his life as well. So many potential deaths.

 “I can feel something,” she murmured. Finn made a noise of agreement. 

 This interaction prompted you to look back at Kylo Ren, who had been joined by Vicrul. Not-Rey caught Leia’s blade on one side of her own weapon then Kylo’s on the other. At that angle of the blades, her only move to fully disengage without injury would have been to push backwards. That was where Vicrul’s presence assisted Kylo. The Knight had his weapon at the ready; the scythe, from what you had been told, he used to tear the souls out of enemies to augment his own power. If Not-Rey thrust herself away from Kylo, her flesh would be caught on its sharpened blade.

 There was a moment wherein Kylo Ren and Vicrul shared a look. Despite his mask, Vicrul was able to be read by Kylo. The exchange would have been easy to miss if you had not been paying such close attention. Not-Rey, too, was not oblivious to what had happened. Her face broke out in a snarl and she released a scream of rage. The Force swirled around them as it had before. Rey shuddered, trembling against you as the Dark power rose in both Not-Rey and Kylo. Perhaps in Vicrul as well, although you could not be certain.

 You were forced to shield your eyes with one hand, which obscured a part of your vision. The three warriors shifted, Not-Rey trapped despite the way she called on the Force for aid. Her next shriek was also one of rage yet it contained pain as well. The sound reverberated through you with how the wail seemed to be sucked into a void. Rey’s head snapped upwards. It caught you in the chin, and you rubbed at your jaw, sucked on your bloodied tongue, which you had bitten upon impact. Together with Rey, you rose shakily to your feet and stared.

 Vicrul’s scythe had been thrust through Not-Rey from back to front. Kylo Ren had released his hold on both lightsabers. It was Vicrul who held them. And it was Kylo who had a hand hovering over the tip of the scythe, which meant that he had used the Force to drag it through her. Kylo Ren himself had been the one to kill Not-Rey, and there was something in you that stirred. A sense of awe and of concern. The premonition that it would be revealed he had absorbed Not-Rey’s essence. Be it her soul or her power only, it did not matter. This potential precognitive realization meant little. It did not change the feelings you had for him nor the relief that Not-Rey was dead.

 Finn gave your shoulder a pat. Your knees began to buckle, nearly giving out completely on you. Rey and Finn each grabbed one of your arms to keep you from collapsing. “Give me a moment to find a comlink. I need to get in contact with Rose or Poe.” He took another moment before stepping away. Before that he, like you, had watched as Kylo yanked his hand backwards and drawn the scythe the remainder of the way through. Then Kylo had traded weapons with Vicrul again, both men setting off in different directions to cut through more First Order foes.

 “We’re sitting ducks here if we stay,” you said, trying to work through the various routes things could go. Hux would easily be able to eliminate the majority of the Order of Ren leadership along with the Resistance. You doubted, despite this, that he was sitting up there where he could be killed. That was not his style; there was taking risks, and then there was being foolish. After witnessing the display of Kylo Ren’s power with the deaths of the ysalamir, Supreme Leader Hux would aim to kill the man with technology yet he would not bank on a full victory on this day. You tilted back your head and scanned the skies.

 Order of Ren and Resistance starfighters slowly disengaged from battling one another in favor of allying themselves against what First Order ships remained. There were more casualties as the news was relayed, delays occurring alongside miscommunication. You felt your stomach swoop and plummet with each death that you witnessed. As those starfighters cut through the enemy, there were transports arriving on the planet for both the Order of Ren and the Resistance. The Night Buzzard had been brought in closer, landing where Cardo could be carted inside along with the medic and nearby Knights. Vicrul and Kylo remained on the ground, neither reacting as the Night Buzzard lifted for a second time. This time it headed towards the sky, towards escape. The Millennium Falcon blasted a First Order TIE that had started pursuit. You breathed a sigh of relief. Heard Rey whisper that Chewbacca, Poe, and Rose were all aboard that vessel.

 The temporary alliance was more clear to you as your mind processed what you had seen in regards to the Knights of Ren ship; a Resistance fighter had also gone up the ramp. They had been holding supplies for the field medic, had been working to help keep Cardo alive. Likewise, several Order of Ren officers and stormtroopers boarded a Resistance transport that was on the ground. The soldiers worked together to kill First Order troops and allies.

 Looking away, you began a search for Kylo and thus learned that his path was taking him to his mother’s body. You tiredly started forward in pursuit. Rey walked a mere two feet behind. Her lightsaber hummed, its blade screeching whenever it was assaulted with a barrage of blaster bolts that it then deflected. Finn was headed in the same direction. So, too, was the Millennium Falcon. Kylo Ren reached Leia first, and by the time you arrived to join him, he had already lowered himself long enough to scoop her up into his arms. He hugged her tightly against his chest, which heaved but a single time. Other than that he displayed no signs of despair--nothing typical, that is, since the color of his eyes betrayed how her death continued to shake him.

 “We’re leaving?” You were fairly certain that you already possessed the answer to the inquiry, however you refused to take for granted that he could give into his rage once more. Kylo’s gaze flicked to you, considered Rey and Finn, and then he twisted so as to locate the Millennium Falcon. The ship was beginning its descent though it was not powering down its engines in a way to suggest its pilot planned a prolonged touchdown. Kylo stepped in the direction of the ship. Its ramp was lowering, and Chewbacca was visible in the formed opening. His despair was vocalized in a bellow that nearly dropped you down onto your knees. Tears sprang to your eyes; they were the ones that you had somehow managed to choke back when all the others had fallen.

 The back of your arm served as a tool with which you wiped away the liquid from your face. Rey had her free hand on the small of your back, urging you forward. Even as he walked, Kylo turned and called to Vicrul a command that the body of Not-Rey be collected. You wondered if this was so that he could study her or if it was to reduce her to ash as part of his new collection. Whichever the case, his words impacted Rey. Her fingers twitched enough that you felt them jump along your spine.

 Chewbacca reached out for Leia, yet Kylo did not oblige this silent request. He clutched his mother, altering how he held her so that he could use one hand to grab onto Chewie, who tugged him aboard the Falcon. The familiarity between the two struck you. How had you taken for granted that this wookie was, in a way, also part of Kylo Ren’s childhood family?

 Finn was next to board the Falcon. He turned around and, along with Chewbacca, seized your tired arms and dragged up into the ship. Rey used the Force to jump higher than a non-Force sensitive could, which was not much different than what Finn had accomplished.

 In order to relocate Kylo for what felt like the millionth time in a handful of hours, you were forced to set off in a jog. Stumbling thrice, you growled out annoyance over his familiarity with the Falcon. He had a predetermined destination in mind and that was where he headed. His loud boot stomps were a gift, perhaps intentional on his part. He was not going to leave you behind no matter his pain. It was the others that he worked to abandon. Any other Resistance members jerked away from him, which you noticed the very first time you turned a corner and caught a glimpse of him. Two corners later, you paused at the doorway.

 You took a heavy breath while stepping inside. The door slammed closed with extra force, an indication that Kylo Ren would not allow anyone else near. Not for now, not for--how long? It hardly mattered. You walked to him; his back faced the door, and he was seated on the ground. Legs spread, his mother’s head in the crook of an arm, one hand on her face as he wiped clean the spit that had mostly dried.

 As you moved around him, you noticed two things: his eyes maintained a different hue than their norm though they were not quite so red-rimmed in their irises, and there were tears slipping along his cheeks. You did not comment on either. Did not say anything at all. Only lowered yourself onto your knees, and stared at mother and son.

 Footsteps on the other side of the door preceded another wookie wail of despair. Your lips parted at their sound. Still you said nothing. The world around you buzzed, tilted. The Millennium Falcon was in flight, but you could not say if that was the cause of this vertigo or not. Chewbacca slammed a fist against the door. Then two fists. The metal dented. Snarling, Kylo’s grip on his mother’s lifeless body tightened. He allowed the door to open, which had been the only way to silence those fists.

 Just as with you, after Chewbacca entered the room, the door slammed closed. You barely had a chance to catch a glimpse of Rose and Finn standing on the other side. You assumed that Poe and Rey were working together as pilot and co-pilot in order to ensure a successful escape. Chewbacca lowered onto his knees without attempting to touch Leia or Kylo. Your mind was spinning. Reality was shifting all around you, going in and out of focus.

 Apologies would not bring her back. Nothing would. You wrapped your arms around yourself, mindlessly humming a tune that your father and mother had taught you. It was one that played at funerals yet also a tune that you had loved beyond that. A strange post-mortem hope. Kylo lifted his eyes off of his mother’s body. His mouth opened, his moistened jaw wobbling though he refused to let free a sob or any other sound that would fully display his despair.

 He had danced with you. He had given you gifts. He had saved your mother. You could only sing, shyly, softly. A tightness lodged itself in your throat but you persevered. You sang for your mother-in-law, for one of the Rebellion’s heroes, for the woman that had formed the Resistance, for the era that had perished alongside her.

 Kylo removed his hand from his mother’s face to cup your cheek instead. He hooked his fingers, dragging at your flesh repeatedly until you obliged the silent request, shuffled forward without standing. Your knees collided against his legs and that was where you stopped moving. His thumb traced down to your lips. Lower to your throat, down until he was able to place his palm over your heart. It pounded in your chest, increasing its rhythm as your eyes beheld his other hand encircling his mother’s wrist. There would be no pulse for him to feel. His eyes were wide, so wide, a question dancing in them. A question that you did not need the bond to know.

 Would I be a monster, am a monster, that I want to trade the living and the dead, to swap their places?

 It was unclear if the living being he would exchange for his mother was Chewbacca or you. There was a chance that it was your mother. If he could go back in time to sacrifice her, if that meant Leia would remain alive.

 “Kylo…” You swallowed thickly, tilted back your head, and let yourself sob. You choked out his chosen name again. “It didn’t matter how much time I spent with her, she never agreed… She never will.” There was no way to lessen his pain, to wipe it away. Nothing would steal away his dreams that would forevermore remain unanswered. That did not equate to you giving up in trying to provide something. “My mom, even if she is alive, she tolerates who I am.” You bit down on your bottom lip, closed your eyes, and sighed heavily as the leather glove cradled your cheek for a second time. “It’s like she wants me to succeed without winning. To succeed at existing as the idea she always saw for me.”

 “It hasn’t disappeared.” You shook your head, whispering that it never would. The idea that had been planted in his head, that had been hammered repeatedly, was so fully integrated with his being, and it would not change. He would be haunted by it, though this haunting was one that he could well survive. You reopened your eyes in unison with his hand dragged away. Kylo Ren lifted his mother up into his arms again long enough to transfer her onto the bed upon which he laid her out. He shifted her hands so that they were crossed one atop the other. He began to fix her hair. His eyes in constant motion, scanning every detail as he looked down at her.

 Chewbacca also rose to his feet and you did likewise within seconds of that. “Do you want me to speak to the others?” You did not want to leave him, not really. Kylo knew that, he had to, and so he nodded in understanding. Though subtle, you had felt the jump into hyperspace, which indicated to you that communications between the Order of Ren and Resistance had been completed. The ships would regroup, regather, and only then would true conversation take place. In the interim, all that knew of Leia Organa’s death would be demanding to see her. They would be outraged that Kylo was with her, nevermind that he was her son. Nevermind that a truce was taking place.

 Leaving meant that you were able to gather what other information had been learned including who else might have perished. You wanted to know the status of the Knights of Ren, and you desired knowledge of your mother’s whereabouts. You exited the room. Finn and Rose stood on the other side, the pair engaged in small conversation. Rose broke away from Finn, thrusting herself forward and embracing you. You weakly returned the hug. The warmth with which you were greeted did at long last manage to floor you.

 The pair of you were a laughing mess as you both collapsed together on the floor. You were in hysterics. Crying. Laughing. Sobbing. Shoulders shaking. Unable to breathe, a lump in your throat, the invisible hand of despair choking life from your spirit. Your own pain and Kylo’s, which hit you in waves as he let himself mourn his mother now that the only witness was Chewbacca, who had been there since before he had been born. Chewbacca, who was a kind of uncle to him. Chewbacca, who had shot him when he had killed his father, Han Solo.

 Rose placed her hands on your shoulders and began to knead the flesh as she spoke. The sound of her voice washed over you though her words did not. She, too, had lost everyone. Her parents then her sister. All of them were dead. You could feel that in her words, understood a kinship that existed between her and Kylo just as it existed between her and you. Life and Death, the Force, connected all living beings. Pursing your lips forward, you worked to regulate your breathing.

 Two hours passed, two hours that were nearly a blur of activity. Rey barely spoke; she, too, was processing the loss as the finality of acceptance regarding the truth of her family hit. The somber mood permeated throughout the ship. Known deaths were discussed. Your mother was not among that number, and she would be joining the Order of Ren and Resistance due to an encrypted message that had been sent to the last of the Resistance. You were growing too numb to feel relief, though the absence of another reason to ache was in some way more noticeable. The Order of Ren had sent a list of injured parties and deaths as well. Many were strangers to you, thus what this would mean in terms of the war you would not know until Kylo Ren was ready to share.

 You were seated beside Poe. Rey and Chewbacca were piloting the Falcon, and Dameron refused to leave you alone. He had listened to you describe Leia’s death in full detail, or as much as you could offer. You had then also narrated the remainder of the battle to help him understand how Not-Rey had died along with how you and Finn had prevented Rey from stopping or delaying it from occurring. Only after you were finished had Poe slipped the datapad that contained the list of Order of Ren casualties towards you. You had read through them then shifted to the injured. Cardo remained critical, his last update given directly after he had been taken onto the Night Buzzard. Trudgen was injured as well, albeit not gravely from what you could tell. Kuruk was not listed at all.

 Since Ap’lek had been absent from the battle, you did not search for his name. Ushar and Vicrul, on the other hand, you scanned the list for. The last reserves of strength were siphoned from your body as you read both of their names. Vicrul was injured yet, like Trudgen, did not cause you more than a moment of concern. It was Ushar, who was listed as critical, that had you collapsing against the back of your seat.

 Poe led you towards a different area of the ship so that you could rest. You slept for an indeterminable amount of time, awakening to discover that you were not alone in the room. Poe and Ap’lek were seated nearby, the two men across from one another. There was a warm ball of fur cuddled against your stomach. You stroked it, and Millicent released a light noise of acknowledgment. You searched your surroundings without raising yourself in order to learn your present location. You deduced that you had not been removed from the Falcon. Ap’lek and Poe communicated with one another with a multitude of pauses; they were not comfortable in each other’s company and wanted only to gain as much information as they could. It was a shaky, new alliance and thus you were not disheartened to notice these things.

 When it was apparent that you had awoken the two alternated speaking in order to bring you up to speed. The Millennium Falcon was in the docking bay of the Order of Ren’s flagship. Leia Organa’s body had been removed from the Falcon and taken elsewhere to prepare it for a funeral that both the Resistance and Order of Ren would attend. After its completion, a real discussion of what this alliance might mean would occur. Arrangements for the upcoming battle with Supreme Leader Hux would also be discussed; that was what they were referring to it as--it was not an end to the war, per se, simply another battle. When the Emperor had been defeated, the war had not ended until Jakku. Even then there had been more skirmishes, and the First Order had arisen. When Snoke had been killed, Kylo Ren had taken the mantle of Supreme Leader; likewise with the fall of Kylo and the rise of Armitage.

 When does war end? Maybe it never ends. Maybe that’s why I clung so tightly onto a singular goal. Kill Kylo. Kill Snoke. Kill Hux. Take it a step at a time, but when does the fighting stop for me?

 With a sigh, you scooped Millicent up into your arms and rose from the bed. Ap’lek stepped in front of Poe to prevent Dameron from following you. You appreciated this, as you did not want to be tailed. There was, in fact, only one person that you wanted to be with. Your familiarity with him led you. Millicent’s warmth assisted in grounding you. You stroked the top of her head, holding onto her so that she could not get away if she tried. She was not squirming. The small cat instead retreated into your embrace, tucking her head against your arm to hide from the Resistance and Order of Ren members you caught glimpses of as you kept walking without taking time to identify any beings.

 Kylo Ren stood close to the observation window through which he was able to watch Leia being prepared. She had already been changed into new clothing after being washed. Her hair was arranged in an Alderaanian fashion. Her dress was red with white designs. Her lips were painted to represent Naboo, to tie her in with her birth mother. Noticing that, you recognized the care with which she was being readied. Her biological and adoptive parents were all represented. Her wedding ring tied her to her husband. A mother’s ring to her son. You raised your stare to consider Kylo’s reflection. His eyes had not returned to their normal darkness, but they were less yellow than before.

 As he turned his head, Kylo rested his attention on the feline that you held. “You find something new in which to place hope.” He turned back to his mother. “Every time.”

 “I am a stubborn tooke,” you said softly, your eyes focused on his, which pinched in the corners though he did not smile.

 “Yes, you are.”

[skvaderarts]

Hiraeth Chapter 4: Winter

Masterlist can be found Here!

Chapter Four: Winter

Note: This will be interesting. It’s not every day that I get to just write like this. Time to spread my wings a little and just dig into this.

-~-

A little more than two years ago…

Blistering cold and exalted, tranquil solitude. 

That was what the small town of Lympha was known for at the time. 

Ever since it had been founded countless centuries prior, people had ventured there to escape the overcrowding, poor living conditions, and noise that came from larger settlements. Most had been looking for an opportunity to live somewhere where opportunities abounded and resources thrived, and those that didn’t succumb to one of the region’s trademark winter storms were likely to discover just what they’d hoped to find.

It was a pilgrimage of sorts to reach the local, even in modern times. For nearly half of the year, the region was consumed by what weary locals had affectionately -or perhaps less affectionately- dubbed the “Bitter Night”, a state of seemingly neverending darkness that came with winter and was unusual given the global location of the secluded town. Thick black clouds shrouded the area in what felt like an endless winter at times, contributing to an unusually high percentage of residents suffering from almost yearlong bouts of seasonal affective disorder. It was as though the small population of fewer than two thousand residents was trapped in the iron grip of a nameless and unrelenting foe with which they hopelessly battled against. There were members of the town that had spent their whole lives there, but the majority left after less than a decade, unable or unwilling to cope with the constant cold darkness.

The silence was also a factor to take into consideration. While the peaceful silence that came with an early morning’s snowfall was something that many had come to treasure in areas of the world that we’re not constantly buried under snow, that could not be said for the residents of Lympha. Most of them were accustomed to leaving their homes for nonessential reasons due to the constant snow, leaving the area almost hauntingly quiet, a fitting backdrop for the heavily wooded fishing hamlet that set nestled between two large black snowcapped mountains, mirrored by the sizeable lake that spanned the distance between them. 

The natural beauty and splendor of the region could not be denied, but that did not change the fact that there was something eery about it that was difficult to put into words properly. Most of the locals avoided the surrounding forests with an almost religious dedication, warning anyone new to the town to do the same. And the longer that they stayed, the quicker they came to the same collective consensus. Most homes were a certain distance from the trees with only farmland bordering the thick, black woodlands. But talk of something wicked residing amongst the trees was rampant, and cattle tended to go missing during the long nights that the town was so accustomed to.

In spite of such obstacles, the small town did prosper. Exports of resources such as fish and cold weather fruit and vegetables fueled a comfortable life for the majority of the residents, and once a year during the coldest, darkest parts of the winter after the fall tourists had long since left and only the boldest locals dared to stay behind, most of the town ventured elsewhere on holiday and basked in the warmth and brightness of less supernatural pastures, savoring in their well-earned funds and taking a break from the ceaseless mists that blanked the region due to its altitude.

Despite the frequent travel, there was only one way in or out of the town. The nearly twenty-mile stretch of winding road that connected the remote village to the rest of the country was the sort of thing that only a fool would dare traverse under the cover of darkness, but it was serviceable for the most part. It had to be to sustain any sort of livable conditions for the town. Keeping it clear of ice and plowed for vehicles to pass was an essential part of the town’s functionality, and everyone felt the anxiety that came with the reality that at least once a year they would end up trapped where they were, unable to leave for any reason.

Most sane, normal people who didn’t call the settlement home avoided the Lympha outside of the fall harvest season, having no reason to go there. And that particular winter, the majority of the town had found no compelling reason to linger, either, leaving to escape what promised to be a bitter, hostile winter. Something was just different in the air that year, and it wasn’t the lingering fog. With the population down to just two hundred intrepid -or perhaps insane- prospectors, the town was essentially shut down, just as it normally was that time of year. And then the silence settled in. Everyone hunkered down and kept warm inside of their homes, only the vague flicker of warm light from inside of their homes giving any indication that the town was not, in fact, totally abandoned, it’s residents finally coming to their senses and writing it off as a lost cause before taking their families and their personal belongings and fleeing to a less spooky local.

But in spite of it all, there had been at least one person in Lympha who was willing to greet the Bitter Night with enthusiasm, a level head, and an optimistic attitude, and that was one of the newest additions of the community. After coming to town to experience the autumn festivities, the young man with the white hair that had whipped the entire town into a tizzy had weighed his options and decided to stay. Solitude had never unnerved V. He was accustomed to it, having spent the vast majority of his life up until then as a resident inside his mind as opposed to that of the physical world in order to escape the reality of the cruel world that he found himself in. But when he’d first traveled there, the silent, almost gloomy nature of the place had ignited something within him that he’d never felt before. To say that he’d felt compelled to stay would be a vast understatement, and there was simply something about the place that put him at ease, even if that ease and that almost tangible presence that he felt so comfortable with did precisely the opposite to everyone else.

He’d managed to find housing relatively easy, all things considered. There were always vacancies out towards the edge of town. No one wanted to live out there anyway, so the prices were considerably lower for much larger dwellings. Strange and unexplained events over the years had gradually pushed everyone towards the center of town leaving farmers to contend with the woods and unlucky landowners with residences that they needed to repurpose. Most were converted into rental properties for curious tourists, but long-term leases were not out of the question on the rare occasion that someone came to town and decided to stay. That had been a lucky break for him.

V realized quickly that he enjoyed taking long walks through the countryside, taking in the smoldering chimneys and feeling the crisp mountain air ghost across his face and through his hair. It wasn’t so much that he loved the cold, it was that he hated the heat with a burning passion, and was more than willing to deal with a few months of brutal cold to avoid it if that meant that the rest of the year was more to his liking. There was something tranquil about the area that put him at ease, and that was something that he treasured at that point in his life. Most people his age were just venturing out on their own for the first time, but he’d been that way his entire life. No, he was looking for something entirely different. A change of pace of sorts while he tried and failed to figure out what he wanted to do with the rest of his life as the mounting pressure he felt from the weight of that decision slowly threatened to drive him insane. He could feel it’s tangible presence at all times, the weight never leaving him and never failing to unnerve him. It was his own darkness more physical than the dark winter that encompassed the town its self despite the fact that it was invisible, and that he knew he had another alternative that he could act upon if this did not pan out for him.

But he wasn’t sure that was what he wanted to devote his life to just yet, so here he was, walking up a lonely road towards the center of town, ready for the time being to clock into his easy-going day job and to then check out of reality for a few hours as he waited pointlessly for customers to come in despite the fact that they rarely did. Gaining employment at the local bookstore had been simple, given his love of books, and it involved minimal amounts of conversation or social interaction since foot traffic was uncommon. He worked open to close for six hours and then went home each day, taking the time in between to catch up on his reading and to contemplate the horrifying serenity that was his reality. What was he to do with himself when he returned to his home later on that evening? Play the violin for a little while? Would he actually cook something this time, or just stand in his kitchen and eat cold food out of a can in his fridge in the dark like the heathen that he was? It was too early to say. After all, he hadn’t reached his place of work yet. But was it so strange to make plans for the end of the day when the day had only just begun?

He found himself absentmindedly gripping the edges of his hood and pulling it down slightly over his face as he passed a few bystanders on the street. He didn’t need to see them to know that they were staring at him as he continued up the street. Practically everyone in every place that he’d ever lived did. In spite of the fact that all he really wanted was to blend in and be left alone by those around him, his stature and unique hair color insured that that possibility was nothing more than wishful thinking.

“Don’t pay them any mind. They aren’t worth it.” He said quietly to himself as he approached the front door of the building, ready to do his quaint day job. The lights in the shop were still out from the night before, and he made a mental note to turn them on before opening the shop this time. He repressed the urge to scold himself for his inability to tune out the world around him, noting that it was not his place to do so. Why should he be made to suffer so for a simple quirk in his DNA that he could neither control nor explain?

At times, there was a part of him that wondered where his extraordinary hair color originated from. Had that been passed down as a result of his parentage, or was it the result of a medical condition he didn’t know he had? Unfortunately, he couldn’t ask either of his parents these questions. Much to his disappointment, he had never had the pleasure of meeting either of his parents, and he had no way of knowing whether or not they were even alive. It was a fact that he lamented, but it was just one of the disheartening realities that he had to come to terms with as a result of being an orphan. The place he’d been forced to call home for the cursory years of his life had no answers for him, at least none that they were willing to share with him the last time that he’d asked, and there was no way he was ever going to willingly return there. No, he’d quite literally prefer death in that scenario. By a considerable margin, if he was being honest. There was nothing but pain for him in that place. That was how it had always been and how it always would be.

He worked to put the matter aside for the time being as he prepared to open the shop. There was a small number of tasks to complete such as checking the shelves for dust and, making sure that everything was accounted for, but nothing too out of the ordinary or difficult. He took off his winter coat and draped it over the counter before tending to his meager duties, absentmindedly contemplating how the rest of the day would go, Would anyone actually come in, or would he be left alone to read again today? He’d finished the book he’d been reading the day before, so perusing the shelves for his new literary obsession was something that he had to look forward to at the very least. He could run across the street to the bakery and grab something for lunch in a few hours. The elderly couple there were welcoming, if not excessively chatty, but they were skilled and he occasionally found humor in their musings. From what he could tell, they were fairly certain that people his age didn’t read anymore, and he was always pleased to know that they were wrong about that and that he could easily prove otherwise if he ever bothered to put that much energy into their words. It was unlikely, though. He didn’t tend to actively give other people that kind of satisfaction, and wasn’t entirely sure why he cared as much as he did. Perhaps it was because they were some of the only people he really interacted with in this town. Or maybe he was just tired of being treated as though he were something inhuman monster by those around him. It was hard to say, in all honesty. Experience hadn’t helped him develop a thicker skin, it seemed.

Pitty.

Before long, he’d finished what little prep work he needed to do, and turned in the direction of the front door. The light switch was by the entrance, and he needed to flip the open sign the right way around before the store could officially accept customers. As he fiddled with the sleeves of his sweater and headed for the door, something unusual caught his eye. The store sat at the center of a Y shaped intersection facing towards the central street. As such, he had a decent view of the central sprawl, at least when it wasn’t snowing like it was today. It was rare to see anyone running around, but that was exactly what had caught his attention. V turned away, not paying much mind to the unusual sight as he reached down to unlock the door. But just as he did, two more figures came running behind the first, gaining on them. He squinted slightly as he tried to make out their approximate ages, something in the pit of his stomach telling him that something about this wasn’t quite right. To his surprised disbelief, his hunch was confirmed as the two figures in black knocked the first individual down face-first into the snow and began to carry them off.

From there, several other bystanders entered his line of sight, all of them seemingly running in a panic as more hooded figures descended upon them and attacked with blunt force weapons such as bats and metal bars. When one man ran outside from one of the local shops and started yelling, the young white haired man immediately recognized him as the bakery owner and questioned why someone his age would get involved in… whatever this horrifying situation was. Clearly, he was trying to help, but what was he hoping to achieve in this scenario?

Before he could give it any further thought, the figure in black produced what appeared to be a thin sword and stabbed the man through the abdomen, knocking him down into the street in full view of the public and the man’s horrified wife, the latter of which was calling out for help in a desperate attempt to try and understand what was going on. The figure looked at her and then violently attacked the elderly man again, never once looking away from her as if to challenge her. He clearly wanted her to be silent, but V was unable to tell whether or not he was telling her as much.

V stepped away from the door, backing away slowly as the streets filled with panicked people, all of which seemed to be fleeing the strangers in black who has descended upon the town like a plage, their intentions unclear but clearly impure, to say the least. In his petrified haste to get clear of their line of sight, V slipped over a small handcart in the isle, earning a glance in his direction. He scrambled behind one of the bookcases just as the individual in black who had been stabbing the old man looked in his general direction, seemingly cheating what had to be certain death.

Horror overtook every muscle in his body as he realized that they were under attack, the impossibility of that reality finally sinking in. He had no idea what could’ve caused this tragic scenario, but that didn’t change a thing. The older man was more than likely dead, something that immediately made V kick himself internally for thinking badly of him just a short while before, but there had to be something he could do about all of this. It didnt take a Ph.D. to figure out that if he stayed where he was any longer, then he would more than likely end up dead. Someone had to get help, and he had to do something to save himself, lest he die at the hands of these mysterious strangers who had come to his quiet little town and painted the white snow-covered streets red with the blood of his neighbors.

V’s veins ran colder than the winter winds as he realized what he had to do. And if he didn’t, he was going to die. There was no time to hesitate. He had to get out of there.

-~-

Hey everyone! I hope you liked this chapter! Getting to explore V’s background a little is going to be interesting, to say the least. I’ll see you all on Friday, but for now, thanks for reading. I hope you’re having a good week! Once again, stay safe out there!

[cherry-valentine]

Selfish and Cruel - A Yuri on Ice Zombie AU Fanfic

Repost from 2016! I wrote this between episodes 9 and 10 airing, so that’s why there’s no mention of the rings or JJ’s fiance. It’s a zombie AU of the events of the Grand Prix Final. I’ve touched up a few mistakes from the original posting years ago. Currently rewatching YoI and was reminded of this fic. Enjoy! Any feedback is greatly appreciated!

Snow blew into Yuri's face, bitter and wet. It hadn't yet begun to pile up on the streets, but the dark gray clouds overhead suggested the weather would only be getting worse. Yuri wished, for the thousandth time, that he could check the weather forecast on his phone. But even if the internet was still up and running, even if someone out there was still giving weather reports, Yuri would never waste the precious remaining battery life of his phone for that.

He tightened the scarf around his neck and adjusted the face mask covering his nose and mouth. The last thing Yuri needed was to get sick. He shifted his backpack from his right shoulder to his left and continued walking down the empty sidewalk, where tattered Christmas decorations still hung limply from the darkened street lamps. It was late afternoon, and Yuri had to make it back to the bus before nightfall.

As he passed by a small sweets shop, Yuri paused and glanced through the window. The various cupcakes and candies were ruined, but he wondered if they had supplies in the back that could be useful. It wasn't an obvious place to look, so there was a good chance the place hadn't been ransacked already. Yuri held his backpack in his hand to feel the weight, judging if he'd gathered enough goods to make his trip worthwhile. Two cans of peaches. Three cans of smoked salmon. A bag of salted peanuts and three packs of dried banana chips. No water, but if the snow kept up they could catch piles of it and let it melt over a fire. Besides, there were at least six bottles left on the bus. They could make it a few more days at least.

Yuri stared at the door to the sweets shop for several moments, trying to decide what to do. Finally, he reached out and pulled the door open, then reached one hand inside to bang on the wall. After a lengthy silence, Yuri sighed in relief and stepped through the open door. He passed by pink shelves of spoiled treats and walked around behind the glass counter, which doubled as a display case for cakes and cookies, and came to a brightly colored wooden door that obviously led to the kitchen.

There was a moment of anxiety and fear as Yuri placed his hand on the doorknob. Before turning it, he pressed one ear against the door and listened. There were none of the telltale sounds he'd come to recognize as warning signs: shuffling footsteps, bangs and clangs, strained moans. He twisted the knob and pulled the door open, quickly taking in the room with his eyes. It was empty of people, and empty of them.

Moving through the room, Yuri found cans of fruit pie filling, powdered milk, and best of all, two jugs of water. There was a clock on the wall that Yuri emptied of its batteries, as well as a large chef's knife that could definitely come in handy. After gathering everything useful, Yuri squatted down and began shoving items into his backpack, which held everything but the water. Yuri pulled a small length of rope from the side pocket of his pack and tied the two jugs together, then tied them to his belt. He had to keep at least one hand free at all times, in case he ran into trouble on the way back.

Yuri made one more sweep of the room, to make sure he didn't miss anything, before stepping back into the front area of the shop. Cold wind struck him in the face, and he realized with horror that he'd left the glass door open. He swiftly glanced around to make sure he was still alone, then headed toward the open door. Just as he reached it, he caught a glimpse of movement on the sidewalk outside. Yuri froze in place, waiting, terror sliding down his spine. He'd come face to face with them before, and had learned how to deal with them, but it was always a frightening experience. Always.

The thing that used to be a person, the walking corpse, lurched its way into the shop, heading straight for Yuri. It had been a man, and wore the stained, torn remains of a business suit. One arm had been been reduced to bones, the flesh and muscle having been chewed off. What remained of the man's skin was pallid and loosely hanging on his body. Yuri slowly backed away and moved around the glass counter. He'd figured out early on that putting any sort of obstacle between himself and the corpses was an excellent way to buy time. It usually took them several minutes of walking straight into the obstruction before they managed to climb over or go around. So while the corpse repeatedly slammed into the counter, its rotting arms outstretched toward Yuri's throat, he pulled the chef's knife from his backpack.

Cautiously, Yuri edged closer to the counter and reached out to grab the corpse's hair. He pulled the corpse's head down by its hair and pinned it to the counter with his left forearm, then shoved the knife into the base of the corpse's skull. Within seconds, it stopped struggling and went still. Yuri released his hold on the corpse, and it slipped from the counter, crumbling to the floor.

Yuri took several deep breaths to calm himself. The knife shook in his hands as he wiped it off on some napkins near the counter and returned it to his pack. He couldn't help remembering the first walking corpses he'd seen, at the Grand Prix Final.

It started with a scream that stood out amongst the cheers and applause, because it was shrill and blood-curdling, like someone had walked into a room only to find a gruesome murder scene. Yuri was on the ice, about to start his routine, when the scream had shaken him out of his concentration. He looked at the audience, turning in a circle to try and see what had happened. Had someone fainted? Had a heart attack? Everyone else must have heard it too, because the audience fell silent and everyone was looking around the same way Yuri was, trying to determine the source of the noise. Even Viktor had taken his eyes off Yuri to scan the crowd, an unusual look of alarm on his face.

The scream rang out again, and in the absence of other sound, was easy to pinpoint. A woman was running down the steps of the audience seating area, clutching her arm. Even from this distance, Yuri could see that her arm was covered in blood. Even more startling, there was a group of people behind her, running in a disturbingly awkward fashion, their bodies covered in wounds and blood. They were flowing into the building like waves, spilling down the steps and lunging at the stunned audience members.

Yuri turned and looked toward Viktor. Their eyes locked, and for the first time, Yuri saw real fear on his coach's face. Viktor held out his arms in a gesture that Yuri had come to understand meant, 'Come here!' and Yuri skated toward him at top speed. All the while, his only thoughts were, 'I have to get to him. Something bad is happening and I have to get to Viktor.'

The streets were a little colder and a little darker when Yuri left the sweets shop. The wind gusts were like icy knives trying to cut through his thick jacket. They'd found some winter clothing, but nothing strong enough to withstand this kind of weather for longer than a few hours. Yuri had already been outside longer than he should've been. He knew there would be plenty of questions and worries waiting for him back at the bus, but he hated coming home empty-handed, or even short-handed. With the goods he'd found at the shop, however, he felt more confident going "home".

Somewhere in the distance, a clock chimed. The wind made eerie noises as it echoed between buildings and blew through alleyways. Yuri had never been the type of person who scared easily. He'd been afraid of failing or losing people, but haunted houses and horror movies had no effect on him. Tangible threats were never a part of his life, so he found those sorts of things silly. Until they became his daily life. Now, every sound he couldn't immediately identify was a threat. Every shadow in his peripheral vision was potentially dangerous.

Yuri stopped in front of a small Japanese restaurant. He'd been here many times since this all started. He had to walk by it almost every time he went out to look for supplies. And every single time, he felt his chest tighten when he stood outside the door, the familiar kanji written underneath the restaurant's name in Spanish. There was even a menu printed on a wooden signboard hanging near the door, in both languages. Halfway down the list, Yuri's eyes were always drawn to the words "Pork Cutlet Bowl". The first time he'd seen it, he'd stood crying in the empty street for half an hour.

The restaurant's door was boarded up from the inside. His first time there, Yuri had knocked and yelled, trying to find out if anyone was still alive inside. The only response he got was a collection of moans and the scraping of dead feet across the floor. Once, Yuri brought a crowbar with him, planning to pry the boards off and go inside. He assumed there would be plenty of supplies in the kitchen, and, in all honesty, he felt an inescapable urge to be surrounded by his own culture, the culture of his family.

Yuri had backed out that day when the shambling corpses inside had begun banging into the door. It sounded like there were more of them than he'd thought, and he wasn't equipped to deal with more than two or three of them at most. Now, Yuri usually tried to pass by the restaurant without stopping and without thinking about whatever was inside. Today, however, Yuri was feeling especially nostalgic. He stood in front of the boarded door and stared at the menu in kanji, thinking about the chance he'd passed up to go home.

"What do you mean, you're not going?" Phichit had asked, his hand still tightly gripping Yuri's. They'd been standing in the middle of the airport, surrounded by clusters of panicked people who were crying or yelling or trying to find out when specific flights were leaving.

Yuri had been practically dragged to one of the counters by Phichit, who had spoken to a disheveled looking woman who apparently worked there. Yuri gently pulled his hand free and said, "I can't leave them behind."

Phichit looked confused for a moment, as if Yuri had said something strange, then his eyes shifted to the wall on the left. Yuri turned and followed his gaze to Yurio, who was sitting on the floor, his back against the wall and his knees pulled up to his chin. The hood of his jacket covered his eyes, and his shoulders were trembling. To this day, Yuri didn't know if it was from fear or from rage.

"Yuri, you have to go," Phichit said. "This is the last flight heading for Tokyo. Who knows if there will ever be another flight? Everything's crazy outside."

"I know," Yuri said, and there was an edge to his voice that he didn't intend. He knew full well what he was giving up. He knew he might never see his home, his family, ever again if he didn't get on that plane. But the flight was stopping in Paris, and the airlines were only allowing people with French or Japanese passports on board. It was their way of ensuring that as many people as possible got to go home.

But it also meant Yuri would have to go alone. And he couldn't do that.

"I can't leave them," Yuri repeated. "There aren't any flights left going to Russia. And after what happened to Yurio's grandpa..."

Phichit looked down. "Yeah. I know. There aren't any flights to Bangkok left either."

Yuri could see the pain and fear in Phichit's face, hidden by a smile. "I'm sorry," Yuri said, not knowing anything else to say.

The snow was coming down harder now, flying in with great bursts of cold and wind. The sun had set and darkness was creeping in around the edges of the city. Yuri quickened his pace as he walked down the street, the jugs of water bouncing against his right hip with every step. The bus was still three blocks away, and he'd promised to be back before it got too dark.

Yuri passed by several alleys, most of them empty. Occasionally he saw one of them, shuffling around or clawing at a door. As long as Yuri stayed out of their line of sight and didn't make any noise, they paid no attention to him. What alarmed him, and caused him to stop dead in his tracks, was a group of the walking corpses clustered into one alley.

He'd caught a quick glimpse of them as he passed by, and the sight of so many together made him pause, fearful that his footsteps would alert them. They hadn't seen him as he'd walked by the alley, or else they would be coming toward him now. By his guess, there were a dozen of them, though he hadn't had time to count. He stood just past the alley, keeping his breathing shallow and quiet, clutching the chef's knife in one hand, listening to the sounds of their moaning.

One of the moans came especially loud and clear, sounding terribly close by. Yuri stepped quietly away from the entrance to the alley while watching for anything to come out. When he was around twenty yards away, he saw the first bony, bloodied arm extend from the shadows of the alley, and behind it, the corpse of a woman in a long red dress. In life, she would have been underdressed, standing in the snow with her sleeveless, low-cut dress. In death, her only concern was finding warm flesh to eat. Her vacant eyes fell upon Yuri, who was still trying to quietly put distance between himself and the alley.

The corpse in red's moans turned sharply to snarls when she spotted food, and she headed toward Yuri with surprising speed. Some of the "fresher" corpses could break into an awkward jog, but the ones that had been dead for more than a week were sluggish and plodding. Yuri tried to keep himself from panicking. He kept an even pace, hoping to stay quiet so that the rest of the corpses didn't follow. He could deal with one. He couldn't deal with a group. His plan was to get far enough away so that the others couldn't hear his hurried footsteps and then break into a run.

He only made it a couple of yards before he heard more snarls and loud moans filling the street, drowning out the howls of the blowing snow. Yuri looked over his shoulder, saw at least six corpses limping out of the alley, and took off in a sprint, having no more need to stay quiet. The jugs of water slammed against his hips so hard that he knew there would be bruises later. The backpack felt increasingly heavy as he ran, his breaths shallow, his body beginning to feel warm even as the air steadily got colder.

Outrunning the corpses was not an issue. Any able-bodied person could do so. But Yuri had to pull far enough ahead that they couldn't even see him. The last thing he wanted to do was lead a group of them straight to the bus. His mind raced as he tried to think of a plan. He needed to lead them down another alley, and hopefully back the other direction, away from his destination. He glanced down the various alleys as he ran, trying to remember which ones led where. Despite his recent supply runs, he still wasn't familiar with the streets of Barcelona. If he ran down an alley that led to a dead end, as many of the alleys did, Yuri would end up trapped. Being cornered by a group of corpses was the worst case scenario. Yuri knew that very well.

Running through the streets like this, his life on the line, Yuri thought of the mad dash he and some of the other skaters had made when they escaped the ice rink on that first day.

It had been crazy inside the ice rink, but outside was total chaos. People were running, screaming, being attacked, scattering like ants. A car had crashed into one of the trees that lined the sidewalk. The skaters had paused for just a moment, taking in the terrible scene, and then they ran. Someone had suggested they try to make it to the airport, but there was no way they could get there without a vehicle. Regardless, Yuri kept moving, Viktor's voice ringing in his ears, telling him to run.

Yurio was lagging behind, trying his best to literally drag his grandpa along with him. The old man had flown to Barcelona to be there in the audience for his grandson, and Yurio wouldn't abandon him. Yuri turned, intending to help, but a tall figure ran past him and approached Yurio. JJ, who'd been running in the front, had come back and squatted down in front of Yurio's grandfather. "Climb onto my back, grandpa," he said.

Yurio looked stunned, but quickly helped the old man onto JJ's back. JJ grinned but didn't say anything as he took off at a run again, as if to prove that he could move just as fast even while carrying the weight of another person.

Everyone continued running for what felt like ages, never stopping for a break, occasionally dodging corpses. JJ was at the front, still carrying Yurio's grandpa, when he suddenly stopped. Ahead of him, Yuri could see a large group of corpses, blocking the street. JJ moved into the roadway to avoid them, but as he did, a corpse moved out from behind one of the decorated trees along the street and grabbed the old man, ripping him from JJ's back.

JJ spun around and grabbed the old man's arms, pulling him back, but by this point several of the corpses from the group had broken away and were now grabbing hold of the old man's legs. Yurio screamed and dashed forward, gripping his grandpa's right arm while JJ held tight on the left. Both of them grunted and yelled as they tried to pull the old man free. Yuri and the others rushed forward to help, but before they could reach JJ, the ever growing cluster of corpses pulling on the old man's legs began biting into his flesh.

Yurio screamed. His grandpa cried out in agony. JJ kept struggling to pull the old man free. But within seconds, the corpses had ripped the old man's legs open and were digging into his torso. There was no helping him now, and JJ finally released him. Instead, he grabbed Yurio, who would have held his grandpa's hand until they were both dead if JJ hadn't acted. He slung Yurio over his shoulder as if the younger boy was a doll and continued running. Behind them, Yuri could see Yurio's anguished face, and he would never forget it, for the rest of his life.

Yuri stood panting in the alley, waiting. He'd been lucky enough to choose an alley that exited to the next street over with little to no obstacles to hold the walking corpses up. He needed them to move as a unit, no stragglers left behind. He made sure they saw him enter the alley, so now he had to wait until they followed him in before he could lure them to the next street. His chest ached and his body felt sore from the jugs and the pack. Fatigue was setting in.

The first of the corpses appeared at the other end of the alley from Yuri, some of them moving faster than others but overall keeping a fairly consistent pace. This was manageable, Yuri thought. He could handle this. Yuri waited until all of them were in the alley, resisting every urge he had to run away the moment he saw the first corpse. Once they had gathered into the narrow space and were heading toward him, he jogged out of the alley and to the next street over, then headed back the way he had come. He only ran a few yards before stopping again to wait.

He used this time to calm his breathing and prepare for the sprint ahead. This would be the last time he had to wait, and the last chance to rest. After several tense moments, he heard the moans and snarls of the group as they began filing out of the alley. The sky was getting much darker, and his field of vision of was getting more and more limited. He stood ready to take off, waiting until the majority of the corpses were out in the street. Once they were, he ran, faster than he had since that first day. He ran with everything he had, and when he felt he was far enough away from them, he cut through another alley and then back to the main street. He hoped that even if they did spot him going into the alley, they would just stand around aimlessly like they did before when they couldn't find him.

Still, Yuri glanced back occasionally as he walked quickly toward the bus. Luckily, he never heard or saw any more corpses, and by the time the sky was completely black and dotted with stars, he was standing at the back end of the bus. It had been crashed into the bottom floor of an apartment building, specifically, into a small grocery shop that connected to the front lobby. The entrance to the lobby had been blocked off by the crash, and the only way inside was to climb onto the bus from the back, walk through it, and exit the front bus door into the building. As far as Yuri could tell, the corpses didn't seem to know how to open or close doors, and simply moved forward until something obstructed their path. The chances of them getting inside where very slim, so Yuri and the others felt some measure of safety inside.

When he stepped off the bus, Yuri saw the orange glow of the fire they had built in the storage room behind the grocery shop. The shop itself was in surprisingly good shape, considering half the wall had caved in around the bus. There were three small aisles of shelves. When they first found this place, the shelves were mostly empty, and what little was left had already been used. There was a counter in the corner with a cash register sitting on it, and behind that, a door to the storage room.

On the other end of the shop was a set of glass doors that led to the lobby, where four plush couches sat facing each other. On nights that were not too cold, the couches were great for sleeping on, but the past three nights had forced all of them to sleep huddled around the tiny fireplace in the storage room. The lobby had an elevator that no longer worked as well as a door to a stairwell that was already boarded up when they arrived.

Yuri headed to the storage room to get warm. When he opened the door, the smell of cooked salmon assaulted his nose. They'd found plenty of cans of it a few days earlier, and it had been the go-to dinner ever since. The storage room was small, about the size of Yuri's bedroom back home. The walls were lined with wooden shelves, empty save for the few personal items they'd brought with them or found.

Yurio was sitting next to the fireplace, watching it closely. He looked up when Yuri approached, and his expression shifted from momentary relief to intense anger. "You were supposed to be back by dark," he said, glaring up at Yuri.

Yuri sat down on the floor beside the fireplace and began unlacing his boots. "Sorry. I ran into some trouble on the way back."

Yurio raised an eyebrow, the anger shifting to curiosity. "What kind of trouble?"

"A dozen corpses started following me," Yuri said, peeling off his damp socks and lying them close to the fire. "I had to lead them around for a while to keep them from ending up here."

"A dozen?" Yurio asked. "I haven't seen that many together since the first few days."

Yuri nodded as he slipped off his jacket and stretched out his legs, trying to get comfortable. He turned to Yurio and motioned for him to reach him some of the salmon that was cooking on the fire. "Where are the others?"

Yurio frowned as he got a plate from the closest shelf and used a fork to grab a few pieces of meat. He reached it to Yuri and said, "Phichit saw that light in the window across the street again. He thinks someone has a generator. They left to go ask if we could borrow some power to charge our phones or take a hot shower."

"And you decided to stay behind?"

Yurio shrugged. "I guess they thought the two most charming guys in the group should be the ones asking strangers for help."

Yuri smiled, and the action felt strange and foreign to him. "That makes sense."

"Still, I don't get why Phichit is so desperate to charge his phone. It's not like there's any service," Yurio said, leaning his back against the wall behind him.

"His phone was a big part of his life," Yuri said.

Yurio snorted. "Yeah, right. I asked him about it today and you know what he said? He said he wants to record everything that's happening so he can upload it after all of this is over. I told him most of his followers are probably dead by now. You should've seen him. I'd never seen that guy look like he wanted to punch someone before."

"You shouldn't say things like that," Yuri said, his tone slightly stern, "even as a joke."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Yurio said dismissively.

Just then they heard the sound of the bus door opening. "I guess everyone's home now," Yuri said, getting to his feet. Yurio rolled his eyes.

Yuri didn't bother putting his socks back on before walking toward the shop to greet the others. The door between the storage room and the shop opened before he got to it, and Phichit walked through. He smiled at Yuri. "Hey, you're back!"

"You're back too," Yuri said. "Did you find out who has the light?"

Phichit grinned. "We sure did. There's a nice old lady living alone in an apartment over there. She said we could charge our phones and take showers once a week if we want."

"That's great," Yuri said, and he meant it. Then he looked behind Phichit. "Where's-"

"Hey, Yuri," a voice said. "Did you find anything good today?"

Yuri watched as JJ stepped into the storage room. Even after weeks without a shower and careful food rationing, the man still looked amazing. Yuri began telling them about his day, about what supplies he'd found in the sweets shop, about the group of corpses he'd led away. And after they were done talking, Yuri put back on his now-dry socks and walked into the lobby. It was cold, but it was quiet, and Yuri could be alone. He sat down on one of the couches and pulled his phone from his pocket. Now that he knew he could charge it up later, he felt like it was okay to use some of the battery power he'd been saving.

When he turned it on, the wallpaper of him and Viktor standing side by side in Yuri's back yard in Japan greeted him. He opened the gallery and looked through the pictures he'd saved, of his home, his parents, Minako-sensei, the triplets, Makkachin, and, dominating most of them, Viktor. Yuri's eyes became wet as he stared at Viktor's image. Viktor skating on the rink Yuri grew up using. Viktor curled up in Yuri's bed. Viktor eating a pork cutlet bowl. Viktor holding Makkachin like a baby. And despite Yuri's best efforts to suppress them, the memories of that first horrible day came flooding back into his mind.

They were trapped in the rink area, hiding beneath the audience seats. Viktor and Yuri had met up with Yurio, his grandfather, JJ, Phichit, and Chris. They watched as crazed people, whom they would later realize were the dead still walking the Earth, attacked and devoured every person they could catch. The exit was blocked by hordes of them, so the only option left was to escape via the parking garage. But to get there, they would have to make it back through the dressing room hallway without being caught.

"We can make it, I know we can!" Phichit whispered enthusiastically. His cheery optimism was actually comforting.

Yuri did a rough count of the attackers wandering around the rink between them and the doorway to the dressing rooms. There were at least thirty, though not all of them were directly in their path. "I don't know, there's an awful lot of them," he said.

JJ lightly patted his back. "Don't worry. We're a lot faster than them. Look, they're pretty slow. We can outrun them."

Yurio shot JJ a glare. "My grandpa can't outrun them! He's old and he has a bad back."

"I think we should try," Chris said. "We can help carry your grandpa."

Yuri looked to Viktor, who looked worried. A drop of sweat slid down his brow. "I think we should try too," Viktor said, looking straight at Yuri.

In the end, they decided to make a run for it. Viktor had a broken broom handle that he'd found discarded nearby, which he'd earlier used to knock one of the attackers away. Yurio was clutching one ice skate. They waited until most of the attackers had their backs turned or didn't seem to be paying attention, and then they ran.

They made it to the dressing room hall without any serious problems, except that a group of the attackers had followed them into the hallway. They kept running, heading for the double glass doors at the end that would lead to a stairwell to the parking garage. The hallway was thankfully empty as they sprinted through. As they neared the end, Yuri noticed that Viktor was slowing down and, now that he was looking, he realized Viktor was limping.

By that point, they had reached the doors and JJ had flung them open. Chris and Yurio pulled Yurio's grandpa through and Yuri turned to Viktor, reaching out a hand to grab him by the arm. If Viktor was injured, Yuri would simply carry him.

Viktor jerked his arm free, and instead pulled Yuri's entire body into an embrace. "I love you," he whispered against Yuri's ear. "I'll always love you."

Yuri pulled back in alarm. "Viktor? What's wrong?"

Viktor kissed him lightly on his face and then shoved Yuri through the doors. As Yuri whirled around to come back, Viktor shut both the doors and slid the broken broom handle through the door handles, effectively blocking the way. Yuri banged and shoved on the glass desperately, screaming, "Viktor! What are you doing?! Open the doors!"

"If they have something to eat, they won't follow you into the parking garage," Viktor said, as if he was explaining a difficult jump.

That was when the full horror of the situation dawned on Yuri. He threw himself against the doors, trying to break the glass. "No, no, no! You can't!" he cried, even as Yurio and Phichit tried to pull him away. Behind Viktor, Yuri could see the herd of attackers getting ever closer.

Viktor gave him a weak smile and pulled up his left pant leg to show his ankle. It was red, swollen, and turned at an odd angle. It looked broken. "I won't be a burden to you," Viktor said, his face suddenly stern. "I won't be the reason you die. Now run!"

Yuri had his forehead pressed against the glass. He turned his head back and forth. "No," he said, "I won't leave you. We'll die together!"

"I don't want us to die together!" Viktor screamed, and the sudden harshness of his tone shocked Yuri. He'd never heard Viktor's voice sound like that before. "I want you to live!"

Yuri didn't know what to say to that. He stood rooted to the spot, tears pooling in his eyes and dripping down his cheeks.

Viktor's face softened. "Yuri, please. I know this is selfish and cruel, but I've always done whatever I want. Let me be selfish one last time."

Yuri still refused to move. How could he? How could he abandon the most important person in his life? His mind couldn't fathom his life without Viktor's voice, Viktor's embraces. He couldn't imagine a world without Viktor in it.

Viktor looked behind him, at who, Yuri wasn't sure, and said, "Get him away from here."

Yuri felt several arms hooking around his torso and his arms, pulling him away from the glass doors. He struggled and screamed, his throat going raw, as he watched Viktor's face through the glass growing more and more distant, and finally disappear as someone bodily dragged Yuri down the stairs to the garage.

Now, swiping through the photos of Viktor on his slowly dying phone, Yuri felt the enormity of regret. He had many about that day, but one stood out above all others. Viktor had told him he loved him for the first, and last, time. And Yuri, in his panic and desperation to change Viktor's mind, had never said it back.

Yuri wiped his eyes and turned off his phone. He had to be strong now, for Yurio and Phichit, and even for JJ, who was finally beginning to let the exhaustion show through his brave facade. He still clearly remembered what Chris, who ended up catching a flight back to Switzerland, had told him in the parking garage that day: "Viktor did this for you. Don't let it be for nothing."

And those words propelled Yuri through the streets that day, and every day since. Because the only thing crueller than Viktor dying for him, was Viktor dying for nothing. Yuri would live. He would force himself to be brave, to protect his friends. Because it was the only way to protect Viktor's legacy.

Yuri pushed the phone back into his pocket and walked back through the shop, to the storage room where the others were eating canned salmon around the fireplace. Phichit smiled at him and patted the floor, inviting Yuri to sit down. JJ was telling an outlandish story from his youth and Yurio was pretending to be asleep, but occasionally opening one eye to glare at JJ when the story got too crazy. Yuri sat down among them and felt, to his very core, warm.

[elesianne]

A Silmarillion fanfic, chapter three of seven – Carnistir/Tuilindien

Chapter length: ~2,100 words; Story rating: Teenage audiences

Some keywords for the whole fic: romance, marriage, family, some fluff, some angst, implied sex, years of the trees

A/N: A quick refresher on Tuilindien's family for this chapter: her mother is an advisor to Ingwë; father Ingolmo a scholar; older sister Lirulinë had a baby a little over a year before this chapter; younger sister Cantiel is pre-tweenish in human years; youngest sister Wilwarindëa, a toddler.

AO3 LINK

*

Chapter III //  The joy of houseguests

Tuilindien tries not to get homesick for her old home. She writes to her family often, and gets to know Carnistir's family better, and has tea with Indis and her Vanyarin ladies twice a week, and is as sociable as she can be with new acquaintances that she hopes will become friends. It is often exhausting, and she still gets homesick.

Though she wants and tries to avoid self-pity, there are days when it is difficult to do any more than what she has committed to, days when she would rather stay at home and curl up in a blanket with Snowdrop purring in her lap and Cinder napping somewhere nearby, and Carnistir somewhere close enough that she can feel the warmth of his spirit touching hers.

It is colder in Tirion in the autumn than on Taniquetil or the plains of Valinor, where she and Carnistir again spent the latter half of summer on her grandparents' farm with her family. They enjoyed their time there immensely, but after the summer's end and the harvest festival, they returned home to Tirion and settled back into their own life.

It is the life I chose, Tuilindien tells herself day after day, and I do not regret it. And both of those of statements are true; should the truth of them not be enough to keep homesickness at bay?

Yet it is not, not though she loves Carnistir more every day that passes.

As the last remnants of summer are replaced by falling leaves on the streets of glittering white  and a good harvest in their own orchard, Carnistir becomes worried about her.

'You spend too much time wandering in the garden or staring out the window into the rain when the weather is bad', he tells her one evening, his fierce black brows drawn to a tight frown aimed at her, a rare occurrence.

She slips into his lap on the living room settee. It is not yet dinner-time. 'I do not do those things all that much.'

His arms tighten protectively around her as she wiggles to find a good position. 'You do them too much.'

'I cannot help it. I wish I could. I tried to keep busy but I cannot do it all the time. I am not suited for that, and I prefer being at home with you to constantly seeking the company of people I hardly know anyway.'

'What can I do?' Carnistir asks.

'What more can you do, you mean. You already do so much.'

'I could –' he begins, but she interrupts him.

'I know that you refused supervising the building of the new distillery west of the city only because it would make your days longer to ride there and back every day. You were very interested in it, I know, I could tell. And you have still not finished all your planned little projects here at the house, either. I know that it vexes you that there are unfinished rooms here, yet you have chosen to spend more time with me instead. I do not want you to give up more.'

The set of his shoulders is bullish – that is the only way to describe it. It amuses Tuilindien. She smooths her thumbs over his frowning eyebrows.

'And I do not regret coming here to be yours, though I miss my old home and my family and friends', she says. 'I shall bear the missing, though it may take some more aimless wandering in the orchard and other such moments of wallowing in self-pitying waking memories.'

'But you will tell me if there is –' he begins, stubborn as a bull, too.

'I will', Tuilindien promises. These days all the promises he asks her to make are easy ones.

And she thinks that that will be the end of him worrying about her for that evening at least, but she should have known that he is too stubborn for that, too. When they are settled in their places before the dressing-table mirror hours later, his hands in her hair, taking apart her braids, he says, 'You should ask your family to visit.'

'I have thought about it.' She bends her head when a gentle pressure from Carnistir's palm at her neck indicates that she should, but keeps talking. 'Lirulinë won't come for some time because her baby is so young. She came to our wedding but it was an arduous journey for her with a baby so small and she would prefer not to make it again for a year or two, and I do not want to ask it of her. My mother won't come because she wants to stay close to Lirulinë, and because Wilwarindëa is still so young too. My father might come but won't enjoy it. He rarely enjoys things that are not very familiar and routine to him.'

'Hmm. What about Cantiel?'

Tuilindien meets his eyes in the mirror, thoughtful. 'She is rather young to leave home for longer periods of time.'

'But she is older than she was a year ago.' Carnistir adds, 'What I mean is, you have taken care of her for shorter periods of time before, haven't you? You two are very close. And she is a cheery and curious sort of child, you always say so. She might enjoy staying with us for a time. She could join your group of students.'

'And you like her, don't you?' Tuilindien smiles.

'She is a sweet girl. Much like her next oldest sister.'

He earns a brighter smile at that. 'She likes you, too', Tuilindien says. 'And she is indeed a cheery sort of girl, braver than me, so I think she would dare stay with us without my parents. Someone would have to bring her here, of course.'

'Perhaps for your well-being's sake your father could be bothered to leave his books and his comfortable chair in the garden for the ride back and forth, if he does not have to stay.'

'I appreciate your restraint in the amount of sarcasm you said that with', Tuilindien chuckles.

'I don't understand him as a person at all, but he has always treated me kindly so I cannot dislike him much despite my bewilderment.'

'He is a rather strange person', Tuilindien has to agree. 'And he dislikes leaving home but indeed, perhaps he might leave for long enough to bring Cantiel.'

'Write to him', Carnistir says, kissing the top of her head. 'The mere thought of Cantiel coming made you brighten and glow.'

'I will write to my mother since she is the one that makes things happen in my family', Tuilindien says.

Carnistir snorts and grins in answer to her grin.

Later, in bed, when they are relaxed and tired and quiet and twined around each other, Tuilindien whispers thanks to Carnistir for encouraging her to invite someone from her family to stay. 'I am too good at seeing only the obstacles', she says. 'You are good at running right through them, like a bull.'

'A bull?' She cannot see his brows but she knows they must be raised, by the tone of his voice. 'That is uncomplimentary enough to sound like something I might say.'

'It was meant as a compliment', she says, and burrows deeper under the covers and in his arms. 'You exhausted me with pleasure, Carnistir, I am barely capable of coherent speech and certainly not of well-formed compliments.'

'Then rest.' His voice is a pleased growl.

Tuilindien does. She walks on the slopes of Taniquetil with her sisters all night, Cantiel's small hand in hers, Lirulinë ahead of them keeping an eye for ripe berries.

*

After her father and sister arrive, Tuilindien and Carnistir's slow, peaceful mornings become less so.

Already before they come to Tirion, Tuilindien engages a drawing-master for Cantiel so that she can have lessons for the full duration of her stay. Nerdanel, who knows the artistic circles of Tirion, recommended a good one.

'I think that even in a relatively short time, she can learn much here that she couldn't at home', she says to Carnistir who doesn't seem to mind that one of their drawing rooms will be taken over by Cantiel's pursuit of art. He even gets her most of the supplies she'll need in advance, filling the room with artistic paraphernalia.

'Undoubtedly.' Carnistir's chest practically puffs up in Noldorin pride.

Tuilindien hides her smile.

The only unfortunate thing about Cantiel's lessons is how early they are. Tuilindien has to slip out of bed much earlier than she would like to, too early to savour their sleepy connection stirring back to life, or the warmth of Carnistir's body entwined with hers. She has to leave him there, grumbling and gathering the covers around himself as she leaves to have a hurried breakfast with Cantiel and take her to the lesson.

At least the lessons last all morning. Unless Tuilindien has lessons of her own to teach, she can slip back into bed with Carnistir when she gets back home, muttering a good morning to her father if she runs into him on her way back to the bedroom.

To everyone's surprise, Ingolmo expressed a desire to stay for a while, and he was of course welcome to do so, and Tuilindien very happy to keep him longer than she'd expected. Ingolmo is content to spend the days on his own, visiting libraries and scholars or just wandering around the house and appearing for dinner every day without failure. He is a very easy houseguest.

Except one morning, one of those when Tuilindien has slipped back to bed after taking Cantiel to her lesson, and pressed her winter-morning cold toes to her grumbling husband's calf, and greeted him with a wordless burst of affection, and laid her head on his bicep and closed her eyes.

There is a cheery voice from their bedroom door. 'Tuilindien!' And then, a few seconds later when Carnistir has already flown into panic, 'I'm going to the library.'

It's her father, who has never before felt the need to announce that he is leaving but now he has, even though Tuilindien is still in her bedroom. She rues her father's inconsistence and his forgetting that he should keep away from behind married daughters' doors.

She sighs and sits up, sending a wave of calm to Carnistir.

He has slept naked as always. As soon as he heard Ingolmo's voice he dove out of bed and began scrabbling for yesterday's clothes, covering himself in a sheet while he does so, resulting in a complicated, graceless hopping of a dance.

Tuilindien is dressed only in her shift. She sends another wave of calm to Carnistir and goes to the door but doesn't open it.

'That's very nice, father', she calls through the door. 'See you later.'

'Yes, I'll see you at dinner!'

And she comes back to bed. Carnistir, still beet-red, tosses away his clothes and lies down and she burrows to his side and closes her eyes and says to him, 'Let's wake slowly.'

He kisses the top of her head, and they both close their eyes. But within a minute it becomes clear that they cannot find any kind of rest anymore. Their hearts are beating too hard, their limbs no longer languorous, their minds wandering to the tasks of the day.

Carnistir groans. 'Right now, I regret telling you to invite your family.'

'I can understand that.' Tuilindien throws aside the covers, sits up and stretches. 'We have grown very accustomed and attached to our own habits and the rhythm of our life, it turns out.'

'Mm', says Carnistir, turning his flushed cheek to the pillow. 'I like our routines. And I never dealt well with deviation from routine.'

'My poor darling.' She looks at him lying there, naked and uncovered on the white sheets, the pale golden light of morning showing his freckles and his muscles and his long legs to a particular advantage.

She runs her hand down his cheek and his neck and his chest and to his waist. He opens his eyes and looks up at her through long, dark lashes.

'Is there something you want, Tuilindien?' And there is that soft-mischievous smile, too rare, that she loves, making an appearance at the corners of his lips.

'We cannot sleep, that is clear. But are you too irritated to…?' and she takes his hand and lifts it to her breast.

Something flashes in his eyes, and he doesn't bother giving a verbal answer, simply pressing her to the mattress at once and kissing her.

Not a bad morning, Tuilindien thinks as she kisses him back with equal enthusiasm, and winds her arms around his neck and into his thick black hair.

*

A/N: In the next chapter, there is a storm in Carnistir and Tuilindien's house. I'll update on Sunday.