#Chapter: [Unhidden]

[cosmiccrushes]

A Sea Of Crows

Rook x Lucanis || 5.5k words

summary: Lucanis Dellamorte and Rook de Riva meet under the most unusual circumstances. But what's not unusual is the friendship, and eventually more, they find together.

notes: I have half a mind to keep writing this Rook (my og mage Crow Rook) and Lucanis into a longer form fic (maybe a series?) I do have a whole backstory planned for her that I think could be fun to explore but ahhh idk

UPDATE! I am going to keep writing this as a multi chapter fic. It's going to include Lucanis personal quests, main datv plot points I wanna cover, and eventually my named Rook's backstory as an Antivan Crow

also humongous shoutout to @ datvtranscripts on tumblr for their incredible work cataloging datv dialogue, massively helpful for this fanfic writer <3

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CH 1: A Crow Underwater

Lucanis snaps the neck of the last Venatori cultist, letting their body thump to the stone at his feet. Spite’s wings dissipate at his back. 

Someone speaks behind him, voice lilting in an almost playful manner. “I’m guessing you’re the reason we’re here.” 

He turns to the two individuals who are entirely out of place in this underwater prison cell. Their unexpected arrival provided him with just the distraction he needed to burst from the crystal the Venatori had come to him in and dispatch them. He studies the new arrivals through narrowed eyes. One, a dwarf and the other, a Dalish elf, judging by the tattoos feathering around their eyes. 

“Who are you? Who sent you?” His voice is gruff with disuse. A year locked away with nothing but a demon for a conversation companion would do that. 

It's the elf who speaks again. “My name’s Rook. House de Riva. I’m here to bring you home. She’s Harding,” the elf jerks their head towards the dwarf whose hands tighten on her crossbow. 

A fellow Crow? House de Riva. That makes them one of Viago’s. Has his grandmother sent them to retrieve him? The day's surprises continue for Lucanis. “House de Riva. You're a Crow.” 

“Last time I checked.” The elf peers over their shoulder at an ominous groan from the prison’s walls. It appears the sounds of clashing Venatori and demons that Lucanis heard echoing through the Ossuary have resulted in a bit of structural damage. “We need to escape. Then we can talk.” The Crow, Rook, says, bringing their attention back to him. “I’m here to help. I’m breaking you out of here.” 

“Only one of you’s a Crow?” Lucanis is baffled by this situation.  

“And you’re possessed by a demon.” They sound curious, not judgemental, as their eyes trace the empty space around him where Spite's wings had been moments ago. 

“It's complicated.” Lucanis supposes he should get used to people looking at him like he's an abomination. Only, this Rook…doesn't. Their gaze stays open and curious. Their partner's discomfort goes unhidden. But if Rook is alarmed by the presence of a demon-possessed assassin, they don't show it.

“Caterina promised us a mage-killer if we broke you out of here.” Rook says mildly. 

“I can still work.” 

“Good. Because I’m pretty sure more Venatori are on their way. We have to get moving.” 

“Rook…” The dwarf looks to the Crow, her mouth pulled taught with wariness. “He's possessed.”

“It's fine, Harding.”

“Rook-” Harding tries again.

“I said I can work.” Lucanis bites out. 

Harding glares at him. “And I’ll listen to whatever she says,” she gestures with her crossbow at Rook. “But I don’t trust him.” The last bit she addresses towards the elf. 

“Understood.” Rook nods. “And we can discuss that later. Right now, I’d really prefer not drowning at the bottom of the sea.”  

“I can’t leave yet. The Venatori have a vial of my blood. I cannot leave it in their hands.” He notes the staff at Rook’s back, marking her as a mage. She will understand better than any the gravity of a mage who owns your blood. 

“Okay.” 

“And I had a contract when I was captured. One of my targets is here. Calivan.” Lucanis locks eyes with Rook. “You know what that means. Crows don’t break contracts.”

“All right. We'll help,” she agrees easily. “But in return, I want help killing some things.” 

“I’ll owe you.” Lucanis vows, noting the vagueness in her request. But a contract is a contract. Whatever things need killing, Lucanis would oblige. And if Caterina had sent her for a deal, Lucanis would never refuse. 

“I’m sure we’ll owe each other before this is all over.” She pulls blades from her own belt, tossing them to Lucanis. “Let’s go. So, first order of business?”

“Blood first, then my target. Calivan. The prison warden.” Rook immediately takes the lead as they exit his prison cell. Lucanis follows and this provides him with a chance to study his mysterious Crow rescuer.

She's a wisp of a woman. Lucanis does not mean this derisively- he himself is of small stature and it serves him well as an assassin. But he has entire inches on her. She must make deadly use of that in their line of work. As they slink through the corridors of the Ossuary, Lucanis observes the fluid lightness of her steps and knows he’s right. A target would never hear her coming. Her long, silvery blonde hair falls over her shoulders in two, tightly woven braids.

“Where do we find them? Calivan?” 

“In the tower. There’s a bridge.” 

“Not anymore,” Rook replies and Lucanis wonders just how bad of a state the Ossuary has fallen into. “We’ll have to find another way across.” 

A flurry of motion ahead of them as Venatori mages descend upon them in the chamber outside of his former cell. Lucanis refuses to even harbor thoughts that they will not escape this watery hell. He will not go back to that cell now that he is free, even if he must die instead.  

“Good. Mages. My specialty.” Lucanis is so eager to have a blade back in his hand, to cause pain to the Venatori that Rook and Harding are barely needed in this fight. Spite lends his wings and Lucanis stretches his muscles for the first time in a year. He gets the distinct impression that Rook is deliberately hanging back– whether to study his abilities or to offer him a bit of vengeance, he is unsure. 

Rummaging through the pockets of the slain Venatori, Rook raises a key, her triumphant smile spreading wide. “All right! One of them has a key. Must be my lucky day.” 

Lucanis raises an eyebrow. “You have an odd idea of luck.” He glances pointedly at their surroundings. 

Rook shrugs. “Well, I’m not dead yet. Neither are you. And actually, given the circumstances, that probably makes your luck better than mine.” She winks at him. Lucanis is suddenly very aware that these are the first true conversations he’s had with anyone in months. He’s not quite sure he’s doing it right. Is it possible to forget how to talk to people? 

They move forward through the Ossuary. Lucanis wonders how his grandmother finally found his location and why it was this particular Crow she sent to retrieve him. Not a Crow from House Dellamorte. Not a Crow he had even met before, as far as he could remember. And despite the brevity of their acquaintance, Rook imparted a feeling that she was not easily forgotten.  

“So, the Crows sent a mage to free their mage-killer?” 

“No. They sent their best.”

“Did they?” Lucanis is genuinely curious how things may have changed within the Crows during his absence. Who has risen in the ranks, who has fallen. Had his cousin, Illario, moved closer to First Talon?

Rook raises one eyebrow at him, the other scrunching with what must be amusement as her lips curl up at the edges. “No. They sent who needed you and who came looking at exactly the right time. Although I am good.” She winks at him yet again. Lucanis searches his memory trying to recall what it means when people wink at you.   

“Why were you looking for me?”

“Two blighted elven gods have broken free of their Fade prison and want to blight the whole bloody world. You're the Demon of Vyrantium. You're the mage-killer. Hopefully god-killer is in there somewhere too.”

“Blighted gods?” Lucanis must have heard her wrong.

“Yeah. I know, it's a lot. Just what the elven people need.” There’s a hard edge pressing against her words. “So about your target?”

“Calivan. The warden of the Ossuary. He oversees everything here.” 

“Where do we find him?” The dwarf– Harding– asks. 

“He’ll be in the most fortified part of the Ossuary, but first, we have to find where they’re keeping my blood. I cannot touch Calivan until it’s dealt with.” 

Their conversation is interrupted when they enter a new chamber and a swarm of Venatori pop into existence around them. Even as they fight, Harding keeps one eye trained on him, her distrust evident. Still, she is deadly with her bow– her arrows do not miss. 

And Rook– Rook is an artist, raising her staff like a brush against canvas. She paints death over the Venatori and effortlessly falls into step beside him, no longer holding back. Perhaps Lucanis has grown poetic during his isolation. Or maybe, he is simply moved by the welcome familiarity of fighting alongside another Crow. It has been too long since he had a taste of home. Regardless, it is apparent that Rook wasn't being overly braggadocious about being good. She wields her magic with all of the finesse and grace expected of a Crow.

They proceed. Striking down Venatori as they go. Rook pauses when they move through a chamber that served as a workshop for Zara’s tormented creations. She examines the evidence strewn across tables, a strained expression on her face. “Wait… Were they torturing demons? How? Why?”

“They didn’t all start out as demons. Zara made sure they ended up that way.” Lucanis states bluntly. The blood stains would explain his point well enough.  

“Zara?” Rook hasn’t looked away from the workbenches. 

“Zara Renata. There might be a higher-ranking Venatori somewhere, but I don’t know of one. This place is all her.”

Rook stares solemnly at the tables a moment longer. The stillest Lucanis has seen her yet, like the suddenly smooth surface of a lake that normally ripples with currents. Abruptly, she turns her attention to the Venatori crystals blocking their path. She smashes them, her mouth set in a harsh line, her eyes gleaming with a stony anger. A dam broken, an undulating eddy of motion as she cuts through the Ossuary. 

“Corpses possessed by demons. Watch out.” Harding warns, nodding to the undead shambling up the path ahead. 

“Zara Renata’s work. This place exists just for her to make new, worse kinds of demons.” 

“I think I’d very much like to meet this Zara. Show her some of my work.” Rook watches the undead as they take a diverging path around. Attention snapping away as she states, “Venatori ahead.” 

“Mine.” Lucanis steps up, determined to take his pay in blood today. Rook makes space for him. More blood mages crawl out of their rat holes behind them. “Mierda. These guys. Let me hit him first, then you can take him down.”   

“With pleasure,” Rook hums beside him. They fall into sync again, Lucanis’ pulse racing with the adrenaline of long overdue kills. 

Rook steps over the corpses of the dead Venatori and Harding quickens her pace to walk alongside Rook. “Rook. You sure about this? Abominations…” Harding's tone conveys her feelings on abominations. 

“We made a deal with the Crows to bring him back. And don't forget that it's gods we're up against.” 

“Right. Well, abominations never end well. Just remember I warned you.” 

Rook doesn't respond. Lucanis grits his teeth at the way they discuss him as if he's not here. One thing he can say he knows about Rook now though, is that she will complete her contracts– regardless of what she finds on the other end of it. 

The ground shakes beneath them and a macing creak echoes through the Ossuary, stopping them in their tracks. 

“I don’t like this!” Harding exclaims. 

Rook has her arms held out at her sides, steadying her feet. “Can’t say I’m a fan either.” 

Lucanis watches a stream of water trickle down a wall. “We may not have much time.” 

They reach a chasm where a bridge must have once been. Rook stares frustratedly at the open air they need to cross. “Damn it, there’s no path through here.”  

I. Can make. A path. From the Fade. The demon speaks in Lucanis’ head. 

“What?” Lucanis forgets that speaking out loud will draw attention. 

Let. Me. Pull from the Fade. 

“What are you-” NOW, Spite yells. “Fine.” 

“What is it?” Rook asks, considering him with a softness in her eyes.

“He says he can get us across.” 

“Who is ‘he’?” Rook leans slightly to the side to peer around Lucanis, eyes flicking back to him in question. 

“The demon. He says there’s something here. Something he can grab hold of in the Fade. It’s close.” 

“By all means.” Rook waves her hand and stands aside, looking distinctly unmoved by the fact that Lucanis has just confirmed speaking to a demon inside his head. 

Lucanis allows Spite just enough rein to reach out. He’s shocked when the demon’s magic manifests an entire chunk of stone as a makeshift bridge for them. 

“Wow.” The awe in Rook’s voice mirrors his own. “The demon pulled all of that from the Fade?”

“I’m as surprised as you.” Lucanis tries not to think too much about all the demon could do if left unchecked.

They enter another workshop area where Venatori mages and demons brawl. 

“They’re fighting? But the Venatori made all these monsters, didn’t they?” Harding asks. 

“Blood mages. They never learn. Zara can summon all the demons she wants, but they don’t have to obey her.” 

“And it doesn't look like they plan to,” Rook quips before plunging into the fray. 

The ghost of a smile flutters across Lucanis' lips before he charges after her. 

Rook rolls her head side to side, stretching out her neck after the last blood mage– the Fabricator, Lucanis recalls their moniker– drops to the ground, lifeless. “What did Zara want all these undead for?”

“Nothing. Those are the failures.” So many failures. Lucanis' stomach turns at the innocent life lost within these damp halls. He may not be innocent, but he lost life here too. 

“If those are the failures, what does success look like?” Rook questions. 

“She took the ‘best’ results out a few days ago. But some of the demons she created are still here.” 

“Calivan. You said he’s the one in charge?” Rook pauses her exit from the room to look back at him. 

Lucanis shakes his head. “No. He’s a lackey. He runs this place for a powerful magister. He was my target a year ago. Now we both want him dead.” Again, Lucanis feels compelled not to hide what he is now. It almost feels like he's challenging her. This Rook says she needs him to fight elven gods, says she's here to bring him home. But what home could a demon-possessed assassin hope to have? The fighting he could do, but he would have her clear about what exactly it is she's bringing back to Treviso.

“‘We’” meaning…?” Rook trails off expectantly. 

“Demons don’t forgive.” 

Rook’s eyes roam over him. “Neither do Crows.” She pivots, resuming her quick, sure pace. 

They draw nearer the chamber with Lucanis’ blood vial. “We're getting close.” 

“How are we supposed to find this thing?” Harding asks him. 

“I know it’s here. We can smell it.” The thing lurking within him has heightened his senses. 

Entering into an expansive room, Lucanis identifies that the vial of his blood is locked behind a Venatori crystal ward. He informs Rook. 

“If I never see another Venatori crystal…” Rook says darkly. She immediately begins to wind through the room, smashing crystals with a swipe of her staff. Lucanis gets the impression that she is not a very patient person. He imagines that it has probably earned her reprimand in House de Riva. No Talon would allow actions borne of recklessness, but especially Viago.    

In the center of the room are more tables strewn with corpses. 

“Look at what's left of these people… they were tortured. What a terrible way to die.” Harding shakes her head. 

“Very few people survive Calivan’s ‘rehabilitation.’” 

“You did.” Rook says simply. 

Lucanis peeks at her, but she continues her prowl around the room, hunting for crystals.

Rook smashes the last crystal warding the room. She sweeps out a hand in a grand gesture to Lucanis, bowing slightly at her waist. There is a mischief about her that again has Lucanis' lips twitching on the hint of a smile, such a strange feeling after a year of only horrors.

Lucanis’ eyes lock onto the blood vial at the far end of the chamber. “There. That’s the one. It has to be.”

Rook’s graceful steps lead her to the container. Lucanis joins her. She looks at him, shrugs, then shatters the vial with her magic. “All right then, that’s done. Now for our contract.” Lucanis doesn’t miss the way she says ‘our’ contract. Since she appeared before him, she has been fully committed to assisting him. She hasn’t questioned his motives or monitored him out of the corner of her eye like Harding does. Is she reckless? Or has he simply earned her trust so easily because he is a fellow Crow? And not just any Crow. Lucanis is well aware of the weighty pull associated with the House of the First Talon, House Dellamorte. 

Lucanis guides them through the Ossuary’s halls to its heart– where he believes the warden to keep office. His fingers itch to put a blade through Calivan’s heart. They reach a lift, filing inside. 

Harding again voices her concerns in a low, warning tone. “Rook…” The two must know each other well for Harding need not say more to express her thoughts to Rook.

“It’s us against gods Harding-”

Lucanis doesn’t particularly want to hear what Rook will say next so he interrupts. “I am right here, you know.” 

“It’s fine. We can talk about something else.” Rook shoots a pointed glance at Harding. “What’s Caterina like?”    

Lucanis is surprised by the question, even more surprised that he doesn’t know how to answer it. “After so long in this pit… I barely remember.” 

“You’ve been down here for a year?” Rook cranes her neck to speak to him behind her. Her braids slide against her leathers. 

“Mmm,” Lucanis grunts in response. What else is there to say?

“Is there anything we need to know about Calivan?” Harding asks. 

“You want to hear about his torture methods or something else? We didn’t chat.” 

“He might be turning those torture methods on us very soon, so,” Rook’s shoulders shrug noncommittally. She doesn’t rise to Lucanis’ spiteful bait tossed at Harding, though Harding glowers at him.  

The lift stutters to a halt and they are emptied into a cavernous room. 

A voice echoes across the space as they step fully inside. 

“Ugh, this was entirely unnecessary. Zara and her little jests. ‘He’s already the Demon of Vyrantium! Won't this be ironic?’” The man scoffs. “Hilarious. And now look at the mess you’ve made of my facility. She always leaves me to clean up.” 

“So this is Calivan.” Rook sounds unimpressed. 

“He is.” Lucanis confirms. “The target I was sent for a year ago. A Crow never abandons a contract.” His fingers tighten around his blade, well, Rook’s blade. He looks forward to reuniting with some of his own.  

Rook calls out. “Calivan! We’ll help you with the clean up. I think we’ll start by taking out the trash.” A vicious smile twists her lips and then she strikes.

Lucanis falls into the rhythm of the fight. A dawning awareness crests over him that if he is to continue working with Rook, he may have to get used to racing into battle after her. He might be more disgruntled about it if she didn’t wield herself so masterfully. 

Lucanis ignores the savage jabs Calivan attempts to distract him with. What words could hurt him more than the horror of having a demon possession forced upon him? 

Rook, on the other hand, grows increasingly annoyed with Calivan’s incessant insults– despite none of them being directed at her. Upon realizing the need to destroy the barrier protecting Calivan and beginning their coordinated efforts to do so, the prison warden screams at Lucanis, “You will return to your chains!” 

Rook snarls as she toils to bring down the barrier. “Ma halam! You will return to dust!” 

Calivan’s barrier falls and his enraged shouts summon a flood of demons to the chamber. Rook meets Calivan’s rage blow for blow. And despite Harding’s obvious misgivings about him, she too fights fiercely. When a Pride demon stands before them, they do not falter. 

Calivan’s desperation grows as he weakens and their group gains ground. “No! I will not be defeated!” 

“Sorry! We took a vote-” Rook snaps between swings of her staff. “-decided you die today! I’m sure you understand. Being an arrogant prick and all!” Spite guffaws against his skull and a grim satisfaction grips Lucanis. He’s never been particularly crafty with his words and finds that he relishes Rook’s lashing tongue. 

With a final blast of Rook’s magic and Lucanis’ blade through his chest, Calivan is no more. 

Lucanis releases a long held breath as he stands over his contract. “The Crows send their regards.” 

Rook breathes deeply beside him, tucking her staff at her back. “So, we got your target.” 

“Yes. The job’s done.” Lucanis has waited so long to say that. 

Beside him, Spite inhales. Smells like blood. Ashes. Not done. Not yet. 

Lucanis grinds his teeth, staring hard at the demonic manifestation. He must not hear Rook attempting to get his attention.  

“Lucanis… Are you all right? Lucanis? What are you looking at?”

When Lucanis finally registers Rook’s question, he turns to her. She is watching him, head tilted inquisitively at an angle. 

Careful. They know. We’re not right.

Lucanis looks back to Spite, then at Rook. “You cannot see him. I wondered.” So, the disturbing likeness of Lucanis that the demon manifested as was only visible to him it seemed. Mierda. Was that a gift or a curse? 

Rook’s head is still tilted at him. Her eyes shift from Lucanis to the vacant air beside him where Spite stands hidden from her sight. But she doesn’t look afraid nor concerned. “We clearly have things to discuss. Somewhere else.”

Harding nods vigorously. 

“Agreed. I think…it’s time I got some air.” Lucanis feels a nervous thrill run through him at the thought. 

Rook offers him a small smile. “Agreed. A Crow underwater… “ A shiver runs through her. “No thank you. I’m ready to get out of this place.” 

Lucanis returns her smile, the muscles in his cheeks twitching. He cannot recall the last time he used them. “Imagine how I feel.” 

***

The boat glides through the canals of Treviso. Lucanis' heart is in his throat as his city unfolds around him. He had been so close this whole time… He looks back to the rest of the boat's occupants and discovers Rook already watching him.

She smiles, gentle and friendly. “Welcome home.” 

The first warmth Lucanis has felt since being locked in the Ossuary floods through him. Home. 

They climb the steps to the Canatori diamond and he knows from the tense set of Rook's shoulders that he's not alone in sensing something is wrong. Rook glances at him, eyes tight with worry. He gives her a sharp nod. 

Teia’s voice reaches his ears first. “Maker…” 

Lucanis steps into a mess of a room. Broken furniture, strewn papers. Viago notices them first.

“Lucanis?” The Fifth Talon’s eyes flick over him and then to Rook at his side. Viago's clenched fists relax. 

“What happened here?” Lucanis has never seen the Diamond so disheveled. 

Illario slams his fist on a table. “A message. From Zara Renata.” His anger softens as he adds, “I can't believe it. You're home.” 

Lucanis can't reconcile Illario's former words. “Zara… Her people got this close?” 

“The woman who runs the prison?” Rook looks up at him for confirmation. 

“The Venatori witch who captured me.” 

“Revenge for the breakout, maybe?” The skepticism in Rook's tone matches Lucanis' own. How could Zara have moved so quickly? 

“Where's Caterina?” Lucanis searches the faces in the room, but finds his grandmother's missing. His stomach roils with apprehension.  

“She's…” Teia bows her head, her voice thick with emotion.

Viago steps up behind her, placing his hands on her shoulder. “The Venatori got her in the confusion.” 

“I get one of you back, only to lose the other.” Illario sighs.

His grandmother… the mighty, unshakeable First Talon… no, it could not be. 

Rook's tender voice at his elbow grounds him. “Lucanis… I'm so sorry.” 

Lucanis is grateful for her simple words, spoken with earnestness. Her presence also reminds him of Caterina's last request of him. “I need to work.” 

“Are you sure?” Concern squeezes Teia’s eyes. “You should take some time.” 

“I don't need time– I need a target,” Lucanis says harshly. 

His cousin addresses him. “You just got here, and already you want to leave again?” 

Lucanis meets Illario's eyes, willing his brethren to understand. “Caterina gave me a contract. I'm not breaking the last deal she ever made. And I owe Rook. Once that's done… I'll come home.” If his home would still have him, when they learned what he has become.

“I'll return him in one piece.” Rook tells Illario. She sounds as though she wholeheartedly believes it, that she will act as a protector to the, now literal, Demon of Vyrantium. This Crow is a peculiar one. 

“Thank you.” Illario inclines his head towards Rook. Then says to Lucanis, “Cousin, when you find Zara, I want– I need– to be there.” 

Viago interjects. “We’re under attack. Antaam on one side and now Venatori on the other? Forget revenge, we need you-” 

Teia stops him with firm words. “No, Viago. Zara came for us here. She took Caterina from my house. You find her and cut her heart out, Lucanis. VI and I will hold down the fort.” 

“I'll give her your regards, Teia.” 

Teia lifts her chin. “For Caterina.” A chorus of “for Caterina” sounds around the room. Teia's eyes drop to Rook. “And you be careful. Or this one-” A nod towards Viago. “-will lose his head over revenge, whether he admits it or not.” 

Viago huffs but doesn't deny Teia's words. “Do not make a mess of this contract,” he throws at Rook. 

Rook rolls her eyes at the Fifth Talon. Lucanis’ eyes widen at the sight and he waits for Viago’s reprimand but it never comes. “Yes, Viago.” Rook’s tone borders on disrespectful, but still Viago does not react. Lucanis stares between the Fifth Talon and Rook in confusion. 

Viago scowls at Rook momentarily, then directs his frown at Lucanis. His mouth opens like he’s going to say something to him. Instead he glares at Rook one more time, his mouth clamping shut in a hard line before shaking his head and walking away. Teia smiles at Rook before following Viago.

Lucanis very much wants to ask Rook what vital piece of information he’s missing that allowed her to walk away from that interaction unscathed, but Rook’s already moving away. “Let’s go. It’s time for you to meet everyone else.”   

*** 

Lucanis isn’t sure what to make of the Lighthouse. The eluvians were a fascinating bit of magic and the Crossroads were downright bizarre. There’s a confounding peace about the Lighthouse, but Lucanis does not trust a place borne of the Fade. Spite is far less wary, seemingly comforted by the closeness of the Fade– if a demon could even be comforted.

Lucanis’ introductions to the rest of Rook’s team had been made and he had, predictably, been met with skeptical looks and guarded expressions. Bellara– the Veil Jumper and ancient elven artifact expert– seems the least distrusting of him. Her and Neve– a Shadow Dragon detective from Minrathous– sit at the large dining table behind him discussing his possession. Lucanis leans against the fireplace mantel, staring into the crackling flames. 

“They’re the same thing. Mostly. Kind of.” Bellara is explaining. 

“Except one will manipulate you. Or kill you. Or both.” Neve replies. 

“But how do you get rid of them?” Lucanis attempts to not sound as frustrated as he feels.  

“Um…” Bellara’s hands flutter against the table. Lucanis suspects he already knows the only answer the Veil Jumper will be knowledgeable of. He’d come to the same conclusion himself while locked in the depths of the Ossuary.  

“What’s everyone talking about?” Rook draws his attention– and the demon’s, he notes with interest– as she enters the dining hall. 

“Spite.” Lucanis answers through clenched teeth. 

“The demon in Lucanis.” Neve clarifies. “When a person gets possessed, the demon usually takes control.” 

“And they turn into a monster. The spirit just…molds them. However they want.” Bellara adds. 

“I’ve heard of abominations being cured by killing the demon in the Fade. That’s not a sure bet, though.” Spite bristles at Neve’s words. 

“Well, there’s one way. But it’s..well…we’d have to, um…” Bellara stammers nervously. 

“You’d have to kill me.” Lucanis finishes. 

“There’s got to be another way. That can’t be the only solution.” Rook’s hands come to rest on her hips and an unyielding glint sparks in her eye. She looks as if she dares the world to disagree with her declaration. “Can’t we reason with Spite, maybe? Persuade it to leave?” Spite perks up at Rook’s question.

Lucanis gapes at the Crow mage who wants to have a chat with a demon. “Talk doesn’t work on Spite.” As the words leave his lips, Lucanis beholds with horror Spite manifesting beside Rook. He has never had to deal with the reality of Spite around other people and fear freezes him in place. 

Spite leers at Rook, a scathing smile on his face. She won’t hurt you. How sweet. The demon’s derision drips through his sentence like honey, sticking unpleasantly to Lucanis’ skin. 

No. Not sweet, dangerous. Lucanis stares into the determination solidified in Rook’s eyes. Very dangerous. If this partnership is to work, he needs Rook to be willing to stop him. Spite moves to Lucanis’ side and he tears his gaze away from Rook in relief. 

I want to talk to them. Spite demands. Lucanis ignores the demon. 

Bellara goes on. “Before we do, well, that. Let’s think this through some more. There has to be a solution.” 

“I have people in Minrathous I can ask, but I wouldn’t get my hopes up.” 

Rook nods at Neve. “All right. So what’s next?” Rook asks the room at large. 

Spite growls in frustration. Let me talk to them! I want. To. Talk. To Rook! Spite lashes out in Lucanis’ mind and his head cracks to the side. He feels blood wet his nose and he grunts in pain. 

“Lucanis!” Bellara exclaims as she and Neve spring out of their seats. 

Lucanis holds up a hand to them. “No, it’s fine. I’m fine.” 

Rook’s fists are curled at her sides. “Don’t pretend this is all right. It wouldn’t be fine if another person did it.” 

She’s angry for him, Lucanis registers. He softens at this. “No, but there’s nothing I can do about it. If it were another person, I could solve this with a knife.” 

“Why did he do that?” She asks. 

Lucanis will absolutely not tell her that the demon wishes to speak with her. His skin crawls at the familiar way Spite said Rook’s name. The demon has never said anyone's name before, not even Lucanis’. “Throwing a tantrum when he doesn’t get his way.”

“Perhaps he needs to learn what happens to Crows who throw tantrums,” she threatens. 

Lucanis smiles. “I would prefer not to relive those lessons.” Rook’s closed fists loosen. “Just… give me a minute. He’ll get bored once everyone leaves.” 

Rook’s eyes jump back and forth between his own. “I don’t like leaving you alone with a demon. I…” 

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Lucanis reassures her, though he’s not sure it’s entirely true. 

“Lucanis..” 

“Please.” He needs to get her– and everyone else– away from Spite until the demon calms down. 

Rook nods and gathers the others to leave.

As the door to the dining hall falls shut behind them, Lucanis addresses Spite. “You’re not speaking to any of them so forget about it.” 

Rook. Wanted to. Talk. To me!

There’s her name again. It grates on Lucanis’ nerves. “Yes. To ask you to leave.” Lucanis spits. 

Spite hisses, but falls silent. Lucanis closes his eyes, the fire in the hearth warming his eyelids. It’s true. Rook had thought to reason with a demon on his behalf. Lucanis sighs, peeling his weary eyes open. He heads towards a door at the back of the dining hall, opening it to find a long, narrow pantry. Oddly, a cot is already tucked into the far corner. Lucanis sinks onto it, letting his head rest against the stone wall at his back.

Rook will have questions for him eventually. But for now, he soaks in the fact that she respected his request, that she trusted him enough to leave him alone. He mulls over his own questions of what that could mean for a man who has truly become a demon.  

~~~

Next → CH 2: Questions & Coffee

[lw77]

Diet Pepsi 💈 (LSxMV)

Chapter 2. - Hunter?

“What’s wrong, Angel? I think you know I’m not interested in either,” Max says, a cheeky smile pulling at his lips.

Logan’s head is bent over the order sheet his dad had left him to figure out, because in his Father’s words he “needs to know more than how to scan items in the store.” Still in disbelief over his Father, because Logan stocks the chips all the time. That’s two things he does in the store. 

He hears the shop door jingle, thinking it’s his dad back from accepting their stock delivery. Frustrated, he whines, “This looks like a multiplication chart with words, Dad! How am I supposed to order anything?” His tone stretches into tantrum territory; he might as well have stomped his foot and crossed his arms.

“Why don’t you pout too, son? I figured it out, and you will too,” his dad replies as he walks in. But as Logan looks up, he realises it���s not just his dad who has entered— Max is behind him.

Max’s bright blue eyes lock onto Logan’s, and he can see the amusement swimming in them. Logan straightens up, flushed, clearly aware that Max has overheard his mini tantrum. He watches as Max heads to the fridge for a drink, his gaze trailing from Max’s broad shoulders in that tight white shirt down to the taper of his waist. But before he can let his gaze wander lower, his dad steps in front of him, waving his hand from side to side to catch his attention.

Startled, Logan exclaims, “Jesus, Dad! Give a guy a warning.” His dad deadpans, “I did, son. You just seemed to be else where,” unsubtly hooking a thumb back to indicate where Max stands.

“Yeah, OK. I’ll figure it out, whatever,” Logan mutters, flustered at being caught checking out Max by his dad.

“I think it’s not just the ordering you need to figure out, son,” his dad says, subtly eyeing both Logan and Max, who is still choosing a beverage. Amusement laces his dad’s voice as he comments on Logan’s plight.

“Stop it, please” Logan hisses in alarm, trying to keep his voice low.

His dad just laughs, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Just saying, son, sometimes you have to ride the bull by the horns,” he adds, the last part louder than Logan would like.

"That's not even how the saying goes," Logan whines.

"Oh, I know how the saying goes. I just thought this was more fitting to your situation," his dad replies plainly, as an explanation.

Yeah, Logan would rather get rammed by an actual bull than hear his dad give him any more dating advice or try to play wingman.

Cringing inwardly, Logan looks up, silently praying, *Please, God, if you can hear me, save me. I promise I’ll go to confession more often, and I won’t even bully Oscar for being a math geek anymore.* God must’ve had a needy child to answer because Max is approaching the register. Meanwhile, his dad unhelpfully lingers to the side of the counter, clearly enjoying the view of Max and his own beet-red son.

Logan shoots his dad a look. His dad’s expression is one of unhidden glee, but thankfully, he turns to busy himself straightening some candy bars—still in clear view of the two but less obvious.

“H–Hi, will that be all for today?” Logan asks, pulling himself up by his customer service bootstraps. *Eat your heart out, Dad .*

Max looks at him, eyes squinting as if he knows just how flustered Logan is. Logan tries to focus on the cross necklace peeking out from Max’s white tee, glinting and inviting.

“Yes, Angel.”

The nickname makes Logan’s whole body flush with heat, and his eyes snap up to meet Max’s. He quickly glances at his dad, who ducks down as Logan catches him snickering.

Logan scans the bottle and turns the reader toward Max.  His tongue feels thick as Max holds his gaze.“O–ok, w–well that’s good, here’s your t–total. Would you li-like your receipt?” he finally stutters out.

“No thanks, keep it. See you at lunch, Angel.” Max’s blue eyes twinkle warmly as he winks and waves goodbye to Logan’s dad, who is now openly watching.

When the door closes behind Max, his dad smirks. “Well, that’s one way to grab the horns, son. Can’t lie, didn’t think you had it in you. I thought we’d have to renovate your bedroom to get that boy in there.”

“Oh my god,” Logan groans. “Aren’t you supposed to want to save my innocence?” He’s mortified that even his parents are so aware of his blatant attraction.

“I think that went out the window when we saw your clothes from College, Logan. I mean, you might as well have worn assless chaps, son. Your mom worried someone had vandalised your clothes,” his dad says, barely holding back his laughter. Logan looks at him in shock, mouth agape at his dad’s relentless teasing.

__________________________

He hears Danny’s croon of “Logie boy! I have a present for you” all the way from the back room. As he heads out to the cash register, he spots Danny standing there with a relaxed Alex by his side. Upon seeing him, Danny wiggles his fingers in a “ta-da” motion toward Alex.

“Wow. You shouldn’t have,” Logan says dryly, squinting and raising an eyebrow in mock scrutiny. “Actually, I think I already have this model. Are you sure the contracting isn’t just a front for your stealing, Danny?” he calmly asks, making Danny guffaw in surprise at Logan’s humor, while Alex quietly laughs, familiar with his best friend’s wit when he’s coherent.

“Anyways, how’s your first day, Alex? Any hot milfs on the trail yet?” Logan asks, leaning his forearms on the counter.

“How come you never ask me if I have any milfs on the trail, Logan? I’m hurt! Is it because I’m Australian?” Danny replies, one hand on his hip and the other over his heart.

Logan ignores Danny, prompting a squawk of indignation that draws the rest of their crew to the register.

Continuing Danny’s train of thought, George chimes in, “Yeah, Logan, is it because I love the Queen? Is that why you won’t ask me about any of my milfs or dilfs?”

Charles adds, “Is it because I’m not actually French, little Logan? I’ll have you know that hasn’t been a problem.”

And it continued, until Carlos finishes his argument, and Logan groans in disbelief, holding his face in his hands muttering a muffled, “You guys are ridiculous.”

Raising his head, Logan realizes no one else is trying to make their case for being a milf or dilf hunter. He sees Max in front of him, eyebrow quirked.

“What’s wrong, Angel? I think you know I’m not interested in either,” Max says, a cheeky smile pulling at his lips.

“Ye-Yeah. Uh-huh,” Logan sighs, feeling like liquid fire wherever Max’s gaze trails.

Max’s eyes are warm, like they were this morning, but there’s something else there as he drinks in Logan’s obvious blush and bright eyes.

Their staring is interrupted by Danny’s sudden clap. Logan turns toward the loud man as he declares, “Oh yes! Logie boy, tomorrow is Alex’s official welcome party. So pack your swimmers and party pants—we’re going out on the lake, then back to our lake house for a little party. Nothing crazy, of course,” Danny adds, though his unconvincing tone makes some of the crew laugh at his obvious lie.

Logan glances at Alex, who just shrugs as if he doesn’t know much either. “Sure, is Oscar coming too?” he asks Alex.

“Yeah, he sa—” Alex starts, but is loudly interrupted by Danny. “Hey, Logie Boy, you may have an issue with us Aussies, but they’re always welcome at my parties!” He wags his finger accusingly.

Rolling his eyes, Logan replies, “Sure,” in mock exasperation.

He turns back to Max, realising the man never looked away during the whole interaction; his gaze is firmly fixed on Logan. The heat rushes to Logan’s cheeks again.

“So I’ll see you tomorrow, Angel?” Max asks calmly, as if he’s not claiming Logan in front of his whole crew, or staring him down with that bone-melting gaze.

Logan’s tongue feels too big, and his mind is blissfully cottony. “Ye-yes, I’ll, uh, see you,” he nods, trying to affirm it to himself.

“Can’t wait, Angel,” Max says before leaving, with some of the crew following him out, all flashing Logan a mock salute.

His best friend is the last to leave, making a crude motion with his hands. Logan flips him off and mouthing an annoyed “ alboner"

Oh god, he's going to see Max wet and half-naked tomorrow. Oh my god, he will be wet and half-naked tomorrow too.

Chapter 1 - Angel

Chapter 3 - Sunburn

[kvysvdilla]

𝑩𝑬𝒀𝑶𝑵𝑫 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑺𝑷𝑶𝑻𝑳𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻

idol/Jk x supermodel/reader -Aria Jeong-

GENRE: Romance | Fluff | Celebrity life

Chapter 04

Aria steps into the elevator beside Jungkook, the hum of soft instrumental music filling the air. She watches as he presses the button for the 14th floor. The golden number lights up, and the elevator begins its smooth ascent.

“Level 14?” Aria asks, tilting her head curiously. “Fancy number.”

Jungkook chuckles, his lips curling into a small smile. “Yeah, they rented out the whole floor just for me.”

Her brows lift in surprise. “The whole floor? You don’t like neighbors?”

He leans casually against the elevator wall, one hand tucked into the pocket of his hoodie. “It’s more about privacy. Only my manager and room service have access to the floor. Less…chaos.”

Aria grins, crossing her arms. “So, I’m the exception? Maybe I’m lucky.”

Jungkook glances at her, his smile widening. “Maybe you are.”

The elevator dings, and the doors glide open to reveal the lavishly quiet corridor of the 14th floor. The carpet is plush underfoot, the lighting warm and inviting. Aria steps out first, taking in the silence that seems almost surreal.

“This feels…exclusive,” she murmurs, her voice low as they walk down the hallway.

Jungkook smirks, pulling out a sleek keycard from his pocket. “It is.”

They stop in front of a door marked 1407. He swipes the card, the lock beeping softly before the door clicks open. He pushes it ajar, revealing the spacious suite beyond. The room is minimalist yet elegant, with a massive floor-to-ceiling window offering a breathtaking view of the city skyline.

Aria whistles softly. “This is next level. No wonder you don’t want neighbors.”

Jungkook steps inside, leaving the door open for her. “It’s not as fun as it looks. Gets lonely sometimes.”

As Aria steps into the room, Jungkook gestures toward the sleek vanity table near the mirror. “You can put your stuff there,” he says casually, his voice warm but calm.

“Thanks,” she replies, heading over to the table. She shrugs off her jacket, revealing her grey hoodie, then places her bag down. Carefully, she takes off her cap, letting her hair fall freely, and finally removes her black sunglasses, exposing her bare face.

Jungkook, now seated at the edge of the bed, finds himself unable to look away. Her natural features, unhidden by makeup, feel disarmingly honest and raw. There’s something about her simplicity that strikes him.

Noticing his lingering gaze, Aria chuckles softly. She turns and starts walking toward the couch, but as she passes by the bed, she pauses in front of him. Leaning in slightly, she softly boops his nose with her pointy finger.

“You’re staring,” she teases, her voice light and playful before she continues her walk and gracefully sits on the couch beside the bed.

Jungkook blinks, snapping out of his daze. He nervously chuckles, running a hand through his hair. “Can’t help it. You’re even prettier with no makeup on.”

Aria smirks, raising an eyebrow as she leans back into the couch. “So, what you’re saying is… I look bad with makeup on?”

His eyes widen in panic, and he waves his hands quickly, shaking his head. “No! No, that’s not what I meant!” he exclaims, his voice rising slightly in embarrassment.

She lets out a laugh, clearly enjoying his flustered reaction. “Relax, I’m just messing with you,” she says, leaning forward on the couch with an amused grin. “You’re too easy to tease.”

Jungkook exhales with a sheepish laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”

“And yet, you let me in here,” she shoots back with a smirk, their playful banter filling the air as the city lights flicker through the large windows.

Jungkook leans back slightly on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on the mattress behind him. He watches Aria as she gets comfortable on the couch, tucking her legs underneath her.

“You’ve got a dangerous sense of humor,” he says with a small laugh, his tone softer now.

Aria tilts her head, giving him a faux-innocent smile. “It’s not my fault you’re so easy to fluster. I thought golden maknaes could handle a little teasing.”

Jungkook scoffs lightly, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “Oh, I can handle it. You’re just…unexpected.”

“Unexpected how?” Aria asks, raising an eyebrow as she grabs a throw pillow and hugs it against her chest.

He pauses for a moment, his gaze lingering on her, as if searching for the right words. “I don’t know. You’re confident, quick-witted… but you’ve got this softer side too. It’s… different.”

Her teasing smile falters just a little, replaced by something gentler. She tugs at the corner of the pillow absentmindedly. “Different in a good way, I hope.”

Jungkook nods immediately, sitting up straight. “Yeah, in a good way.”

There’s a brief silence, the kind that feels heavy yet comfortable at the same time. The hum of the air conditioner fills the space as they both take a moment to process the words exchanged.

Breaking the stillness, Aria chuckles lightly and leans back against the couch. “You know, I was kind of expecting this room to be a chaotic mess. Clothes everywhere, snacks on the floor…”

Jungkook laughs, his shoulders shaking slightly. “What kind of impression did you have of me?”

She shrugs, grinning. “Just saying, you’ve got this… boy-next-door thing going on. I figured you’d be a bit of a whirlwind.”

“Well,” he says, gesturing to the spotless room, “now you know I’m a neat freak. I hate clutter.”

“Duly noted,” she replies with a smirk. Then, after a beat, she asks, “So… what does a global superstar like you do to relax in a place like this? Play video games? Watch Netflix?”

He chuckles, pointing toward the large TV mounted on the wall. “Both, actually. I’ve got a gaming console set up and a pretty long Netflix watchlist.”

She quirks an eyebrow. “Impressive. What’s on the watchlist?”

“Mostly action and thrillers. Oh, and some rom-coms,” he admits, scratching the back of his neck with a sheepish grin.

“Rom-coms?” Aria says, feigning shock. “The tough, mysterious Jungkook watches romantic comedies? I’m learning so much about you tonight.”

He laughs, throwing a pillow from the bed in her direction. She catches it effortlessly, grinning at his playful attack.

“Don’t act so surprised,” he retorts. “They’re funny, okay?”

She tosses the pillow back onto the bed, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Well, maybe next time you can show me your favorite one.”

Jungkook leans forward, resting his arms on his knees as he looks at her. “Next time, huh?”

“Maybe,” she says with a small smile, her tone teasing but laced with something genuine.

The room feels warmer now, the earlier awkwardness replaced by a growing sense of comfort. The city lights outside continue to twinkle, as if reflecting the unspoken possibilities in the air between them.

Aria continues to gaze at the glittering city through the glass wall, completely unaware of Jungkook’s quiet movements. When he sits down beside her, she still doesn’t notice, her focus on the mesmerizing view.

Jungkook leans back slightly, resting his arm casually along the backrest of the couch. For a moment, he just watches her, taking in the way the lights from outside illuminate her features.

“You really like the view, huh?” he asks, his voice soft but carrying a touch of mischief.

Startled, Aria turns to him, her wide eyes betraying her surprise. “You’re too quiet,” she mutters, chuckling nervously. “I didn’t even hear you sit down.”

Jungkook grins, leaning closer, his voice dropping slightly. “Maybe I didn’t want you to.”

She raises an eyebrow at his playful tone but quickly returns her gaze to the city. “Well, congratulations—you nearly gave me a heart attack.”

For a moment, silence falls between them, but Jungkook doesn’t look away from her. He shifts slightly closer, his arm resting on the back of the couch now hovering just behind her.

Then, without warning, he leans in—just enough to close the space between them—and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers graze her skin lightly, leaving a spark in their wake.

Aria freezes, her breath hitching as her cheeks grow warm. She turns to him, her wide eyes meeting his. “What… was that?” she stammers, caught completely off guard.

Jungkook leans back slightly, his expression unreadable but his lips curving into a subtle smirk. “It was bothering me,” he says simply, his voice calm but his eyes holding something deeper.

She blinks, her face growing hotter by the second. “You could’ve just… said something,” she mutters, trying to play it cool, though the blush creeping up her neck betrays her.

“I could’ve,” he says, his gaze not leaving hers. “But this was more fun.”

Aria lets out a nervous laugh, breaking eye contact as she looks back at the city view. She hugs the throw pillow closer to her chest in an attempt to ground herself. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Jungkook chuckles, his tone teasing. “You say that a lot.”

“Well, you keep proving me right,” she quips, though her voice wavers slightly, still flustered by his boldness.

He watches her for a moment longer, his smirk softening into a genuine smile. “Maybe I just like seeing you blush.”

She whips her head back toward him, her eyes narrowing. “Don’t get used to it,” she warns, though her pink cheeks tell a different story.

Jungkook laughs again, leaning back comfortably against the couch. “Too late.”

The playful tension lingers between them, electrifying the air as they both try to settle their racing hearts.

Jungkook leans back into the couch, his arm draped casually on the backrest behind Aria. He turns to her after a moment, noticing her slightly tired expression.

“You hungry?” he asks softly. “You’ve been asleep for a while—you probably need to eat something.”

Aria stretches a little and nods. “Yeah, I could eat. I think I’m a little tired still.”

He pulls out his phone, unlocking it as he speaks. “Let’s order something. I’m sure some places are still open at this hour.”

“What are you thinking?” she asks, leaning closer to see his screen. Without realizing it, her shoulder brushes against his.

Jungkook stiffens slightly at the unexpected contact, but he hides his nerves by scrolling through the app. “How about pizza?” he suggests.

Aria’s eyes light up as she tilts her head to look closer at the screen. “Pizza sounds perfect. Let’s go classic—pepperoni and cheese.”

He chuckles softly, nodding. “Good choice. Can’t go wrong with a classic.”

She naturally scoots even closer, their shoulders now pressed together as she peers at his phone. Jungkook can feel his heartbeat quicken, but he keeps his cool, his voice steady as he asks, “Should we get a large? Maybe with some soda?”

“Definitely,” she replies, glancing up at him briefly with a smile before turning back to the screen. “And don’t forget some extra cheese.”

“Got it. Large classic pepperoni and cheese pizza, extra cheese, and soda.” He finalizes the order, swiping to confirm it. “It should be here in about 25 minutes.”

Aria leans back into the couch, grinning. “You’re a pro at this.”

Jungkook smirks, placing his phone on the side table. “What can I say? I’m good at feeding people.”

She chuckles, shaking her head. “Well, thanks. I’m starving, so you just saved me.”

“Anytime,” he replies, glancing at her briefly. The closeness between them lingers as they both settle back into the couch, waiting for the food to arrive.

Jungkook leans back against the couch, his arm still resting on the backrest behind Aria as they wait for their pizza to arrive. After a moment of silence, he turns to her.

“Big day tomorrow huh?,” he says, breaking the quiet.

Aria looks at him, her brows raised in curiosity. “How are you feeling about it?”

Jungkook chuckles softly, running a hand through his hair. “A little nervous, to be honest. Even after all these years, the pressure never really goes away.”

Aria tilts her head, her expression thoughtful. “You’ve done this so many times, though. Isn’t it easier now?”

“In some ways, yeah,” he admits, his gaze shifting to her. “But at the same time, it gets harder. The expectations just keep growing, you know? And you want to outdo yourself every time.”

Aria nods, leaning in slightly without realizing it. “Makes sense. But you always manage to blow everyone away. I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

Jungkook smiles at her encouragement, his shoulders relaxing. “Thanks. What about you? First time attending, right?”

She laughs lightly. “Yeah, first time ever. I’m more nervous about not tripping on the carpet or doing something embarrassing.”

“You’ll be fine,” Jungkook reassures her with a grin. “Just be yourself. Everyone’s going to love you.”

“Easy for you to say,” she teases. “You’ve got years of experience. I’m just hoping not to accidentally photobomb someone famous.”

He laughs at that, his eyes crinkling. “Hey, if it happens, it’ll make headlines. ‘Aria Steals Spotlight with Accidental Photobomb.’”

She rolls her eyes, grinning. “Great, that’s exactly the kind of fame I want.”

As they talk, they both unconsciously scoot closer, their movements subtle but natural. Jungkook leans in slightly, while Aria shifts toward him to match his energy.

“So, what are you wearing tomorrow?” he asks, genuinely curious.

Aria smirks, crossing her arms. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I would, actually,” he counters with a playful grin. “I need to mentally prepare for how you’re going to steal all the attention.”

She chuckles, her gaze softening. “It’s nothing too crazy. Just a dress. Simple but elegant.”

“Sounds perfect,” Jungkook says, his voice softer now. “You’ll look amazing.”

Then, as Aria glances at him, she suddenly feels a spark of courage. With a small exhale, she smiles shyly and says, “I… actually need to admit something.”

Jungkook raises an eyebrow in curiosity, his voice low. “What is it?”

Aria pauses for a second, gathering her thoughts before she finally blurts out, “I’m a big fan of yours, Jungkook.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen in surprise, his mouth parting slightly in disbelief. “Wait… seriously?”

“Yeah,” she says with a sheepish grin. “I’ve been a fan of you for a long time. It’s just… it’s crazy to actually be sitting here talking to you. You’ve been one of my biggest inspirations for so long.”

Jungkook laughs softly, leaning in a bit closer, their faces now only inches apart. “Well, in that case I’m glad you did because you know… I’ve actually been admiring you for years too,” Jungkook says, his voice soft but steady.

Aria blinks, taken aback by his words. Her eyebrows furrow in surprise. “What?”

He chuckles lightly, “I mean, it sounds cheesy, but it’s true. Ever since I saw you on social media for the first time, I couldn’t stop thinking about how amazing you were. You’ve always had this… presence. It’s hard to ignore.”

Aria stares at him, her mind struggling to process what he’s just said. “You’re serious?” she says slowly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah,” Jungkook replies, his eyes meeting hers again. This time, there’s no hesitation. “I’ve admired you for a long time. You’re not just talented, you’re so down-to-earth, and I’ve always thought you had something special.”

A blush creeps up Aria’s neck, her heart skipping a beat at his honesty. She shifts uncomfortably, unsure of what to say next. “l don’t even know what to say…”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Jungkook reassures her, his smile soft and genuine. “I just wanted you to know. I’m glad I’m finally getting to spend time with you.”

She laughs nervously, looking down at her hands. “This is a lot to take in… but I’m glad too.”

Jungkook leans back against the couch, glancing out the window at the city lights below. “It’s crazy, right? Two people who’ve admired each other for years, and now here we are.”

Aria lets out a small sigh, her heart still racing. “Yeah, it is crazy…”

The phone in the room suddenly rings, breaking the silence. He picks up the receiver and greets the person on the other end with a casual tone.

“Hello?”

Jungkook nods, even though the person on the other end can’t see him. “Thank you. I’ll be right there.”

He hangs up the phone and turns to Aria with a smile. “That’s our food. They’ve left it outside the door.”

Aria looks over at him, already starting to get up from the couch. “Oh, I can go get it. Don’t worry about it.”

But before she can stand, Jungkook quickly holds up a hand, stopping her. “No, no. It’s fine. Let me get it.” He grins playfully, a hint of teasing in his voice. “You just sit here and be pretty.”

Aria raises an eyebrow, her lips curling into a smile. “Be pretty, huh?” She sits back down on the couch, crossing her arms with a teasing look.

Jungkook chuckles, standing up from the couch, giving her a wink as he makes his way toward the door.

As he walks to the door, Aria watches him with a soft smile, her eyes following his every move. She can’t help but feel a little warmth in her chest as he takes charge of the situation. He grabs the box and closes the door behind him before making his way back to the couch, where Aria is still seated.

He places the pizza down on the table in front of her, sitting back down on the couch beside her. “There you go,” he says with a satisfied smile. “You didn’t have to move an inch, and now we get to enjoy our food.”

Aria laughs lightly, looking at the pizza. “Well, if you insist on treating me like a princess, I’m not going to argue.” She takes a slice of pizza, her eyes still on him. “You’re too kind.”

Jungkook grins, his eyes glinting with a playful light. “You're a princess to me. So, anything for you, princess." Aria laugh loudly because of his statement.

Jungkook and Aria sit comfortably on the couch, each holding a slice of pizza, the warm, cheesy goodness filling the air. They both take a bite, savoring the taste.

“So,” Jungkook starts, his voice casual but his eyes locked on her, “What time are you planning on heading back?”

Jungkook leans back slightly, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. “Or… do you wanna stay the night here?” He gives her a wink, taking another bite of pizza, his gaze never leaving hers.

Aria’s lips curl into a smile, matching his playful tone. Without missing a beat, she counters, “Is that an offer for me to stay here?”

Jungkook’s eyes light up with amusement, his heart beating a little faster as he sets the pizza down on the table. He leans in just a little, lowering his voice slightly as he speaks. “I’d be the happiest man in the world if you stayed. Honestly.”

Aria lets out a small laugh, shaking her head as if she can’t believe his audacity. But she’s secretly flattered by his words.

Just as they share the lighthearted moment, he notices a small crumb at the corner of her lips. His gaze softens, and without thinking, he reaches out, brushing his thumb gently across her skin, wiping the crumb away.

He licks his finger afterward, his eyes still focused on her. “You know,” he says softly, his voice low but sincere, “I really want you to stay over with me."

Aria freezes for a moment, feeling the warmth of his gaze and the tenderness in his actions. Her heart skips a beat, and she feels a mix of emotions swirling inside her. She hesitates for just a second before she nods her head softly.

“I’ll stay,” she says quietly, her voice tender but firm. “I’ll stay the night, if that’s really okay with you.”

Jungkook’s heart swells at her words, a soft smile curling on his lips as he meets her gaze. “Of course it is. I’m really happy you’re staying.”

"But I have to wake up before 9am to head back to my place. Is that okay?" she ask him softly as he just nodded to her while take a big bite of the pizza.

The tension in the room fades as they both relax into the moment.

After finishing their pizza, Jungkook and Aria set the empty box and the cans of soda to the side. The atmosphere is comfortable, and the air is filled with the quiet hum of the room. Aria stretches slightly, feeling the effects of the late hour beginning to settle in.

She turns to him and, with a soft chuckle, asks, “Hey, do you have a hotel toothbrush I can borrow? I came here unprepared.”

Jungkook looks at her for a moment, his smile soft and understanding. “Of course,” he says, standing up from the couch. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

He leads her toward the bathroom, his movements calm and easy. Once inside, he opens the drawer and retrieves a new toothbrush, a small tube of toothpaste, and a fresh towel. He hands them to her with a gentle smile. “Here you go.”

“Thanks, Jungkook,” she says, taking the items from him, her fingers brushing against his for a brief second.

He grins, his eyes twinkling with affection. “You’re always welcome, princess.” With that, he ruffles her hair playfully before turning to walk out of the bathroom, closing the door softly behind him.

Aria stands there for a moment, her cheeks flushed from the exchange. She can’t help but smile to herself as she looks into the mirror, feeling a warmth spreading through her chest. She takes a deep breath and begins washing her face, splashing water to refresh herself. Afterward, she brushes her teeth, preparing for the night ahead. It’s already 1:13 AM, and she knows she’ll need rest soon.

Once she’s finished, she walks out of the bathroom, feeling refreshed and more relaxed. The light in the room is dimmed, creating a cozy atmosphere. Jungkook is lying on the bed, he already change his black hoodie into an oversized black shirt with his back against the pillows, scrolling through his phone with an ease that only he seems to have. The soft glow from the lamp makes him look even more handsome, almost ethereal in the dim lighting. His tattoos are more visible in this setting, and his smooth hair and lip ring make him look effortlessly cool.

So boyfriend-able she thought to herself.

Aria can’t help but stare, caught off guard by how attractive he looks, feeling a flutter in her chest.

That’s when Jungkook glances up from his phone and, with a playful grin, says, “You’re staring.”

Aria blushes, realizing she’s been caught. She laughs softly and quickly responds, “Sorry, I couldn’t help it.” She then walks over to the wardrobe beside the bathroom door and hangs the towel.

As she turns back toward him, Jungkook pats the space beside him on the bed, his gaze warm and inviting. “You can come lay down next to me,” he says, a playful tone in his voice.

Aria raises an eyebrow, her lips curling into a mischievous smile. “I thought I was taking the couch.”

Jungkook chuckles softly, his expression softening as he looks at her. “Well, the couch is nice and all, but it’s a lot cozier here.” He pats the space again. “Come on, just for tonight.”

As Aria settles beside Jungkook, she tucks herself under the comforter, pulling it up to her chin for warmth. The soft fabric envelopes her, creating a cocoon of comfort around her as she turns her body facing him.

Jungkook gently turns towards her too so that she’s facing his chest, their bodies now close. Her head resting just under his chin. Her eyes are heavy with the need for sleep, but she can’t help the comfort she feels being this close to him.

Jungkook looks down at her, his hand gently brushing her hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear as he speaks softly, “Are you coming to the rehearsal tomorrow morning?”

Aria yawns, her eyes half-closed. “Yeah… I’ll go with Claire,” she mumbles, her voice thick with exhaustion.

He smiles tenderly, brushing his thumb across her cheek. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says quietly, his voice low and soothing.

She nods, her eyelids fluttering as her heavy eyes threaten to close completely. Jungkook chuckles softly, the sound warm and comforting in the quiet room. He reaches out, his fingers gently caressing her cheek, the gesture sweet and affectionate.

“Go to sleep,” he whispers. “We have a long day tomorrow.”

Aria smiles faintly, feeling a sense of peace wash over her. “Goodnight, Jungkook,” she whispers, her voice barely audible, but full of warmth.

He leans down slightly, brushing his lips near her forehead. “Sleep well, Aria,” he replies softly, his voice full of care.

As Aria drifts off to sleep, her body nestled comfortably beneath the soft comforter, Jungkook quietly shifts his attention to his phone. His fingers glide over the screen, carefully setting an alarm for 8:00 AM. He wants to make sure Aria wakes up on time for the rehearsal, but he doesn’t want to disturb her peaceful slumber.

After confirming the alarm is set, he places the phone down on the nightstand beside the bed. He looks over at her, her face relaxed in sleep, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He can’t help but feel a sense of warmth in his chest, watching her rest so peacefully next to him.

Jungkook gently adjusts the blanket, making sure she’s tucked in well, before settling back down. He watches her for a moment longer, then closes his eyes, allowing the quiet calm of the night to wrap around him. The sound of Aria’s steady breathing and the soft hum of the hotel room lull him into a deep, peaceful sleep as well.

The alarm is set, and all he wants now is for her to sleep well and have a restful night, knowing the next day will bring a busy but exciting morning.

Chapter 05 --- Back to Series Masterlist

[fall0utmind]

Medical leak AU pt 7

It's 11pm, have 5k words of whump from Vale's POV.

Chapter 7 - Vale's Interlude - A03

Parts 1-6 on the #medical leak au tag

Usual TW apply (suicide, abusing pain meds - no graphic details)

LMK what you think

Ever since the news broke, Valentino had been overwhelmed by a myriad of confusing feelings.

He first heard whispers in the paddock on Friday morning. He was walking past some journalists and had noticed the excited murmuring that usually accompanied big news. It wasn’t until he heard Marquez’s name that he stopped, pretending to be busy so he could eavesdrop.

Although he liked to pretend Marc was no longer important, he could not deny his interest in the man. Marc had ruined his untarnished career; it was only normal to feel such intense rage whenever he was reminded of the man. It was the reason he still spoke about him, he needed the world to understand the injustice, to feel his hatred. Because that was what this was all about. Hatred. He knew the boys would call him obsessed, but really, he was just getting a better idea of the enemy, for Pecco’s sake. He scoffed when he figured out what the journalists were talking about, the apparent breaking news– yeah, as if. He continued walking, amused by the idea. It was preposterous, all Marc wanted was to beat Valentino, to take his records. He wouldn’t have given up on that. The one thing Marc loved more than anything else was winning. He shook his head; Marc was never so weak.

It wasn’t till later, when he sat watching the press conference, that a sliver of doubt crept in.

He considered himself an expert in Marc. The way he calculated every action, how he performed every expression. Everything was a persona with him. But after the first question, it all crumbled. He watched pure fear cross Marc’s face before he could school it. The press constantly brought up 2015, it usually made Valentino feel slightly vindicative, the way Marc always had to paste on his media smile. This time, though, he only experienced a creeping sense of dread. Marc was trying to get them to move on from the topic, with limited success. Valentino observed the way Pecco was staring at Marc, concern and bemusement unhidden in his countenance. It made Vale frown. The atmosphere in the press room was tense, even through the screen.  

It only got worse.

Marc was staring into the distance, looking at something off-camera, his expression alarmed. The next question was worse, shaking Marc out of his daze. He watched in fascination as Marc’s façade fell apart, sweat glistening on his brow, his face carefully blank to the casual observer. Valentino flinched when his name was mentioned, and his stomach dropped at the sentence that was uttered.

Marc? Suicide? No way. No, that wasn’t possible.

Valentino was clenching and unclenching his fists, his brow furrowed as he intently stared at the screen. He thought he might be having a heart attack.

Jesus.

He was fixated on Marc’s face; Valentino saw the horror dawn on his face as understanding settled and felt his own nausea rising in response. He watched as the Marc on-screen flitted his eyes to the other riders on stage, he followed the younger man’s gaze. Pecco looked wrecked, fear shining in his eyes. The others didn’t look much better. The silence was deathly; Marc was frozen in place – a rabbit in headlights.

Valentino blinked. Marc shot out of his seat, sending it clattering to the floor. He watched in horrifying confusion as Marc fled. There was a second of quiet before the media room exploded. The three remaining riders looked bemused, staring after where Marc had bolted, before they too rose to their feet, trailing out of the room in a daze. Valentino had to close his eyes for a second. This could not be happening. Seriously. This had to be some elaborate joke, a media ploy from Marc’s team. He simply could not believe that happy, carefree Marc had done this. He settled slightly, yes, of course. It had to be false. Marc would never give up, no matter how bad it had gotten.

*

Thoughts of Marc were still on his mind when he found Pecco later. He wondered what had happened and why Marc had reacted in that way. A part of him thought this must have been some elaborate ploy to gain sympathy.

Pecco was sitting despondently on the settee in his motorhome, deep in thought. Vale once more cursed Marc Marquez, of course, Marc couldn’t just leave Valentino alone, he had to fuck with his students too. Anger rose within him; he shoved it down. Right now, he had to focus on Pecco. He sat down, their knee knocking as he did so, and sighed quietly.

“Are you okay?”, he asked.

“Ah, I do not know. Cazzo, that was hard to watch”, Pecco replied.

Valentino cocked an eyebrow, there was more anxiety in Pecco’s voice than he had anticipated. He had hoped that it wouldn’t have affected his student as much, Marc was clearly fine, wasn’t he? He said as much to the other man, who scowled in response.

“You’re joking, Vale. You should have seen him after, he was a mess, throwing up in the toilets, almost crying. It was horrible”, Pecco snarled. It raised Vale’s hackles, Pecco didn’t know Marc the way that he did.

Marc was a manipulator; he changed that narrative to suit himself. He would do anything to win, including betraying people he claimed to love. He got people on his side by any means. The way he’d convinced Ducati to hire him for next year still baffles Vale. Sure, he was a good rider, but putting him in red was a bad move, stupid if you asked Vale. Marc was dangerous, and unpredictable. Ducati was Italy’s pride, and they had gone and put enemy number one on their bike. Valentino’s frustration had nothing to do with his title record and his own failure on the Ducati machine.

Nothing at all.

Valentino tried not to consider it too hard, how much he thought of Marc. In his weaker moments, he allowed himself to reminisce on what could have been. He hated to admit his former soft spot for Marc, the way the younger looked at him as if he had hung the moon and the stars. At his worst, he let himself imagine sharp cheekbones and pink lips, of loud laughter and warm brown eyes. Marc should always be smiling; even going through tragedy, he smiled. The thought of him in pain made him shudder. But he was not in pain, because it was a lie. It was abhorrent to think of it as the truth. It could not be. It went against the very fabric of the universe. It was a bit like this: he hated Marc Marquez, and Marc Marquez was a smug bastard who was always infuriatingly happy. These were two facts that he clung to desperately.

He turned back to Pecco, who had gone stiff beside him. Valentino had heard that Alex Marquez had swept Marc back to their motorhome after the press conference, he tried not to think too hard about that. Clearly, it had shaken Pecco, and Vale didn’t like that one bit. He settled a hand on the younger’s back, ignoring his own thoughts for a minute.

“Pecco, you cannot let this get to you”, he said. “Let Marquez deal with his stuff, it will blow over soon enough.”

Pecco did not look settled by his answer, but Vale did not have anything else to say, instead, he changed the conversation into a practice debrief, easier territory for them both.

If only he had been correct.

*

Marc got pole position in qualifying. It made Valentino grit his teeth in frustration, wondering how the hell the Spaniard was beating the others on a year-old bike. He had been watching Marc carefully in his box, noting his slightly subdued manner. It made an unnamed emotion swell within him. He pushed it down. His stomach soured when he caught sight of Andrea Dovizioso in the Gresini garage, looking at Marc with unconcealed fondness. He was all over the Spaniard, the two of them laughing together like children. Surely nothing was that funny. The ugly feeling only grew when they walked past whilst Vale and Pecco were chatting in the paddock, the older whispering to Marc. Valentino couldn’t help but stare, as he always did when it came to Marc.

Valentino didn’t notice the man until it was too late. He watched it happen in slow motion- the cruel words and Marc’s heart-breaking reaction. The ‘fan’ was brutal, viciously attacking Marc. It was hard to watch the way his face broke, his eyes going shiny with tears. Valentino’s world stopped at the hurt he saw. By the time his brain came back online, Pecco had gone, stalking over to the incident. He followed closely, grimacing as Pecco began to shout at the man. Marc was being dragged away by Dovi,  Vale tried to shove down the misplaced discomfort at seeing the two together, it almost felt akin to jealousy. But that was impossible. He had nothing to be jealous of.

(Nothing).

He re-focussed on the way that security was hauling the man away from them and towards the exit. Valentino tugged Pecco’s sleeve, wanting to escape from the public as soon as possible. He swallowed down the feelings which threatened to rise at what he had just witnessed.

“Come on, let’s go, it’s not worth it”, he sighed, pausing briefly before continuing, “you are upset, it is not worth staying and watching, we will make sure he never comes back. I promise.”

Pecco relented. His face was distraught, his anguish clear. By the time they reached the Ducati motorhome, Pecco had fully retreated into himself and asked to be left alone. Valentino accepted the request despite his concern. He did not really want to abandon the younger man but felt he had no choice after he had almost screwed up that morning.

Being alone gave him time to think, as uncomfortable as it was. He was surprised by the venom that had laced the man’s voice as he spoke to Marc, it made Valentino wonder if that was usually how people addressed him. He could understand Marc’s reaction to such horrible words, and Pecco had always been a kind-hearted person. Dovi’s intentions were still unclear to Vale. He let his thoughts drift back to Marc- his sad eyes and blank face. It couldn’t be easy to be hated so viciously. To make matters worse, a quick look on social media told him that a lot of people had said similar things. He thought back to his interview this morning, where he had suggested that they disregard thinking about Marc’s life from 10 years ago. It was, after all, pointless. The past was the past. Clearly, he was alone in his views. He pointedly did not lament the fact that Sepang and his 10th were a decade ago too, because that was different. He closed his eyes, pushing away the mental image of Marc’s shattered face.

Instead, he focussed on his anger. The way Marc had practically fallen in Dovi’s arms as if he was anything but a lone wolf, an outsider in the paddock. He had heard whisperings in the paddock that Dani Pedrosa and Jorge Lorenzo were in Gresini today too. It seemed like Marc was inviting all the retired riders to watch. He did not analyse the feelings too much, but let the indignation rise within him. Marc’s stupid games were affecting Pecco, it was unfair. Vale frowned at the thought, it would not do, he would have to tell Marc to cut it out. Make sure that Marc knew that Valentino knew the truth.

It wasn’t too difficult to catch Marc before the sprint. The younger had, predictably, taken the quiet route through the motorhomes to get to the garages. What was more unexpected was the tense fight that occurred. Valentino had expected to call Marc out and be met with annoyance and maybe an admittance of guilt. He had not anticipated the stone-cold fury in Marc’s voice, nor his own rising emotions, made worse when he spotted Dovizioso’s stupid jumper. He tried to keep his temper under control but the thought of Marc lying to the media, making everyone feel bad, only to be doing that, with Andrea of all people, left a sour taste in his mouth. He was meaner than he intended to be and was met with blazing anger from Marc. There was startling hurt in his voice. It was only once Marc had turned on his heel and stalked away that Valentino realised that the younger had had tears in his eyes and that he had sounded scarily like he was telling the truth. He watched him leave as regret welled up inside of him.

Merda

*

When Marc crashed out of the sprint race, the guilt and regret increased tenfold. His heart had stopped when Marc had collided with the ground, nausea rising when he did not move after. He could not stop thinking about the look on the younger’s face as he had called him an attention seeker. It hurt too much. Suddenly, ten years of anger seemed irrelevant. To make it worse, now people were talking about more leaks, something about Marc and painkillers. Valentino wasn’t sure he really wanted to know. He was beginning to question why Marc would do this to himself.

Afterwards, Valentino tuned into the stream of the media pen, not wanting to go down in person. Pecco had won the race, and Marc had gotten back to his feet, scoring no points but alive. Valentino could only watch in horrified fascination as the press continued to hound Marc. He had never seen it so bad. The way the journalists watched Marc like they were hunting prey made him shiver. He didn’t think he had ever seen Marc look so ruffled. A distant voice told him that this was his fault. The aftermath of Sepang flashed through his head, he steadfastly ignored it. It was not his fault the media had broken into Marc’s house. He had not caused the fallout or the hatred, if Marc had not ruined his title chances, there would have been no issues. Valentino scowled at the thoughts.

His momentary distraction ended when Marc once more stalked out mid-interview. It left Vale feeling slightly dumbfounded. Why would Marc keep having such strong reactions to the news if it was planned? As much as he hated to admit it, his theory was beginning to show cracks, splintering at the edge. He chose not to consider the other feelings that came alongside that revelation. Instead, he turned off his phone, hoping the boys would provide some distraction when they came back.

The boys came pouring into his motorhome an hour later, after their celebrations and debrief, as was usual for the academy on a race weekend. Luca and Bez were first, talking between themselves about the race, making Valentino smile with their rehashing of the events. When Franky entered, he was complaining about how long his debrief had lasted, making Valentino grin as he reminisced. Long debriefs were always painstakingly boring. Pecco and Cele eventually stumbled in half an hour later, the older still buzzing from his win. Vale tried to let his awkwardness from earlier show as a round of cheers sounded. He congratulated Pecco warmly, and let happiness fill him at the sight of Pecco’s beaming smile in return. Things would be okay.

Valentino drifted in and out of the conversation after that, his thoughts elsewhere. He nodded at appropriate times and tried to look interested whilst his mind whirled. It was inevitable, really, that someone would bring up Marquez eventually.

 “Did you see Marquez’s crash?”, Bez asked.  

It prompted a round of affirmative hums from the others. Luca flicked his eyes over to Valentino, his eyebrows furrowed.

Pecco looked contemplative before he responded, “I am worried, he would not look at me on the grid. Then he crashed. He was distracted. I think the media are being too harsh. And the fans. They are being cruel. The things being said...”

He trailed off, deep in thought. Luca bumped their shoulders together, smiling gently when Pecco met his eyes. Valentino had the distinctive feeling that he was missing something.

“Did you hear about what happened in the press pen?”, Cele asked.

Pecco frowned at him, tilting his head to signal that he should continue.

“Apparently, he froze up completely when they asked him about the pain medication. Aleix and a few others basically carried him out. I saw it happen; I’ve never seen him like that before. It was horrible”.

His eyes flashed to Valentino as he spoke the last bit as if he feared being chastised. It made him feel distinctly uncomfortable, was he really so obsessed with Marc that his boys were afraid to mention him?

Bez looked on in confusion. He turned to Cele,

“What do you mean pain medication?” he asked. “I haven’t really looked at any of the articles, I thought it was bullshit? Or some kind of a joke”.

Pecco huffed slightly, scowling at Bez as he did so. The younger touched his arm in apology, and yet again Valentino felt out of the loop.

It was Luca who pulled out his phone, bringing up one of the many articles which covered the news.

“Here”, he said. “Yesterday his medical records were leaked to the press. There were a whole bunch of appointments and hospital visits documented. The main bit was at the end of 2015 and onwards. He had been to A&E twice, there was a lot about suicide attempts and Alex saving his life. Apparently, he had tried to overdose, it's unclear what happened the second time. His heart stopped I think.”

Valentino blanched. Luca grimaced slightly before continuing.

“From there, there was a whole bunch of stuff about his mental instability and risk. It looked pretty bad, even as a non-medical professional. Then today, more of it was leaked, this time about his crash in 2020. Apparently, he was abusing the painkillers prescribed to him. He would race through agony, causing more issues with his arm, and then just take a load of painkillers after to mask it. Again, Alex ended up getting him help. No wonder they are so close. I think there was a lot of concern about him using the pain as a form of self-harm or something, then it was so bad he just kept taking medication.”

Pecco spoke up then, his voice strained, “I just don’t understand how no one noticed. One of the most prominent drivers on the grid and no one noticed his declining mental health or his use of painkillers. It’s ridiculous.”

Valentino was barely listening, transfixed instead by Luca’s words. He took the phone out of Luca’s hand without asking, staring down at the article. There, in black and white, were pages and pages of clinical medical records for Marc Márquez Alentà. Valentino felt a bit sick. He couldn’t stop reading. There were blocks of gruesome detail about his A&E visits. The medical terms flew past Valentino, but he got the gist. It was bad. Page after page after page of horrific detail about every bit of pain Marc had gone through across the past decade. His eyes glanced over words, his mind conjuring the images to life. He could see 22-year-old Marc’s face, heartbroken and desolate in Sepang, and then blank afterwards. Fuck. How had he not noticed?

He wanted to stop. He couldn’t. Panic was rising inside him; he clamped it down. It was a lie. A lie. This couldn’t be true. He tore his eyes away. It swelled within him. He was going to be sick. He was losing it. Marc. He had missed it, how had he not seen it back then? The thought of his Marc like that broke him. The thought of him being the cause made him choke. He squeezed his eyes shut. Where was this coming from? Why did he care?

Vale spoke without thinking, his mind a million miles away.

“Why would he do that?”, he asked. Luca shot him a sympathetic look. Valentino had a suspicion that his face was betraying his emotional turmoil.

He choked over his next words.

“It’s not true. It can’t be true. Marc wouldn’t do this. Marc loves winning. He couldn’t win if he was 6 feet under. No. No. It must be a lie.”

Valentino knew he was now ranting like a madman. The boys were staring at him with wide eyes full of fear. He felt like he was going crazy and yet he continued.

“Why would be so selfish? Why would he do something like that? He was so young. He had so much to live for. What about his family? His brother. It’s not fair. It’s so selfish. I hate him. Bastard.”

Valentino was on the brink of tears, clutching at his hair. He didn’t notice the way Pecco’s eyes had turned hard and cold. He didn’t see the way Bez had frozen, clutching Pecco’s arm. The others were silent, shocked at his words.

Valentino looked up. He met Pecco’s eyes.

The younger man stood and stiffly walked to the door. He opened it and looked back towards Vale.

“You do not get to say things like that when you were part of the cause. Don’t you dare call him selfish. You are the bastard here”, he whispered, his words scalding. Before Valentino could respond, he was gone. Bez leapt out of his chair to follow, slamming the door behind him.

Valentino shot Luca a questioning look. His younger brother sighed,

“You are so obtuse, Vale. His sister also went through similar. She almost died. He is hurting seeing Marc this way too.”

Vale found himself full of outrage. How was he meant to know? Of course, he felt bad for Pecco, but this was Marc they were talking about. He said as much to Luca, who just shook his head, looking angrier than Vale had seen him in a long time.

“You need to wake up Valentino.”, he said.

“You do not hate Marc; you are obsessed with him. Yes, you were angry, but that was a decade ago. Surely you are over it by now. If I were you, I would consider what all your feelings about Marc really mean. Before you fuck it up even more.”

With that, the rest of the boys filed out of the motorhome, leaving Vale to stew in his anger and his guilt. He did not want to think about what Luca had meant about Marc. Instead, he would find Pecco and apologise, it was, after all, unfair to bring the boys into it. It was not his finest moment; Marc had always had that effect on him. He scowled at the thought. No one had ever been like Marc, he doubted anyone ever would. For Valentino, Marc was like a drug, inherently bad but at the same time addictive. A strange paradox for someone he hated.

Vale locked the door of the motorhome behind him as he headed out to find Pecco. The wave of anger had receded, and the guilt came crashing back down, threatening to drown him. He had to make it right.

Pecco wasn’t in his own motorhome; the lights were off as he went past, the door unanswered. He tried the Ducati garage but still had no luck. The staff had not seen him since earlier, after the sprint. Bez’s motorhome was similarly empty. He was running out of ideas and worry was beginning to engulf him.

One last idea struck him, and he walked slowly toward Marc’s motorhome, the lights were on. As he approached, the dread he felt threatened to engulf him. It was like a premonition. A war between guilt and anger was waging inside him. He heard Luca’s voice, followed by Bez’s, and the fury took hold. He threw the door open; it hit the wall with a resounding bang. He took in the scene before him, the remorse souring in his stomach, turning to resentment.

“What the fuck is going on?”

*

In hindsight, he could have handled it better. He had seen red. The thought of his boys running to Marc. Then he saw Marc on top of Dovi and Lorenzo.

He lost himself.

It wasn’t until Marc addressed him directly that he felt like he could breathe again. He returned to his body. The more Marc spoke, the more his fury faded to irrelevance. But then Valentino had spoken without conscious thought, once more putting his foot in it.

The realisation had taken his breath away. Marc had been crying. Marc had been vulnerable; he hated being perceived as weak. Marc was angry, no, he was furious. Marc had just had his deepest secrets announced to the world. He was receiving more hate than Valentino had ever seen.

He hadn’t been lying.

Why the fuck did Vale ever think he had been lying? The evidence had been right in front of him, but it had been too scary to really look at. Valentino hadn’t wanted to admit what he had done. He realised what Luca had meant then. He didn’t hate Marc. Yes, he had been angry about his tenth world championship slipping through his fingers. Yes, he had partially blamed Marc. But alongside the hurt, the anger, the pain, was pure devotion. He had lost the championship and blamed it on the nearest person to save his ego. Although Marc had done wrong, he had never deserved this. Sure, Valentino still thought he was dangerous, pushing the bike to stupid limits. But Marc would never hurt anyone on purpose. It was like falling 50 feet and hitting the ground, the realisation crashing into him. He was jealous of Dovi, that he got the Marc that smiled and laughed, the Marc that Vale used to have. Before everything had gone to shit. Valentino thought that maybe he had loved Marc for 11 years and that somewhere in his head, love had become confused with hate. He had never hated someone like he hated Marc; he had never loved someone like he loved Marc. It was all-consuming. He was obsessed. He thought about him all the time. He was always angry, scared, and jealous when it came to Marc. He couldn’t pretend he was ambivalent, not when he consumed every waking thought. Not when he still went on podcasts to talk about the younger man. Every insight was like a punch to the stomach.

He thought Marc was stupidly pretty, with his cheekbones, his bronze skin, his wide eyes and plush lips. He wanted Marc next to him, under him, above him. He wanted to kiss the stupid, smug smirk he always wore on his face; he wanted to kiss away his tears. Valentino wanted to bring Marc breakfast in bed, make him laugh, and make love to him. He wanted Marc on his track again, taking off his helmet after with wild eyes and messed up hair. He wanted to fuck him on every surface of his house, in every position. He wanted Marc in every way that he could have him.

Oh god, he loved Marc and all he had done was fuck up his life for a decade.

Valentino panicked.

He scrambled, pleading with Marc, distantly aware of the horror on everyone’s faces. He had been kicked out. Marc had shouted at him, and then Alex had shouted at him. Pecco left and Luca was disappointed.

He deserved it all. If he could take all of Marc’s pain, he would. Instead, Valentino was left with a yawning pit of desperation and want, devastation and pain. His anger was gone.

He thinks about the way the younger man used to look at him. He thinks about the adoration that he had brushed off as hero worship. He had broken Marc’s heart. The look on his face in that press conference. The way Marc would look away during Vale’s jokes about them together. He had assumed it was awkwardness, now it seemed like someone had hit too close to the truth. Now, Marc barely glanced at him, brushing off every comment Vale made to the media in a desperate hope for a sliver of attention. It destroyed them both.

Standing there, outside the motorhome, Valentino realises just how much he has fucked up. He isn’t sure there is any coming back from this. Certainly not with the way Dovi and Marc look at each other. But damn it, he will try. He will spend the rest of his life on his knees grovelling if he has to. He has spent too long with his vision clouded by misplaced anger. It had taken him 11 years to work out his love for Marquez, he would spend the rest of his life loving him, and every day trying to prove it to him. Even if it killed him.

[huramuna]

blue - shera & aemond.

“May I see?”  Shera shook her head vehemently. “You can’t.” “Please.” She made a noise of disagreement, pressing her face further to her shoulder. She didn’t, however, account for the visibility of the scar on her throat, jagged and raised against the soft flesh of her neck. She felt one of Aemond’s fingers trace it, across slowly, then upward. His hand went to her chin and he turned her face towards him. And she let him. She didn’t have much energy to stop him, anyhow.  His touch was soft, which surprised her greatly– she thought him unhewn and rough in all places– but this was something reminiscent of how he used to touch her as children. He was always gentle with her before. Her face was turned to him completely now, unveiled, unhidden– she braced herself for the look of humor or pity on his face, her heart stopped beating for a moment, her breaths caught in her chest. Brushing an errant hair aside, he traced the scar over her eye. It wasn’t an entirely clean cut, like he had guessed, jutting out into two diverging lines, like branches of a tree going downward. His violet eye, the hue hardly visible from how large his pupil was, was trained on her blind one. The milky blue, her own pupil long gone. The edges of his lips curled into something akin to wonder. There wasn’t a look of pity and it didn’t seem like he was about to make another poor jest about her face– he just looked, as if to study it, to commit it to memory. “Blue?” he murmured. “How curious.”

art by me, 2hrs on procreate. an excerpt from chapter 7 of banshee's lament.

[sunshinegirl29]

Postcards - Chapter 1.

Pairing: Spencer X Fem!reader

Rating: M

Warnings: None so far.

The run down: Running is all you know; from your dying mother, from your childhood, from the past - but the past can't catch up with you. Can it?

Slow burn, reluctant colleagues, suspicious frenemies to lovers 🤔

Chapter 1 – Growing Pains.

You study the form while you wait, leg bouncing against the sticky underside of the table.  No matter the outcome, this has to be over.  The shaking letter is factual and to the point.  A long sigh. You place the envelope back on the desk, before reaching over the files to roll the rich blue fountain pen between your fingers. 

A door clicks, finally.  The familiar heavy tread of Sherrif Miller; “Hello again” he huffs, clutches the ridged back of his office chair and sits down.  You notice his metal foot drags more these days, after all this time he’s never told you how it happened and you don’t ask.  You don’t look up from the broken skin on the corner of your fingers, though you know he’ll be wearing the same sullen frown, his exasperation unhidden. You wonder if he thinks you’re making it up.

“My statement. Is that all you need?” You sigh, looking him in the eye. He shifts uncomfortably under your gaze, blanching slightly.  He doesn’t respect you, typical older generation male, feels out of control in his life and within his team so he dismisses you.  A smile tugs at the corner of your mouth and Miller stands, leg creaking as he rises quicker than you thought he would at his age.

“Yes, that’s all. I’ll leave it with the rest—” You were going to protest, for the third time this month but it falls flat with the rest of Millers’ sentence.

“Hi there, I’m sad we have to meet again under these circumstances.”  You step from foot to foot, wiping both hands on your jeans.  Mason Cook is classically handsome, dark hair and light eyes; he’s the type of man who’s charming, but brooding at the same time.  From the amount of time you’ve spent at this station, you’ve seen plenty of his female colleagues fall over themselves to impress him, frankly it’s quite embarrassing but you can see the appeal.

“It’s okay Mason, Miller here was just telling me how you’re all going to put your time and resources into finding this weirdo. Right Miller?” 

You hear the scrawling of Miller’s pen stop, you definitely hit a nerve.  Mason watches as usual, he knows you’re enjoying bating his useless boss and wipes a large hand over his beard to cover his own tilted grin.

“That’s enough.” He snaps, “Cook, don’t you have work to do? We have weirdo to find and you’re my resource.”    You nod.  A subtle glance at your watch; 7:15am, you were late.

_

“Second day on the job and you’re already late?”

SSA Derek Morgan croons when he talks. He can’t help it.  It’s lead plenty of women straight to bed but right now it reminds you that a useless errand to the Sherrif’s office made you late for the most important job you’ve landed in years.

“Bite me Morgan” His laugh fades as you rush past, dipping into the roundtable room.

No one’s here.   This must be what hazing feels like?

You understand men like Morgan, women usually fall into three categories; two separate categories that had their own rules.  The first box was untouchable. These women were untouchable in every sense of the word. They usually either belonged to someone else, or meant something to him.   Garcia fell into that category, you’d deduced – they’d shamelessly flirt and are the only reason BAU’s HR department were in business.  She would always reside in the Untouchable box, regardless of how much Penelope wanted out of that particular category.  Jennifer Jaureu also belonged in that box, but in a different way.  She was Will’s – it started and ended there.  He had eyes of course; she was attractive but he loved her like family.  Then there was Elle.  She had started out in the fuckable box, but getting shot and killing Lee had shifted her into the untouchable box pretty quickly after that.  He’d dated enough women to know to stay away from that kind of trauma, besides he’d loved her like family too.  

Then there’d been you.  After months of training together, you were quite sure you now hovered between the fuckable and untouchable box.  There was something powerfully arousing knowing that the person that had your life in their hands daily, could take it instantly.  If he knew, you’d be banished to the untouchable box instantly.  

Anyway, you let him have his win. 

“You told me it was urgent. You lie!” It spurts out in a laugh, breaking the silence.

“Sorry babydoll! I’m just messin’ with you! Welcome to the team!” he pats you on the back and helps pick up the files and folders that your whirlwind entrance scattered around the small room.

You settle down in a chair opposite the door, a strategic position; able to see for potential threats and a planned exit route for any emergencies. Perfect.   It’s not long before Agent Rossi takes a seat beside you.  He gives a short good morning and a reassuring pat on the shoulder in support of your second real day on the job – it goes a long way in settling simmering nerves.

Morgan sits down, a ghost of a smirk still on his lips as he sips a third cup of steaming coffee.  He tries to hide it but you’re trained to observe, not being able to miss the roving way his eyes study you across the table.  It’s insane how an expert profiler doesn’t realise you see right through it, but maybe, you smirk back, he does and just doesn’t care?  

Garcia totters in, bright and giddy, the breath of fresh air in the stifling room.  She’s passing cups of coffee in ludicrous mugs to each person when JJ and Aaron file in together; their presence hushes the deep conversation you’re having with Rossi, leaving the intricate details of Bobby Fisher’s chess strategy dead in the water.  

“Okay, Good Morning, let’s get started.” He looks determinedly everywhere but you. JJ interrupts your thoughts with a manilla folder. 

“Three girls have gone missing and been later found murdered over the last 6 months in a semi-rural area of Georgia.”  Your heart lurches, desperate to free itself from your chest.  You take a few deep breaths, calming it into submission.   “Alison Sinclar, Cassidy Williams and Joslyn Cooper were all in their late teens to early twenties when they each went missing.”  JJ pauses, allowing Garcia to pull up pictures of each girl in a row. 

“Allison Sinclar a Senior at Georgia High School had Spring Break with her family in Senoia Georgia. She disappeared after leaving a house party at a friend’s and never returned.  She’d been strangled and posed.  She was found on the edge of farmland a few days later.” JJ blanches at the crime scene photos, turning quickly to hand out some physical copies to an empty chair.

 “Oh my! How are you all not in so much therapy?!” Garcia holds a cherry octopus’ mug in her field of vision, shielding from the unnecessarily gruesome death.

“Any evidence of sexual assault?” Emily asks. 

“Yes, extensively.” JJ nods, her voice unwavering.

Allison was someone’s child, but to this killer she had been nothing but a means to an end, a way to get off and dispose in favour of the next prize.  

The board flickered, to Garcia’s irritation and you take the time to observe the rest of the group;

  Emily Prentiss was no longer the new kid on the team, she’d taken you under her wing in the weeks leading up to your first day and you’d taken to texting her a few times a week for late night advice and tips to assimilate.  She’d been helpful but somewhat reserved in giving any personal details about herself; smart girl.  Morgan was debating the Sexual Predator angle with Aaron, who still wasn’t looking at you.  Then there was the case of the strange empty chair.

“There!” Penelope chimes “You can bow to the technical Goddess!” 

“Cassidy Williams.” Hotch cuts her off with the smallest hint of joviality “Cassidy was seventeen, she had been in and out of foster homes, in Georgia.  She was found in a wooded area on the edge of town, also strangled and posed like Allison”    

This one was a carbon copy of the first.  Her body wilted over at the waist, manipulated into a vulgar position.  A strange sensation washed over you, leaving you shivering uncomfortably.

This was enough for Garcia.  She stood abruptly, coffee splashing onto the files in the additional space at the table.  “No. Nope. I’ll be in my bat-cave if you need me.  God, I need my therapist on speed dial!!” 

Aaron nods, giving her arm a small squeeze before she leaves.  He’s never done that to you. It evokes an unpleasant sensation in your gut. 

This time he looks at you it’s short lived, if you weren’t paying attention you’d have missed it.  But he knows better. 

“Joslyn Cooper, twenty-two and the most recent death.  Hers prompted the Georgia Police Department to request our assistance on the case.  She was” JJ takes a visible breath, “Also posed but her heart was removed.” 

“Oh my god.” Whistled Rossi even a seasoned agent like him wasn’t immune to this particular horror. 

A chorus of disgust rippled around the room, it starts a debate about the significance of the heart in mythology and religion but you could only focus on the posing, something about it seemed vaguely familiar.

“Hey Sugar? Are you okay?” Morgan’s wave came into focus and you shake your head involuntarily.  It looked like he was enjoying your distraction, the toothy grin snuck onto his face and you replied in kind.

“Yeah.” You scoff, “It’s a rough one for the first case.” You placate him with the ghost of the truth and run your fingers jokingly over the sparse hair on his head on your way out the door.

A sudden motion stops you.  A flicker of movement that turns into a touch of your arm, it guides you discreetly away from your colleagues who grab go bags with muscle memory.  You’re very familiar with the huffing breath and deep frown of Aaron Hotchner.

“Aaron, don’t do this.” You say slowly and wish this wasn’t going to turn into a passive aggressive lecture.

“They don’t know.” Aaron said and you watch his chin tilt. He looks over you with a serious gaze that sits comfortably on his brow.  The one that Hayley always talked about.

It was horrifying how little they knew.  He was their boss and they knew nothing about him. It felt like a slap in the face, another reminder of how insignificant you were – or maybe it was a classic reflection of how you felt about yourself, deep down. 

“You don’t have to tell me how much they don’t know Aaron.” From your position on a spare desk in a shadowed corner of the Bullpen you scowl up at him, “They didn’t even bat an eyelid, not even Garica who has all your files!?”

Aaron breathes heavily, tongue moistening his cracked lips.  “There’s aspects of my life I want to keep private.”  It’s flat and unemotional, as you expect. “The anonymity will help you here and it keeps you safe.”   You muse for a second, chewing on his words – they’re sour and shame tinged but the faint sweetness of comfort lingers on your tongue.

“Safe.” It comes out harsher than it needed to be and you can see his regret fade back into the comfortable frown you’re so accustomed to.

Aaron sighs, grabs a briefcase from the desk and turns his back to you.

“Let’s get going. Wheels up in 30.”

Greetings from Sharpsburg!

12.06.02    

Hi you!

  I know we live three towns over and I could just pick up the phone, but this is a romantic notion I picked up from that raunchy book I found in Mama’s dresser!  Hopefully Miss Cain will let you come here tomorrow; Daddy’s going to pick up my uncle Kellen from the airport but after you should come for dinner.  I hope Mr Hartman will get this to you before then.

Love, Elizabeth.

A violent breeze calls you back, you’re not sure what happened on the drive to the airstrip but vaguely remember Jennifer’s mouth moving and something about meeting another member of the team on the plane. 

“Why do I only get to travel with you guys once or twice a year?”  Penelope gasps, hurriedly shuffling past you.  She smiles eagerly at a man you don’t recognise; he passes her a coffee in a hot pink mug that she takes gratefully. 

“Oh!” Garcia backpaddles, hands in the air.  You know she doesn’t mean any harm, but instinctually step backwards.  The cool silver of your watch clamps painfully against your wrist where she grabs it, leading you towards him.  Penelope introduces you and moves off to sit by Derek; they smile at each other like scheming children.

He’s tall and gawky, obviously flustered by the change in staffing, his previously relaxed demeanour shifts into awkward, a tight smile.

“Dr Spencer Reid nice to meet you.”  You reply in kind, glad he doesn’t extend a hand. 

You study him while he excuses himself and strides over, settling in opposite Rossi.  Dr Reid is the type of man that goes home alone to vintage first addition books, and the sound of a dripping tap he’s not there enough to be bothered to fix.  His day specific shirts are neatly folded into certain drawers, where his real wool coats hang in seasonal order.  Jennifer had mentioned his eidetic memory, which might be the least interesting thing about him.  He’s older than you, by several years at least, but still baby faced enough that the cops on cases don’t take him as seriously as the others despite his title.

“Okay, let’s get started.”  Aaron gestures and you sit down.

“All three girls have similar victimology, features and body types. He’s definitely got a type.” Your sentence trails off in a sigh without obvious reason and you’re suddenly aware of the faint hum of the jet, the only sound.  “They could be a surrogate for someone in his life, past or present someone who’d wronged him in some perceived way?”  You continue, ignoring the awkward feeling settling in your gut. 

“Yeah, looks like it but what’s with the posing?” Emily hums, looking over the photos one by one.  She doesn’t seem to flinch at the brutality of the crimes, but you can’t judge her.

“It’s interesting, the posing.” Reid states, flicking back and forth over each photo. “It’s as if he’s humiliating them—” 

“It’s dehumanizing.” You accidently cut him off, blurting out your thoughts.

 Reid is the smartest person in the room and everyone knows it, the way his eyebrows shoot into his brown curls says all you need to know on his feelings about being interrupted.

“Sorry, go ahead.” You wince.

“The manner of death is personal, intimate.  They mean something to him, dehumanized after death, no remorse.”  Each word packs a punch, the slight condescending lilt makes your blood boil. 

A minute of oppressive silence follows, something tells you they all know Reid isn’t used to being spoken over.  It’s amusing really, but ruffling feathers on your second day on the job wasn’t how you wanted this to go, so you sigh in resignation and nod, accepting his deduction.

“There’s no discernible MO but according to the M.E Report all girls were extensively sexually assaulted and all in the same manner. Which could help.” Aaron notes, frowning again.

“The unsub crosses socioeconomic backgrounds; Allison Sinclar lived in a rural but wealthy area of Georgia, her father is a retired Georgia Police Sherrif and her mother an English Tutor.”  Derek gestures to the files in your lap. 

“Cassidy’s parents are in the wind?  She’d been bouncing in and out of foster homes for years before her death. If their backgrounds mean something to him, it means he’s had enough time and space to watch them.” It’s aggravating, the seemingly random way this unsub kills young girls, but that doesn’t explain why your hands shake and the pen slips from sweaty palms. 

  It’s like magic, the way he catches it with dextrous fingers. Spencer’s eyes flick to yours for a breath and he nods tightly once again, handing it back without a word.

“That’s true. Good work.” Aaron catches your eye and nods with a tenderness you’ve not seen from anyone since your mother died, the feeling that bubbles up forces your gaze back down.

“When we land, I want you and Reid to go to the medical examiner’s office.” If Aaron wanted you to start this job with confidence, he was definitely going the wrong way about it. You flash pleading eyes at Derek who surprisingly is already watching, or rather smirking at what must be a very distasteful expression.

  Aaron continues, oblivious or unphased; “Emily and I will go to lease with the family, Rossi and Morgan, I’d like you to go to the most recent crime scene. Garcia with JJ set up at the Station, Sherrif Anderson will meet you there.”

“Brace yourself.”

Before you can question Rossi’s order the jet tips, scattering chess pieces all over along with the last dredges of your abandoned coffee.

>

Greetings from Sharpsburg!

26/09/05

Hi you!

I know in my last letter, I said I’d give up this romantic notion!  But it’s just not me.  It’s been different around here the last few months.  Mama’s sick again and Daddy’s working more on the new barn and...

Anyway, I hope Miss Cain will let you come over again soon. I’ve been… 

Love, Elizabeth.

The medical examiner’s office is tucked away in the back of an archaic local hospital.  The instruments lay neatly, shining eerily in the clinical glow.  This part of the job was always the hardest; seeing people’s loved ones, naked on a freezing table just to be dissected and stored away.  It was irrational. You knew this was a very necessary part of the job to eventually catch the unsub and put the victims to rest, but how the two girls laid out like this was just undignified.

“I’m so sorry Agents, I just stepped out for some air.”

She’s not what you expect.  British. Two grey strips of hair frame her face, the rest sleek and brown poured down her back in a glossy ponytail.  She looks about four years your senior, a jagged scar dresses her milky white false left eye.  She carries on around the room, passes a manila folder to Reid and expertly dons a protective gown. 

“I’m Doctor Annabel Clayton.  My parents and I knew the first girl Alison and her parents. They had trouble conceiving so they adopted.” Clayton sighs, looking you in the eye.  A shiver runs down your spine again, making an unwelcomed home in your gut.

“Cause of Death?” Reid asks and you frown, unsure why he had to ask.  Maybe it was just obvious to you? 

“The main cause of death was strangulation.”

“Look at the bruising pattern.” The ever-well-mannered Dr Reid cuts in curiously, squinting at the bruising.  “He did it by hand.”  

“However.”  Dr Clayton slaps down the sheet, covering the young girl’s modesty.  She didn’t look like the type of woman who was used to being talked over in her own office.  “She has some internal bleeding that would have caused her death if he’d not chosen, well, the other.”  She looked sad in a wistful dreamy way, as if a ghost. A small-town purgatory. 

“The other, Cassidy.  She was also manually strangled and sexually assaulted in the same manner.”  Finger shaped bruises bloomed angrily on her grey thighs.  They give way to more, a trail of violence ending at her neck.  The uncharacteristic prickle of tears threatens but are obediently blinked back.

“They could be sisters...” You sigh, in fact you could all be sisters.

Clayton moves on to the last girl, her brooding expression darkening.

“For obvious reasons, I’ll be keeping this poor sweetheart covered from here.”  She strokes Joslyn’s hair.  “She’s still a young girl after all, she’d want to look her best.”

“This is the worst I’ve seen in my career, especially in this area.  Her cause of death wasn’t manual strangulation.” She quips and Reid strides to your side.  The accidental intimacy of it makes your breath catch.  He smells homely, the warming aroma of old books and black coffee, you can’t help but lean into it.  

“Do you want me to carry on?”  That’ll do it. Clayton’s British lilt is like ice water, it’s embarrassing.  You’re leaning into a man you barely know and are frankly not sure you even like?

“Of course, sorry I wasn’t paying attention.”  You stammer, stepping toward the teen girls ghostly face and chest. 

“She was found posed, like Cassidy.  She was leant over a tree stump with the rope around her neck. It was hung from a tree.” 

The picture she passes around is from a distance.  The rope is tied to a gnarled tree, snaking down to bind her wrists, the other hooked over her head and knotted to a taller branch.

“The unsub must be at least six foot to attempt this alone.  Unless they have a partner.” The possibility is frightening, one unsub is hard enough but two?  Say goodbye to sleep for the next few weeks.  

“Okay Agents. I need to get these girls back to their beds.”

You pause for a reply, but looking back catch Reid rubbing his eye with the heel of his hand, as if shielding them from the overly bright strip light.

“You okay there?” 

His jaw is tight, your eyes linger on the way the action accentuates the sharp corner.

“Just a headache. Let’s go.”

> 

The familiar stickiness of the Georgian heat prickles at your back dampening the linen of your shirt, it sticks to your forearms as you roll up the sleeves.  Being back here felt much like the oppressive midday sun, inescapable and suffocating. 

“How was the ME?”  Emily asks, but Reid strides past you toward a waiting Rossi.  She frowns as they disappear into the precinct together, talking animatedly about something you can’t quite hear.

“She’s interesting for sure.” You breathe, skilfully ignoring the vibration from your cell in the back pocket of your pants.

The precinct was mayhem bustling with cops that looked a little too old to be in the field but hated their wives and children too much to retire just yet.  They scramble to sit in rickety office chairs as Aaron and Rossi start to present, you wonder if they’d take your suggestions on board.

As Aaron starts to give a preliminary profile you hear words like previous history of abuse, 18 to 25, local, abandonment issues and surrogate, but you can focus on nothing but the manic buzzing of your phone again.  You’ve changed the number three times in the last 9 months and every time this son of a bitch still manages to find it. You’re seriously debating asking Garcia for help but then reconsider, it’s for the best, keeping them at an arms-length.

As the officers begin to buzz around you, taking calls from the tip line and preparing to interview locals you discreetly slip your cell out and glance at the seven new messages illuminating the screen.

12:24pm – Mason Cook.

Hey bug,

Miller said they’ve had no luck tracing the calls you’ve been having, sorry. I did try. Also, the girl from the coffee shop didn’t recognise the sketch.  I know I keep saying, but I’m sorry. Hope you’re back soon, I’ll leave the key in the normal place.

12:45pm – Unknown

I told you. I’m not going anywhere. It’s about time you paid for taking it all away from me.

[writingjourney]

WIP Whenever

@ramblingoak and @ghostchems tagged me to share a WIP and because I know it's been ages and I'm super behind here's a piece from Chapter 12 of IKNBS. Also the fic hit 666 kudos on Ao3 and I think that's a good reason to share this today ♡

The pasta is still lukewarm. Eating semi cold spaghetti two days in a row is not very glamorous but you’re pretty sure you’ve never eaten with quite as much enthusiasm and hunger. Copia himself bolts down the pasta like he hasn’t seen food in a few days. He looks relaxed now, a sort of post-coital glow in his mismatched eyes that never really stray from your body, a hunger not directed at his food, adoration that is unhidden, visible in every glance. You think that this is the closest to real heart eyes a human can offer and it gives you butterflies that make it hard to swallow your food.

His red zip-up hoodie is draped over your shoulders, the only item of clothing on your body. You sit on the mattress right next to where Copia is leaning against the wall in just his briefs, eating straight from the take away containers with wooden forks and paper napkins. His make-up is smudged, traces of it on the pillows, on the sheets, on you. He looks beautiful in the fading light, darkness slowly creeping in through the windows and deepening the lines on his face. With the long hours of the night stretched out before you like a calm expanse of sea, the only visible shores far off in the distance, you feel utterly at peace. So much time to spend with him, uninterrupted, time to worship in the only way you now know.

“You look beautiful,” he says, setting his empty paper box aside, “wearing my clothes.” A smirk, his eyes shimmering with lust and mischief. “Or nothing at all.”

You smile into your next fork of pasta. “You have to give me a few minutes after eating.”

“Who said I want to do anything, cara? Can I not compliment you with no ulterior motives?” When he sees your hidden grin, the raised brows, he chuckles. “You are right, there is no moment in which I don’t want you. Don’t need you.” A deep breath, his head falling back into the pillow that’s propped up behind his back. “But I can be patient.”

As if to disprove his statement, his bare hand reaches out to touch your thigh, squeezing the flesh and tracing its soft stretch marks all the way up to where it meets your hip. You shiver against his touch, goosebumps forming underneath his fingertips. He chuckles, repeating the ever same movement, stroking your skin until it stops tickling as much and becomes a steady, reassuring gesture. So focused on his touch, he barely takes notice of you still eating, wrapping the last few spaghetti around the wooden tines.

“Copia,” you say.

“Hm?” He looks up, squeezing your thigh once more. “Are you done yet?”

“What about being patient?”

“I want my dessert.”

You sigh dreamily, swallowing the last bite of pasta. “I love dessert. I wish we had some.”

“Oh yes, you do, eh? Macarons and croissants.”

“Mhm.” You close the empty box, scooting closer to him. “I was never allowed to have it as a child.” 

“What else do you like?” he asks. “Real desserts?”

It seems like the talk of food has distracted him momentarily from touching you. You decide to crawl over him to get rid of your empty container, but he still grabs your hips the moment you’ve set it down, pulling you against his chest and rolling you over until he’s towering above you. A short gasp leaves your lips, his weight and warm body so solidly caging you in.

“So?” he asks, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your cheek.

“Most things,” you reply, shivering when his lips brush the tender spot below your ear. “Tiramisu.”

“Oh, really? You like Italian, eh?”

“I like Italians, yes. I like one Italian especially.”

He chuckles, looking at you with his love-struck eyes, the green shimmering so delicately in the soft moonlight that is now making its way into the studio. The first kiss is soft, a moan fluttering from your throat as his tongue licks along your lips. The next kiss is more demanding. He presses in hard until you open for him, his tongue teasing yours with no haste.

“Mhm so sweet,” he whispers. “My baby tastes so good. Better than all the pasta and desserts.” You can’t help but giggle and he hums in delight, pressing more kisses to your neck, your shoulder, down the column of your throat where he lingers, licking along the line of your clavicle until you shudder. “Do you know that I am addicted? I could taste you forever.” He gives a throaty chuckle. “Perhaps I will.”

tagging: @xfilesinamajor @copias-sewer-rat @kissingghouls @gothdaddyissues (if you want to and have something to share ♡)

[strawberriesinmoominvalley]

After Max saves Arthur from their abusive pack and never returns, Charles and Lando escape with the goal of finding them. But when they are only reunited with Arthur, it becomes clear that Max has been caught within the abusive pack once more. There is an obvious solution to this: destroy the pack once and for all.

Charles can’t afford to lose anyone else he loves. Lando doesn’t know how to trust alphas. Alex wants his and George’s second chance to work. George wants everyone to be safe. Oscar doesn’t know how to cope with the responsibility he’s been forced into. No one knows how to deal with the loss of Max; everyone wants Max back.

Long story short, this is easier said than done.

“Is your Max our Max?” Lando asked, Oscar’s unhidden confused expression matching exactly how Lando felt. “Max from the Alpine pack? I assume so.” Oscar seemed to look at Lando with dawning comprehension. “Though I wouldn’t have known if Arthur hadn’t said.”

[chickensoup-4-mysoul]

herculean (drrr x f!reader) - chapter 15

Chapter 15 - Heart to Heart

synopsis: you go to visit anri after the yellow scarves attack, determine to extend a lifeline to your suffering friend.

word count: 5,501

warnings: mild 'gore' bc shizuo got shot

"what i learned i rejected but i believe again i will suffer the consequences of this inquisition if i jump in this fountain, will i be forgiven?,, forgiven - alanis morisette

The Dollar’s forum was inaccessible. 

Last night’s storm had continued well into the morning. It had been so dark when you woke up that you had initially thought that it was still nighttime. However, you soon found out that you had slept well into the day.

You eagerly went to check the forum, wanting to recount the previous night's events with a clearer mind. However, when you opened the link, you were met with an error message. At first, you assumed it was a mistake, re-typing the link again. And again. And again. Unease began to overtake you as you texted Erika, asking if she was having the same problem.

ERIKA You missed it? The leader completely disbanded the Dollars. They shut down the website and everything!

For a moment, you could only stare at the text, finding the information to be so unbelievable that you assumed it to be a prank. You knew, however, that Erika wasn’t the type to pull a random joke like this. 

ME No way! Did they have anything to say as to why???

ERIKA Little to nothing. People were talking about the spike in Yellow Scarves attacks and then the website suddenly disappeared!

Right as people were starting to band together like they never had before...why now? Did the leader not want that? Was the Dollars created with malicious intentions, and disbanded because its members went against them? It wasn’t like the gang was your only way of life. You barely knew anyone else that was apart of it, and the ones you did know were found by happenstance. Heck, getting involved in such affairs had even jeopardized your life. If it was truly an evil force from the start, maybe it was for the best that it was gone for good. 

That’s not what it was about to become, though. No matter what the leader wanted—did it even matter? How many times had they even come forward. Had they ever even issued a command to be followed? All on its own, the gang was about to become such a positive force; one that even the Yellow Scarves couldn’t stifle. 

Hours later, as you walked through the city, you were still mourning the gang—possibly one of the most important parts of Ikebukuro, and you had been a part of it.

As you waded through deepening puddles, you found yourself bowing your head, tipping your umbrella to shadow your face. The streets were relatively clear, but that didn’t mean that certain gang members weren’t hiding in the shadows. You were ashamed of your own paranoid behavior. A different, prideful part of you wanted to walk around freely, unhidden and uncovered. It was that part of you that kept you from dressing more conservatively than you normally did. Now, though, the cautious part of you deeply regretted throwing on the funky button-up that adorned your frame. 

Among the dreary scheme of dull tones, the seemingly manageable colors of your shirt seemed so much brighter—and much less inconspicuous. You did your best to brush the anxiety aside, considering the taxing journey to be worth it if it meant being there for your friend.

CELTY I brought Anri to stay at my place for a bit, if you’d like to come visit. I feel like she could use you by her side right now.

The message radiated such a tenderness that warmed your heart. You told Celty that you would try and wait out the rain, then hurry over the first chance you got. You waited for quite some time, but even after a long while, the rain didn’t seem to be letting up. It seemed like you would have to face the showers if you were going to see your friend at a reasonable hour.

“Woah! You’re completely soaked!”

“Nice to see you too, Shinra.”

Said doctor moves to the side to allow you into the apartment. He offers you a towel, lamenting how cold you must be. “No, I’m fine. A towel would be nice though,” you smile at the doctor, who goes off to grab you one. Your eyes follow his form before you notice the people occupying the couch. A warmth washes over you, bringing a smile to your face. “Hey, ladies.”

Celty waves to you, gesturing for you to come over. As you approach, you laugh at the controllers in their hands and the video game console on the table in front of them. You don’t sit quite yet, wanting to avoid getting the seats wet. 

“Hey! I thought you were gonna wait until the rain stopped.” Shinra appears beside you and hands you a towel, which you gratefully accept. You finally sit on the couch perpendicular to theirs. Anri, who sits on the side closest to you, regards you with a friendly smile. You can’t help but note how it doesn’t meet her eyes. “I was, but it didn’t look like it was going to clear up anytime soon,” you pause to look out the window, where the rain was beating against the glass in earnest. “Figured that I should get over here before it got even darker than it already was. With everything going on, it doesn’t hurt to be safe.”

Anri’s entire body seems to tense up at your words and you immediately wish you had an undo button. She was probably still shaken up about the previous night. You put a hand over hers in an attempt to comfort her. “But I’m sure it’ll all be over soon.” It obviously doesn’t help. Her eyes are glued to her lap and she no longer even tries to smile. You and Mika were right. Something was bothering her—and it had only gotten worse. You look at Celty, eyes questioning, prying to see if she noticed the same things that you did.

However, Celty doesn’t gratify you with an answer. Instead, her shoulders drop as if she’s sighing, at a loss for words.To your confusion, she stands, making her way to the hallway and taking Shinra to leave with her.

“Please, talk to her.”

She shows you the message quickly, as if she was trying to avoid Anri’s gaze. Shinra doesn’t seem to take whatever hint Celty gives him, loudly asking why he has to leave with her and even insisting that he stay. A ribbon of black mist appears and wraps around Shinra’s head, covering his mouth. Celty practically drags him into the hall, most likely pulling him into a separate room. You can’t help but laugh at the departure.

“Y’know, for such an unlikely pair, they work pretty well together,” you jest, turning to Anri for some sort of response. She simply nods, eyes focused on the spot where Celty had just been. Tough crowd. You brush it off, gesturing to the paused screen on the TV. “You gonna continue?” 

Anri shakes her head. “It’s in multiplayer mode, so I can’t play by myself.”

You hum, before pulling yourself to your feet. You move to sit beside Anri, grabbing the controller that Celty had discarded. “I can help you out, then! I’m not much of a gamer, but you can just show me the ropes!”

Anri stares at the controller laying limply in her hands. “I don’t think that I can.” Your brows furrowed at her answer. God, what had Celty left you with? You wanted so badly to cheer her up, but you had no idea how if she was in this deep.

“Oh!” A lightbulb goes off in your head as you suddenly remember something. You reach into your bag that sat on the floor at your feet. “I almost forgot...I brought you a little something!”

“(Y/N), you didn’t have to…”

“Oh please, like it’s any trouble to get a gift for my friend. It’s long overdue, anyway.” You finally find what you’re looking for, gently encasing it in your fist and turning back to her. Your fingers open, presenting the small object resting in your palm. 

The earrings were a hoop shape, candy red and a little on the chunkier side. What was most notable about them, however, were the clasps attaching them to the base board. “They’re clip-ons!” you beam. Anri examines the jewelry with owlish eyes. At least she didn’t seem too uninterested. Taking her attention as a sign of interest, you unclasp one of the earrings, holding out towards her. “May I…?”

Her eyes switch between the earring and your face, full of both caution and curiosity. Finally, she nods. You’re relieved that she’s willing to give it a chance. Your fingers brush the side of her face as you clasp the earring to her earlobe. You make sure that she’s comfortable, asking if it was too tight or if anything was hurting her. After she confirms that everything felt fine, you help her put on the other one. You lean back to get a good look at her and grin at your handiwork. 

Reaching into your bag once more, you pull out a compact mirror and hand it to her. “Just as I suspected,” you say smugly, watching as she inspects her own reflection. “Super cute.”

Your heart rejoices at the sight of her smile, a genuine, thoughtless smile. “I really like them...thank you, (Y/N),” she says, handing the mirror back to you. You help her take them off, making sure to show her how to get them to clasp and unclasp, before you return them to the base board. In the few moments of silent movement, her smile fades again, returning to a thin line.

“I ran into a friend of yours, yesterday,” you fill the silence with mindless chatter. Her eyebrows raise at the statement. “Mika Harima. You’ve talked to me about her, right?” Anri doesn’t look too happy at the mention of the name, avoiding your gaze.

“Y-yes, we used to be friends, but we don’t hang around each other much, anymore,” she explains, toying with the clasp on one of the earrings. She could break them if she kept messing with them like that—but you could always just get her a new pair. It’s going to be hard to say what you want to say next—but you couldn’t hold back anymore. 

“Well, we stopped and talked for a while. She recognized me, probably saw me hanging around at the school at some point.” Anri nods so you assume that she’s still listening. “And...well—we actually talked a little bit about you, Anri.” She looks up at you again, visibly put off by the revelation. Still, she says nothing, imploring you to continue.

“I know you two don’t talk much anymore, but she’s been keeping an eye on you, Anri, and she’s worried about you. She probably didn’t want me to tell you exactly like this, but...but I’ve noticed the same things and we both have the same question, so…”

Your eyes bore into hers, taking in the different emotions swimming through them. Sadness, apprehension, fear…

“Anri, has something been bothering y—“

“No!” She stands so abruptly that you wonder if she’s dizzy afterwards. Her chest heaves from the sudden burst in energy, body overridden with anxiety. You’re surprisingly calm, never leaving your spot on the couch. Her defensiveness only confirmed your suspicions—and allowed other ones to grow.

“I don’t know if you think that I’d be angry with you, or that I would judge you, or maybe that I just might not be able to help.” Your voice is level and comforting, trying to coax her little by little. “Maybe that last part might even be true...but I would never judge you, Anri, and as long as it’s you...I could try and understand. Whatever you think might anger me, I promise you, I have too much faith in you to let one little thing turn me against you.”

Anri doesn’t respond. Her clench fists rest at her sides, quivering along with the rest of her body. You need to help her. It might require some prying, and you may have to be forceful, but she needs help.

“All of those Slashers, the ones that attacked me in my apartment, they were just previous victims who survived their attacks. Something was making them act against their own will, and they became Slashers themselves,” you start, taking in how she flinches at the mention of the Slasher. You smile at her, trying to convey that you harbored no ill feelings towards her. “After that night that they invaded my apartment, and you ended up in the hospital, all that seemed to come to a stop, didn’t it?” 

“I had the theory that, somehow, the Slasher brainwashed its victims by attacking them—by cutting them. Seemed like a pretty solid theory...but there were some holes in it.” You would think there was an earthquake, the way that Anri was shaking. She’s starting to pull away, backing up into the table. You finally stand, to her apparent horror. Her distress was most definitely your fault, and you felt terrible, but it was all going to settle out. “I only know two people that have gotten attacked by the Slasher, but showed no side effects afterwards—other than a couple of scars. One of them was Shizuo Heiwajima. To some extent, it’s understandable...the guy’s kind of a superhuman, afterall. The other one, though…”

Her arm flinches away from yours as you go to take her hand. You don’t relent, though, catching it and encasing her hand with two of your own. “Was my friend, Anri. At first, I had nothing to think of it. All of the slasher attacks had stopped. I went days without seeing any crazed men or women brandishing sharp weapons. It was the end of it all, that’s why nothing happened to you....But I noticed something strange, last night.”

“Do you really want to know the truth? About what I am?”

You had momentarily forgotten about it. How the Yellow Scarves had the two of you cornered...and how calm and collected Anri had been. It wasn’t until Horada had revealed that they had attacked a few of their own members that she looked truly helpless. “I’d know those red eyes anywhere...but whatever you could have done, it wouldn’t have helped, right? Those guys that you ‘turned against them’...they couldn’t have helped, huh?”

“Well, we did a little something special to those guys you turned against us. We beat the shit out of ‘em!”

Her eyes were overflowing now, a dam that collected rivers for years and has finally cracked open. You pull her into your arms, embracing her. Her shoulders don’t shake and she heaves no sobs, she just lets you hold her as the floodgates empty themselves.

Kanra : You know the Headless Rider? Kanra: Apparently, it teamed up with the Slasher--and together they attacked the Yellow Scarves at their secret hideout!

“They saw you and Celty at the Yellow Scarves hideout, and that’s why the Yellow Scarves were after you, and Masaomi…”

"What the hell are you doing?? Were you spying on us? Is that why you came there?? Tell me, Anri..."

“He thought you had betrayed him...but that wasn’t it, was it? The gang wars, the Yellow Scarves attacks...you think it’s your fault. You wanted to make things right, somehow.”

Kanra: Both the Yellow Scarves and the Dollars have people that got hit! Kanra: And each side is completely convinced that the other group is behind it all!

You finally release Anri, placing your hands on her shoulders and pulling back to look at her. Her eyes are lined with tears, but there’s no more tension. As much as she may have dreaded this moment, it was like a huge release to her. “That last part, I have no evidence or indication for it...but I trust you, Anri.”

It had all come together so slowly, the main retardant being your own denial. You had greatly underestimated Anri, labeling her as a timid, ordinary school girl in the middle of a chaotic city. It was foolish of you to assume that she herself wasn’t one of the things that made Ikebukuro so special. 

“(Y/N).... I...I promise that all of those people—it wasn’t—“

“I’m sure there is some sort of long, convoluted explanation for all of it. We can get to that, later. For now...you don’t have to hide anything from me. I’m here for you, okay?” Anri raises her hand to her eyes, rubbing the tears away. You watch her patiently. As she meets your gaze again, there’s a newfound resolve in her expression. She nods, a small smile decorating her features. It wasn’t an answer to all of her problems...but it was reassurance. Masaomi lashed out on her and Mikado probably isn’t any the wiser. Everything Anri was going through, she’s been dealing with it all alone. 

But not anymore.

“Yesterday, when those guys were chasing me...so many people were helping me. Complete strangers were going to so much trouble because of me,” Anri recounts. The two of you had returned to your positions on the couch, and Anri took the opportunity to finally express some of the thoughts that were bothering her. You can’t hold back your chuckle, causing Anri to eye you with confusion.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh, but…” Your grin widens, “Those strangers? Those were members of the Dollars.” The girl gapes, brows furrowing at the revelation. It’s an unbelievable idea, you know, but she knew you had no reason to lie.

“The Dollars?? But...why would they…” 

“Some sort of heroic streak, I guess. Someone saw you getting cornered, and then there were people looking out for you all over the city!”

“How do you know all of this…?” Your eyebrows raise at the question as you realize how much you’ve exposed yourself. It had come to you so freely that you hadn’t even thought to censor your own words. Drinking in Anri’s egging expression, you fall into a fit of laughter. “Because I’m a member of the Dollars, of course! You’re not the only one with skeletons in the closet, y’know?” You honestly didn’t know how you expected her to react. Even then, her small smile was a bit of a surprise to you. Perhaps it was comforting for her to know that everyone had things about themselves that they chose to hide.

It felt like a barrier had broken between you too. Sitting beside each other, failing miserably at the video game that Shinra and Celty had, you thought about the first time the two of you had hung out like this. When you and Anri sat in the dark, on an air mattress in Erika’s apartment. You both knew so little about each other, yet there was still an openness, one that had been disappearing over time. You hoped that, now that she’s shared this secret with you, that openness would start to return.

Shinra and Celty returned after a bit, joining you and Anri in front of the television. At the fault of Shinra, it became apparent to you that the two of them may have listened in on your conversation. They must have known about Anri before even you had. It made sense, since Celty was with Anri the night that she was spotted at the Yellow Scarves hideout. It was reassuring to you, knowing that someone else was there for her when you weren’t able to be.

With the consistency of a dreary sky, it’s difficult to tell how much time you’re spending in the apartment. You have no complaints, though. Celty and Shinra continue to be such a lively pair and it’s heartening to watch Anri get a giggle out of their antics. You also learn, with great pleasure, that Celty is not a very good sport when it comes to video games. With practice, you get pretty good at the game, yourself, finally being able to keep up with Celty and Shinra. Anri is content to hand over the controller and watch from the sidelines. Through the dark overcast, rays of sunset orange shine into the apartment, insistent on making themselves known.

The moisture clinging to your clothes is long-gone. Combined with the cup of tea you’re enjoying with Anri, you find yourself feeling especially content. The two of you sit beside a window that does very little to illuminate the room. Rain raps against the window, enacting an assault on the cool glass. It’s heavy and unrelenting. So much chaos swirling within those clouds, constantly overflowing and sending excess raining down at a mile per minute. Even so, you find a strange sense of serenity in the sound.  The peace is disturbed by a movement across from you. Anri stands, setting down her half empty cup of tea.

“I’m going to go talk to Celty,” she says. She trails off, fiddling with her own fingers. When she makes no effort to move, you start to get what she’s hinting at. “I’ll come with you.” Anri seems to relax at this, allowing you to follow her to Celty’s office. Her and Shinra are there, together, looking at something on the computer. As you enter, you swear you catch a glimpse of an error screen, before it quickly disappears. A notepad window appears in its place.

“What’s up, you two?”

“I was wondering if we could talk for a bit?”

When you said that you could get an explanation from Anri later, you were thinking a different day, or even week. Unbeknownst to you, it would only be a mere couple of hours later. You’re thankful that she’s just as comfortable telling you as she is with telling Celty. You don’t quite understand everything, but it comes to you the more she explains everything to both of you. The Slasher that was responsible for all of those attacks people saw on the news, was a different Slasher. In fact, it wasn’t correct to call Anri a 'Slasher' at all. Moreso, the word that both she and Celty kept using was “Saika”. At the sound of the name, your ears perked. Like the Saika from the chatroom?  

The most that Anri was doing with her ‘Saika’ was using it to get in contact with some Yellow Scarves, who had already been victims of the previous Slasher. Whatever power that the Slasher had on them before, was Anri’s now. She was getting them to stop the Yellow Scarves attacks from the inside. You could see how that only stoked more flames between the gangs, seeing as the Yellow Scarves went on to intensify their attacks against the Dollars. 

Anri describes what she saw when she snuck into the Yellow Scarves’ hideout. It was crowds of people, gathered around a sort of stage. He sat far in the back of the stage, almost unnoticeable, but he was there. Masaomi wasn’t just another member of the Yellow Scarves, but the leader. Your heart constricts in your chest. Was this really all his doing? Could your friend really be responsible for such violent acts? You had noticed his change in demeanor, ever since the night you had been with him and Mikado at Russia’s Sushi—but the whirlwind in behavior he had exhibited the night before was all it took to see that he could be spiraling out of control. He was bearing a great weight on his shoulders, that much was certain.

The three had become greatly estranged because of misunderstandings and miscommunication. Despite their admittedly extraordinary lives, these lives still intertwined and these kids became great friends. They deserved to keep that, no matter what their pasts were.

“First, we need to put an end to this gang war.”

Celty was right. Intentional or not, reciprocal or not, it was tearing these kids apart. Anri agrees, a sense of determination visibly overtaking her. Your chest swells with pride at her strength. “In order to do that, we have to talk to Mikado.” Your eyebrows shoot up at the words. What does Mikado have to do with this? Anri verbalizes your question, which Celty only returns with a vague response. She explains that him and Anri have something in common, and that he was was most likely keeping it from her because of her importance to him. You’re head began to swirl with all sorts of possible explanations, but nothing really stuck. Your mind was open to anything, but the idea of Mikado getting involved in a gang war was just a bit far-fetched to you.

Deciding that it wasn’t her explanation to give, Celty decides to go retrieve the boy herself. It’s such a quick decision that leaves you registering just how important it must have been. She types a message to Shinra. “I promise...you can trust me, I swear!” he says, smiling easily at her.

“Celty,” Anri says as the woman stands to leave. “I’m done. I don’t want to run anymore.” Celty stares at her for a moment, and in her own special, headless way, she nods. A short moment after she’s out the door, you hear that familiar horse’s whinny in the distance. She’s off. Shinra, noting the coolness of your tea cups, cheerily announces that he’ll make more. You and Anri sit together quietly as the doctor tinkers away in the kitchen.

“(Y/N).” Anri speaks up. You hum, imploring her to continue with whatever it is she wants to say. However, even after gaining your attention, she hesitates. That determination still lingers in her eyes, but she’s clearly holding back. “What’s up, Anri?” you press. 

“...Why did Masaomi say that...about you and Izaya Orihara?”

You almost choke on the lukewarm tea you’re nursing. Her voice is low, but you still peek at Shinra in fear that he had overheard. His back is to the two of you and he’s completely still, frozen in place. You dread that your suspicions are confirmed, until he continues moving, carrying on like nothing happened. Perhaps he hadn’t heard over the clinking of pots and pans. You focus back on Anri, who stares at you expectantly. Her eyebrows are knitted together in an expression that you can’t quite place. Was it concern? or fear? Of Izaya Orihara, or you?

“W-well….he wasn’t lying. I did go to visit him,” you murmur, taking extra care to keep your voice down. You can’t keep your eyes from flickering in Shinra’s direction. “He’s helping me with something.” She doesn’t seem at all satisfied with that answer, gaze flickering back to her lap. Her face is contemplative, as if she’s choosing her next words carefully. “That man...I’ve learned things about him. He’s not a good person. I-I know you probably have a good reason, but I don’t want him to hurt anyone else close to me.”

‘Anyone else’? Your heart drops at her words. It’s not like you were naive enough to think that Izaya had never gotten caught up in shady business, but to mess with the life of a teenage girl? Was he really sick enough to do something like that? Mixed emotions swirled in your chest. Anyone that does such horrible things is not alright with you. Despite that...you couldn’t tell her what she wanted to hear.

“Do you remember what I told you, about losing my memory?” you start. She nods earnestly. “I was a hypocrite, telling you not to worry about the past. The truth is...I worry about it all the time, Anri. My entire upbringing...it disappeared. I know little to nothing about myself —and I’ve tried everything I could to change that! But it’s so hard for some reason.” You realize that you’ve lost yourself in your own words, even forgetting to keep your voice down. Shinra doesn’t look any the wiser, and from what you learned earlier, you would know if he was eavesdropping. Despite this, you lower your voice again. “I’ll be careful, I promise—but I just need this one little thing . Then I’ll be done.”

Anri opens her mouth to respond, when two hands holding teacups appear in front of each of you. Shinra addresses you both with a smile, setting the cups down in front of you and taking your old ones. You thank him, immediately grabbing the new cup and taking a large sip. “Whew, I never get tired of a good cup of tea! I think I’ve become a bit of a chaiphile,” you jest, very obviously trying to change subjects. As you take another long drink, you notice Shinra’s eyes on you. His gaze is glued to you, and while the smile is still present on his face, something about it is off-putting to you.

The brief silence is interrupted by a doorbell. Shinra loudly answers, going to greet whoever it is. Was Celty back with Mikado already? Looks like she could move pretty fast. The silence that follows the door opening momentarily gratifies the impression. However, Shinra’s distressed exclamations immediately peaked your concern. “Goodness gracious! What happened to you??”

“Isn’t it obvious?” A masculine voice answers him. Is that….? “I was shot.” 

You’re on your feet before you can even register it, hurrying to the foyer with Anri in tow. The voices of Shinra and the other person are muffled less and less as you approach the door. To your horror, your suspicions are confirmed when you open it. Anri gasps behind you, just as shocked by the sight.

“Shizuo!” You gape at the man before you. Shizuo stood in all his glory, lax as ever—besides the fact that he was bleeding profusely from his leg and side. He continued to walk forward, only stopping when the sound of your voice alerted him of your presence. “Hey,” he greets you nonchalantly. You and Anri move aside as Shinra ushers Shizuo to the couch. He sits him down where you had left your damp towel a while ago. 

As Shinra leaves to go get his supplies, you go to sit back down. Anri, however, doesn’t move from her spot. She can barely look at Shizuo in his state, so she probably doesn’t feel comfortable sitting near him either. Still averting her gaze from the man, she whispers for you to go ahead. Shinra returns, setting down the tray of supplies and immediately getting to work. Sitting beside Shizuo, you have a front row seat to the gruesome spectacle. Shizuo gives a simple, detached explanation of how he had ended up like this. The way he described it, suddenly being on the ground and not even realizing right away that he was shot, this wasn’t all that traumatizing to him. As you wondered how he wasn’t feeling any pain, you didn’t comprehend that you had been staring directly at his wounds. Even as they were prodded open and bled by Shinra’s tools, you weren’t a bit more fazed than the doctor himself.

“What an idiot, right?” Shinra teases. Shizuo darkens at this, immediately threatening the poor man’s life. In a flash, Shinra is bundled up on the coffee table, apologizing vigorously. You huff humorously at the display. What an interesting relationship…

“Just hurry and fix me up already, so I can find those guys and kill ‘em!” He used the word ‘kill’ so liberally, yet he’d never killed anyone before--not even all of the Slashers that attacked him. “Both the ones who did it, and the asshole who ordered it--Masaomi Kida is a dead man!”

You could practically hear the scratch of a record. Anri immediately locks eyes with you, both of you feeling the same whirlwind of emotions. Suddenly, you don’t take Shizuo’s threats as frivolously as before. Masaomi...ordered someone to shoot Shizuo? Did you believe that he would do that? Sure, he had definitely changed recently, but to try and take someone out like that? There had to be something wrong.

“Shizuo--” You go to say something, anything that could sway the man’s anger, convince him that there was some sort of misunderstanding--because it had to be . However, you’re words are cut short as Anri bolts out of the room. “Anri!” you shout, running after her. Just as you reach the entrance to the foyer, her form disappears out the front door. You’re frozen for a moment, mind jumbled in a frenzy. 

“I’m going after her.” You say finally, grabbing the bag that you had left beside the couch. Shinra already has a phone in his hands, saying that he’ll call Celty. You nod hastily, practically flying towards the door. Subconsciously, you brush a hand over Shizuo’s shoulder. “Get well soon, Shizuo,” you murmur.

In such a short time, she couldn't have gotten far. As you reach the bottom of the apartment building stairs, your eyes frantically search for the girl--but no luck. Acting in a panic, you pick a random direction and start running. It was hard to calm the alarms going off in your head. There was no telling what she was about to do, but judging by what you two just heard, and what she had just talked to you about, it wasn’t anything safe. 

Anri, what on earth are you doing??

[niobiumao3]

In which three people are nowhere near as sneaky as they think they are.

~*~

I like to think of this song as a closer for this fic:

The Beauty of the Unhidden Heart, The Glitch Mob

Some lovely art of older Tech and Phee:

MrSnailDood Lornaka gingerpines cloned-eyes

And of course, the chaos children, Helena and Djoura by @nightskyfoxyy.

Thank you all so much for reading, kudoing, and commenting. I encourage everyone to keep making art, fics, gifs, edits, and whatever else strikes you for Tech, to keep him and his story ever expanding. Phee as well; there was nowhere near enough of her in the show.

This fic owes its existence to all of the CX-Tech theorists, the CX-Tech HCs and art, and the TechPhees of the fandom. I wasn’t enamored of CX-Tech as a theory, but everyone convinced me of ways to do it so it could be satisfying and interesting. Thank you all for inspiring me to write this, and in doing so keeping Tech and Phee’s story moving ever onward. Here’s hoping this isn’t the last we’ve seen of them.

[minamorsart]

"I do not understand," she said softly. "One minute you are kind and the next you are cruel. Whenever I see you it is as if you become a completely different person." She pursed her lips. "You are… unpredictable, Lotor… and that makes you dangerous."

"So you are afraid of me," he said, the disappointment unhidden in his eyes.

"That is not what I said," she insisted gently, and she was surprised to hear the compassion in her own voice.

🌌✨The Empyreal Within - Chapter 6: Great Detective Allura

[cainluvr69]

Main Story 2 Chapter 20 - The Willingness to Lead (First Half)

Previous Chapter

1 - What You Can't Live Without

Eva: Listen closely, child of Bain.

Bradley: My name's Bradley. Get it through your skull already, Eva. Remember it, and I'll make it worth it.

Eva: Fufu, what an impudent little brat. Well then, I'll be sure to remember you. Listen closely, Bradley.

Bradley: Yeah.

Eva: We are Northern wizards. We bear strong and free souls. And so to live with strength and freedom… You mustn't have something you cannot live without.

Bradley: Something I can't live without?

Eva: Yes.

Bradley: Even like a magical focus?

Eva: Yes. Though you may love it as though it were an extension of yourself, you must always be ready to part with it. Both you and I are proud and solitary kings. No matter how many things we encounter capable of moving our hearts. For should your heart be stolen by someone else, you will become their prisoner.

Bradley: Prisoner? You mean just havin' something irreplaceable in the world at all makes you one?

Eva: Here in the North, acquiring something we value the same as our own lives turns that something into a chain, binding us. Just look at Oz. If there is nothing to move your heart, there is nothing you need pay heed. He has the most isolated heart in the world. And because of it, he is invincible.

Bradley: What about you, Eva?

Eva: Excuse me?

Bradley: Would you be able to get rid of something even if you loved it more than anything?

Eva: Of course. Do you really think I would be controlled by the likes of my own heart?

✦✧☾✧✦

Murr: Oh, my beloved… If it were for you, I wouldn't mind changing the very nature of my soul. As long as you are always yourself, it doesn't matter if I'm no longer me.

Shylock: … I'm aware love afflicts both fools and the wise equally, but… It's still quite a sight to see someone like you throw away your pride with such vulgarities. Changing your soul isn't a gesture of love or adoration. It's an expression of dependency, is it not?

Murr: I'm fine with being dependent. Belonging to the one you love is happiness, don't you think? I don't need an immutable soul. Protecting your heart as it is is a lovely thing. Persistence is a beautiful trait. But if change is unnecessary, then that would mean both you and I wouldn't need companionship in this vast galaxy of ours. If the friction needed to polish a gem is unnecessary, then the collision, collapse, supernova, and subsequent birth of the hundreds of millions of stars shining above us is also unnecessary. I want you to hurt me and in doing so, bring something I've never noticed before to my attention. I want you to show me things I don't yet know about, leave me scared and anxious…I'd enjoy that kind of surprise. I love this beautiful world. My hands will not reach to the stars above… So I am always thinking of them.

Shylock: … Though I'm sure this will come as a disappointment… I don't know anyone who shines as brightly as you.

Murr: Ahaha. Truly, what a disappointment.

Shylock: …So please… Don't say you'll change the essence of who you are…

✦✧☾✧✦

Rustica: What a fun day today has been. I'd be happy if you felt the same. Zara.

???: I won't forget today until the day I die. Because of dear, kind Aria, I was able to make the best memories I shall ever have in my life…

Rustica: Let's make more wonderful memories together. As my beloved Aria's elder sister, you are my elder sister as well.

???: …

Rustica: And we are both wizards, as well. I was raised freely and unhidden in the Sapphire Castle. So, Zara. One day, you too, shall have your freedom…

???: Lord Rustica. Please let me see your face one last time before you leave… Please, closer… So that I may engrave it into my eyelids, that I never forget it.

Rustica: Please, feel free. But you needn't engrave anything anywhere. I will still come to see you regardless. As often as you wish, as long as you still desire it.

???: …Thank you very much. But, I already… Please don't say such kind things to me. I'll become more wicked by the day. Had I never met you… Had the flame of desire never ignited in my chest… I could have loved both Aria and this world.

Rustica: Zara?

???: …Such beautiful eyes… Kind eyes, in which only a beautiful world exists… From the day you were born, you were beloved by all, blessed like the protagonist of a fairy tale. Living a life unhurt, unafraid, never faced with anything filthy or unclean… I am sure your beautiful soul, Lord Rustica, will never change, no matter what the world may offer you.

Rustica: Zara. You are also beloved and celebrated, you know. I love you. And I know Aria does, too.

???: … …I love you too… …Lord Rustica…

✦✧☾✧✦

Owen: ……

Cain: Owen…

Owen turned his face away, without even a smirk on his lips. I glared at him. I didn’t think I could do anything else. I couldn’t see what expression Arthur was making right now. It’s not as if I couldn’t see him because of my injury from the <Great Calamity>. But I felt so guilty, the kind of guilt that can’t be properly formed into words, that I couldn’t bear to look at him. That was when I realized something. I was trying to come up with some sort of excuse for all of this. What the hell am I doing?

Arthur: It’s alright. I have an escort. Ah, right there.

Arthur glanced over towards me. Owen was still not looking at me, his arms crossed–I’d never seen him act like this before. And then, I saw him sneak a glance at me. I just kept glaring at him full force. I’d never wanted Arthur to see me like this. I hated Owen as much as I hated myself. But for just a moment, I saw something I couldn’t put a name to flickering in his eyes. That just made me feel even more guilty, and I didn’t know why. It was as if…I was seeing the little Owen because of how messed up things had gotten. But soon enough, he met my glare with his own equally sharp one. Like a beast.

Cain: (If he’s making that kind of face, he has to be the real one.)

Arthur: Alright, thank you. Owen. Could you come here too, please?

Arthur took one of Owen’s arms and together, they came over to me. I had no idea what to do. Owen didn’t, either. All I could do was steel myself and look up at Arthur. He…wasn’t looking at me with contempt, or even disappointment. He was in his blue training outfit, and his clear blue eyes were sparkling. Seeing him like that…I felt my face turn grim, and I started to yell at him.

Cain: Artie, what are you thinking? Only high ranking military officers are allowed in here! Grunts like you should know their place!

I lightly knocked Arthur away and then jabbed my finger towards his chest. The worst thing that could happen here would be anyone else here finding out who Arthur really was. I was just trying to get him out of here safely. He looked startled at first, but upon realizing what was going on, decided to match my pace.

Arthur: My sincerest apologies. However…

Owen: You don’t need to apologize, Artie. Just sit down right there. Next to Sir Knight.

Owen roughly forced Arthur down next to me. The women and officers I’d been talking with quickly moved out of his way. It was me, Arthur, Owen, plus the women by me and Owen. That was our current lineup.

Woman: Have a glass. One for you, too.

Owen and I were handed glasses while we glared at each other over Arthur’s head. I asked him something, keeping my voice low.

Cain: What are you trying to pull? This is a dirty prank.

Owen: Hmph. The only one playing around here is you. If you’re really so sure of yourself, then surely you can keep doing the same in front of Sir Prince?

Woman: Prince?

Owen’s slip of the tongue stabbed a bit of fear into me, but he simply crossed his legs and smiled at the lady next to him.

Owen: I’m talking about myself. I’m the prince of the Cerberus Kingdom. And I’ll bite your throat out.

Owen had meant it as a threat, but because of the alcohol, the woman took it as a joke. She blushed, and then tilted back her head and presented her neck.

Woman: Ooh, how scary. But I don’t mind if you want to eat me right up.

Owen: Are you stupid? You’d get along great with Sir Knight. I’ve fed him to my dogs before, too.

Cain: Come on…

Right as I was about to argue, Arthur suddenly moved to look at me. He took up my whole field of vision, the only thing I could see.

Arthur: I need to talk to you. Err, rather, I have something I’d like to speak with you about, Sir Cain.

Cain: What’s up, Artie? Is it something so important you had to talk to me here? It’s already late. Kids should be in bed by now.

Arthur: Kids?

Arthur raised one eyebrow. I think…I made him a little mad.

Arthur: It’s an important conversation regarding your honor, Sir Cain. You are a very devoted person, but should you have betrayed yourself to that end…

I saw pale fingers extend past Arthur’s cheek, and then Owen grabbed Arthur’s face and forcibly turned his head. He murmured something into Arthur’s ear. They glanced at me during their quiet conversation, leaving me completely baffled by their newfound…familiarity. This couldn’t be anything good. I suddenly felt restless.

Arthur: …Understood.

While I was being set adrift in a sea of confusion, Arthur simply nodded, and moved away from Owen. This time he got closer to me, putting his arm over the back of the sofa. Arthur’s lips approached my ear. His hair and skin smelled of expensive perfume, the kind that no amount of effort could hide. The idea of having a one on one talk with him was making me just a little bit nervous. Over Arthur’s shoulder, I could see Owen. Arthur whispered into my ear.

Arthur: …Please don’t do anything that would deprive you of your knightly spirit.

I didn’t know how much he’d heard from Owen, but the sincere and earnest tone in his voice made my chest ache. As Arthur pulled away from me, I whispered something back.

Cain: …Don’t misunderstand. I’m trying to win over the Western military to get information on Nicholas. It’s dangerous for you to be here. You should leave immediately. Oz and Riquet should still be…

I glanced up, and my words trailed off on their own. There were heavy footsteps making their way towards us. They were even and composed, like those of higher ranked or commissioned officers. The lively atmosphere around us had become tense. Maybe the general they’d talked about earlier, General Barnett, was here.

Gilles: ……

If it was the Western general, it was entirely probable that he knew what Central Country’s crown prince looked like.

Cain: (I can’t even imagine how things will blow up if the prince of an unfriendly neighboring country is found in a military club.)

I immediately pulled Arthur closer to me, my hand on his back.

Arthur: …Wha–?!

Cain: What’s wrong? Are you not feeling well? You must’ve drank too much. We should get you on your way quick. Owen!

Owen: Excuse me?

Cain: Take care of Artie for me. Or at least take him to the inn.

Owen narrowed his eyes at me.

Owen: And why do I have to do what you tell me to, Sir Knight?

Arthur also looked up at me, frowning a bit.

Arthur: I am still not done talking with you.

I wasn’t listening to either of them. I was busy worrying about if General Barnett was here, and I picked up the book I’d dropped earlier with one hand. This was a popular novel the general liked. I’d been reading it aloud to try and catch his attention. That was the plan, at least.

Cain: Sorry, but please, I need you both to leave. I need to read this book.

Arthur: Right now?

Owen: Why?

Cain: Because the general likes it. He’ll be excited if we like the same things, right?

Arthur: Do you like it, Cain?

Cain: Well, I haven’t read it yet…

Arthur: He won’t be happy if you’re only pretending. When he realizes you’re lying, he’ll only be sad about it.

Arthur’s words reminded me of my mom, and my heart clenched in my chest. I shook my head, a bitter taste at the back of my throat. I glanced around, and then murmured something to him.

Cain: …You and Oz are no good at telling lies. That’s why this is something I have to do. I’m doing what I do best.

Arthur: Trust isn’t something so easily won. Trust balanced on top of lies will come crashing down when it’s most important. If trust is lost on the battlefield, then who can you entrust your life to?

I felt like he’d just punched me in the face. Exactly like Arthur had said, morale dropped under leadership that couldn’t be trusted. Everyone put their life on the line for their pride and sense of justice at some point. And if you weren’t sincere about it, all you’d get is corrupted authority and false justice. That’s why you can’t just start running forward. Arthur’s eyes held the same noble look I’d seen in the portraits of previous kings in Granvelle Castle.

Arthur: Cain, you are my knight. You don’t need to concoct any devious plots.

My heart was wavering in my chest. I wanted to live up to Arthur’s pure, unsullied feelings. But… I think someone who betrays those feelings would serve him better. Nicholas and the white-haired woman. The sunken Adams Island expedition. Should I just give up and try a different method of attack? My honor doesn't matter. What even is true devotion? What would Leno or Shino do if they were in my place?

2 - Touched by the General's Words

I stole a glance at Owen. He was frowning, and then he sighed as if to say “Well, there’s no helping it.” He reached over Arthur and put his hand on the back of my neck, pulling me closer. And then, he whispered something in my ear. Owen’s voice was oddly shrill, as if he was embarrassed about something.

Owen: Hey… If it’s the only way, then. I’ll kill the Western general for you.

My eyes widened. Owen frowned, making a weird face, like he was trying to hide his embarrassment. He was messing with his bangs like he was annoyed, but he was eyeing me with a certain sense of pride.

Owen: But only for tonight, okay?

My blood drained out of my face and I shook my head.

Cain: Don’t even think about doing something like that. It’d become a massive diplomatic issue.

Owen: …Hah?

Pretty sure Owen thought that he was offering to do a good deed, which was why he was so embarrassed about it, but it was still undeniably an offer of assassination. A Northern wizard killing the Western army’s general in front of Central’s prince was just a recipe for disaster.

Cain: You don’t need to come up with any plots, just take Arthur and…

Owen: Plots? I’m saying I’ll help you, and you say I’m plotting?

Cain: I’m grateful for the offer, but right now, your talents aren’t really what I need here.

Owen’s trunk appeared out of nowhere. I looked up at the ceiling, and then tried again.

Cain: I said not right now, right?

Owen: I’m going to turn you to stone. I don’t take orders from anyone.

Woman: D-didn’t he just pull that trunk from nowhere… Was that…magic?

Owen smiled threateningly at the pale woman.

Owen: That’s right. Didn’t I tell you? I’ll bite your throat out.

Arthur: Could you kindly stop, Owen?

Woman: …I–I’m not scared! I’m not scared of wizards. There are so many officers from the Magical Weaponry Division here. Everyone, please…!

Cain: Let’s calm down! Owen, put your trunk away! Absolutely do not open it!

Owen: …Don’t order me around!

Arthur: We’re not giving you orders. Neither Cain nor I are trying to subjugate you, Owen of the North.

Arthur placed his hand on Owen’s arm, and then he looked up at me.

Arthur: This goes for you too, Cain. My desires are not meant to be chains. They shouldn’t keep you from listening to your heart.

Those painful words felt so good. My heart. My thoughts and feelings could change everything. And how easily mine had been changed. What could I do with these feelings?

Gilles: And what is going on here?

Owen and I stood ready at the same time. We didn’t even have to say anything. Both of us were prepared to guard Arthur. I couldn’t see who had spoken. But I could tell enough from the air around them. This was General Barnett. The cheery, drunken sense of relaxation in the club had changed. Not in a bad way. There wasn’t any fear shooting up my spine. But all the soldiers in the room remembered something now that he stood before them. All he had to do was stand in the same room as them, and the Western army’s soldiers remembered their pride. Their spirit. I hadn’t even seen his face, and General Barnett had already overwhelmed us. If he was this charismatic on a normal day, I wondered how far his leadership would take him on the battlefield. Speaking as a soldier from the neighboring country? I wasn’t looking forward to seeing it.

Cain: …My apologies for disturbing you. I am Cain, a former knight of Central Country.

I smiled amiably and held my hand out to him. I could only wonder if he’d accept it. But I only had to worry for a couple seconds. A large hand grasped mine moments later. The same moment, a tall, capable-looking young man appeared in front of me. He had the sociable, reliable air of someone you could call an ideal commanding officer.

Gilles: Gilles Barnett, at your service. Would those be your friends?

Still feeling the strain, I introduced the two of them.

Cain: My subordinates. Artie and Wen.

Owen: You’re a wizard, aren’t you.

Owen announced that right to General Barnett’s face. It caught me off guard for a moment, but I knew why he’d felt that, so I explained it to him.

Cain: Don’t be rude, Wen. Watch your mouth. This is the man who leads the Magical Weaponry Division. Using that many mana stones can make someone have the same presence as a wizard.

Owen: Mana stones…? …Just how many would you have to use to feel like that.

Owen smiled a thin smile at him, the expression dripping with malice and hatred. But General Barnett was unmoved. His eyes moved to Arthur, and he gestured for him to sit down.

Gilles: Please, sit.

Arthur: Thank you, sir.

Although Arthur took a seat, General Barnett did not. Instead, he sat down next to me, taking the place of a woman who had gracefully offered up her seat. His leisurely manner was also a smart one. And it wasn’t like he was trying to intimidate or overpower us. It looked like he was being considerate of us.

Gilles: You said you were a former Central soldier, didn’t you?

Cain: Yes.

The general smiled at me, friendly-like.

Gilles: As the general of Western Country, I could call myself its greatest hero, but surely that means little to a Central knight. From Central’s oldest knight to its youngest trainee, each one is fearlessly brave. Now that’s true glory. They don’t get ahead of themselves when victory’s in sight, and that’s how the names of so many heroes have been engraved in their history. And you are one of them. It’s a pleasure to meet you.

Cain: Ah… Thank you very much. I’m undeserving of such praise.

I knew it was nothing more than flattery, but my chest was still full of emotion. Even the general of another country saw the same splendor in the Central knights that I’d admired ever since I was little. Arthur’s eyes also glowed with the praise.

Gilles: And that is?

The general gestured towards the book next to me. Seems like the story about him liking this series was true. Finally, I could work on fulfilling my intended objective here. I picked up the book with vigor.

Cain: A book from a series I like. I’d heard that you enjoyed it as well. I was thinking of reading some aloud, if you’d be fine with that.

The general smiled at me, and I looked over my shoulder towards Owen.

Cain: Wen. Cover Artie’s ears for me, would you?

Owen: What? Why?

Cain: I’ve got a feeling there’s going to be some events that children shouldn’t be listening to.

Arthur: You keep calling me a child, but I am no longer… I am not a child, Sir Cain.

Owen: I’ll let him listen. Give us a tale so terrifying it gives Artie nightmares.

Arthur: No matter how terrifying a story it is, it won’t keep me awake or give me nightmares. Because I am not a child.

Cain: It’s not a scary story. Well, it shouldn’t be…

I remembered the bit I’d read just before as getting a bit…spicy. I glanced over at the general. As if the friendly air he’d had earlier had been nothing but a lie, he was now completely filled with bloodlust.

Cain: Is… Is something wrong, sir…?

His eyes met mine and slowly, slowly his head turned to join them.

Gilles: That book is a stellar adaptation… Don’t speak of it as if it’s some vulgar, tawdry product.

Cain: Ah… Um…

Gilles: The play it is based on is an action/adventure coming-of-age story centered around the friendship of a landed noble caught up in an inheritance dispute and one of her maids. In any case.

Cain: Yes.

Gilles: The two protagonists fall in love with a traveling merchant, and both compete for his affection in further more impossible ways. You said you liked it, didn’t you?

Cain: Uh, yes.

Gilles: To be frank, I am absolutely appalled. No further conversation is required.

Cain: W–wait! My apologies. Let me be honest. I'm…

Gilles: The Sage’s wizard, Cain Knightley. And that would be another Sage’s wizard, the Northern wizard Owen. And this gentleman would be… No, enough with names.

The general had been looking at Arthur when he said that. Arthur, however, took a deep breath and said his next words very pointedly.

Arthur: Please, allow me to introduce myself. I am the prince of Central Country, Arthur Granvelle. My apologies for being misleading with my identity, General Barnett.

The general’s eyes widened at such a forthwith introduction. For the first time in this conversation, he was shocked. After carefully observing his surroundings, he simply shrugged his shoulders.

Gilles: …My sincerest apologies. I had not heard you would be visiting. Had I been aware, I would have knelt before you. To do so now would be, well, conspicuous.

Arthur: Let me apologize as well. I was distracted.

The general smiled at Arthur’s immediate apology. He leaned forward, lowering his voice.

Gilles: …Please listen without showing surprise. Important citizens of my country have of late been collapsing with sudden illness. Their health worsens very quickly, and as it stands, it is doubtful they can even make it through the night. Were it to be known that a foreign dignitary is visiting me during this plague, it would draw suspicion. Please, leave as soon as you are able.

Arthur: Western country’s dignitaries…

Gilles: I cannot speak further than this. You understand, yes?

Arthur: Yes… Thank you. However, may I ask one thing?

Gilles: You may.

Arthur: Why did you warn me?

Gilles: I’d rather not cause problems for myself by complicating things with easily-rectified matters.

The general smiled calmly. His manner was arrogant, but Arthur’s eyes were happy all the same.

Gilles: You are young, and there is still hope in your heart. Though we may live in a broken world, I keep faith that it shall one day be beautifully reborn. I would rather do you a favor of something more valuable than saying your name too loudly and bringing both of our nations trouble.

Arthur: My thanks, General Barnett.

Gilles: Please, just call me Gilles. Now, I would not say this is advice, per se… If you have no urgent plans, I would suggest staying in the City of Fortune for the moment.

Cain: Why?

Gilles: A coronation ceremony shall be held on a day very soon from now. I believe the Sage’s wizards were also given an invitation.

Those words alone told me everything I needed to know about the state of the West’s dignitaries, and which among them had fallen ill. Western Country was a monarchy, after all. It seemed we’d arrived at a very delicate time.

Gilles: Well then, I shall take my leave. May there be good company on your way home.

With a bow, the general began to walk away from us. I was after him in a flash. He was a fair sort of person. I needed to do something to get rid of the guilt of lying to him.

Cain: Hold on.

Gilles: What?

Cain: …Sorry for lying to you. Err, my sincerest apologies, I mean.

His shoulders shook with laughter. At least the look on his face meant I hadn’t insulted him.

Gilles: What a very Central thing of you to say. No, it was quite fine. Why were you trying to gain my favor?

Cain: Huh?

Gilles: You pretended to have read a book you’d never touched for the sake of my favor, to the point of troubling your comrades.

Cain: That’s, well… I really do apologize for that. I mean it from the bottom of my heart.

Gilles: It certainly seems that way. I’ve yet to meet someone from Central who enjoyed deceit. Nicholas was the same way.

My eyes widened the moment I heard Nicholas’s name.

Cain: You remember Nicholas?

Gilles: Of course I do. He was once a hero who stood as Central’s head of knights. It was quite exhausting having such a great man foisted onto me as one of my subordinates.

After that bit of complaint, the general smiled at me.

Gilles: I heard a bit of you from him. He called you the kind of genius that only comes around once every thousand years. Nicholas had been quite proud whenever your name was brought up. It was clear that he loved Central Country and Central’s knights from the bottom of his heart. What happened to him was very unfortunate.

The general put his hand on my shoulder. The sudden rush of emotion in my chest was so strong, I could feel my breathing waver. Even if he had fallen as something evil, Nicholas had once been someone I admired. Hearing words of praise for him made my chest tight. Even though I’d tried to convince myself there was no other choice, I’d always hated how things had turned out. If the reason that the gallant knight I admired had become a villain was because I’d cornered him, then didn’t that make me the evil one? The general shook his head, as if to reject the self-hatred I’d never voiced aloud.

Gilles: My only complaint is that you led the knights after someone like Nicholas had been driven out. You’re not the kind of person who would be here to try and gather information. The right person for the right place, after all. Though it’s true Western Country tends to discriminate towards wizards, we are still generous enough to welcome the philosopher Hart to the royal palace with open arms. Those from Central are less sociable. The generosity seen when the King of Knights Alec established that country alongside wizards is nowhere to be seen. The current system in place only shames that sincere warrior. You don’t need to look at me like that. If you’re going to turn your sword on anything, turn it on the system.

This foreign general’s words were like a guiding light that had saved me. Perhaps they were simply honeyed words to win me over. But I wanted to think they were true.

Cain: Thank you very much, sir.

Gilles: Even wicked customs can be changed that way. Should your revolution fail and you go into exile, I would gladly welcome you to our country.

Cain: I’m not planning on abandoning my country. I am a Central knight.

The general smiled warmly at me.

Gilles: I thought that’s what you’d say.

Cain: General Barnett. Did anything strange happen to Nicholas during his time in this country?

Gilles: Why do you ask?

Cain: I heard that he headed an expedition to the sunken Adams Island. He wasn’t exactly a man who was fond of the sea. But if he left anything behind that might tell me what his goal was, then…

Gilles: I see. A very Central expression of camaraderie. I’m fond of Central’s knights because you’re all like characters in a book. Now then, regarding Nicholas… Although he was one for etiquette, there were times when he crossed the line when it came to me. I imagine he couldn’t forgive himself for it.

Cain: I see…

Gilles: Oh, but there is one thing I recall. He once asked me if I was an avid reader. Specifically, he asked if there were any accounts handed down through Western legend of an account of a "walking Hell".

Cain: A walking Hell…?

Gilles: Yes. I’d never heard of something like it. What about in Central?

Cain: This is the first time I’m hearing of anything like it, too.

Gilles: I see. I apologize, but that’s as much as I can offer.

✦✧☾✧✦

Arthur: A walking Hell… I’ve never heard of it, either. What about you, Owen?

Owen: Who knows.

Arthur: Perhaps you keep it within that trunk of yours?

Owen: Sure. Want to take a peek, Sir Prince?

Cain: Knock it off, Owen.

Owen: Hmph. So you failed to become a villain, Sir Knight. Well, it’s just a matter of time. I’m looking forward to seeing it happen.

Cain: …tsk, he’s gone… God, he’s so…

Arthur: Owen was worried about you, Cain.

Cain: As if.

Arthur: That was why he came to me. …Am I wrong?

Cain: You’re wrong. Maybe he’s not as awful as I thought, but… He’s still awful. Don’t let him fool you.

Arthur: You think so…?

Cain: …A walking Hell… Sigh… All that work, and that’s the only clue we got.

Arthur: We did get to meet with the Western general, thanks to your infiltration. Thank you, Cain.

Cain: Arthur… No, I should be the one thanking you.

3 - The Child Beloved by the Sun and Moon

Liliana: …

Old man: …Please… Please, I beg you… I haven't breathed a word about you to anyone… I promise you…!

Liliana: When has a child of man ever fulfilled their promises?

Old man: Eek…! Someone…! Help me! Please…!

Liliana: Cease this fruitless resistance. Do you really think you can escape me? I gave you happiness, did I not?

Old man: Ahh… My body… I'm wasting away…like I'm dying… …ahh…my arms are turning into branches…

Liliana: You have fulfilled your role. Now, sleep peacefully.

Old man: ……

Liliana: …Haah… That went well. I'm so sorry, Albert. But I'd rather not meet with him while looking like an old man.

✦✧☾✧✦

Chloe: …Zara… She's a witch who was raised in secrecy, like I was…?

Kelvin: …Your family hid you, too?

Chloe: Yeah… Since if they knew I was a wizard, all of our relatives would hate us…

Kelvin: Hmph. Then let them hate you. People who hate things they don't understand are all boring people, anyways. Besides, they don't hate wizards. They just mistrust them.

Chloe: Mistrust…?

Kelvin: That's right. They suspect us when things go missing, or if something breaks. Or when something bad happens to someone who's usually lucky. They think to themselves, "Couldn't this be because of the strange powers those wizards have?" It's hard to trust something they can't see for themselves, after all. Mistrusting things they can't see is pretty easy for them. They do it with kindness and friendship and things done in good will, too.

Chloe: …But… Rustica trusted me. Ages ago while I was still doing sewing for my parents' shop, I came up with this embroidery concept. Like, if I did this and this and put it all together, how'd that look? And just like I thought, it turned out absolutely beautifully.

Kelvin: Amazing! You've got a real knack for that kind of thing, don't you?

Chloe: Ehehe! Thanks… You're a kind person too, Kelvin. …But my sisters thought there was no way I could've come up with it on my own. They thought I'd seen someone else's embroidery work and copied it.

Kelvin: That's horrible. How could they?!

Chloe: Well, I was used to it… But Rustica trusted me. He said, "That's amazing, Chloe." I couldn't prove I came up with it on my own, but he didn't doubt me in the first place. It was the very first time I looked at my own embroidery and thought, "He's right. It is amazing." I was so happy and proud of myself. All because Rustica trusted me…

Kelvin: That's who Lord Rustica is, after all. He doesn't mistrust anything. He thinks this world only consists of love and peace. That's because Lord Rustica has only ever known kind and happy things in his life.

Chloe: …I don't think it's possible to have only known happiness, but… I still think I get what you're saying… Rustica never has a bad thing to say about anything. He's very good at finding a silver lining in everything. Even if people trick him or treat him badly, he never says anything about it. I always thought it was weird, honestly. I wondered how he could be like that. But… Is it really possible to live while only knowing kind and happy things…?

Kelvin: He did it. It was possible for that family back then.

Chloe: That family back then, huh…

Kelvin: For the Ferch family that lived in the City of Fortune's Sapphire Palace. Rustica was born to the Ferch family at the height of their prosperity.

Chloe: The Ferch family?

Kelvin: They were Western Country's most dazzling and prosperous aristocrats. They had even more power, politically speaking, than the Western royal family did, and nobles and merchants from around the entire continent did business with them. They amassed wealth from around the world, built the Sapphire Palace, and hosted dinner parties every night. Western Country's important talks about things like war, taxes, and politics weren't discussed at the royal palace, but at Sapphire Palace.

Chloe: So, like, they were more important than the king?

Kelvin: Their power grew from their successful business ventures. Especially with their investments in transcontinental transport. The ones who originally planned, implemented, and maintained the road that runs from Western Country, through Central, all the way to Eastern Country were the Ferches.

Chloe: That's amazing!

Kelvin: People even whispered that the Ferches' divine protection would keep them safe from anything dangerous that came down from the North. The Ferches were beloved by the royal family, the commoners, the nobility, even scholars and artists alike. And that was why when a wizard was born to them, he received nothing but blessings.

Chloe: And that was Rustica…?

Kelvin: Yes. I still remember what the people in the City of Fortune called the baby born in the Sapphire Palace. The child beloved by the sun and moon.

Chloe: (…Ahh, it's unbelievable…) (Rustica and I are as different as night and day…)

Kelvin: Until I met Lord Rustica in person, this was what I thought about the heir to the Sapphire Palace: What do they mean, beloved by the sun and moon? He's just some spoiled brat who got raised up to be selfish and covetous and never had anyone say no to him. And then I actually met him, and Lord Rustica couldn't have been more different than that. He was kind, sincere, humble… He was so generous I actually got worried for him.

Chloe: …I understand… That's the same Rustica that I know…

Kelvin: Haha… It's been so long since I saw him, and he hasn't changed a bit. …His eyes are still so clear… I can't even count how many times I felt ashamed of myself in front of those eyes. I was irritable, skeptical, stingy, pessimistic…

Chloe: Kelvin…

Kelvin: …I wanted to become a musician. But I was scared of putting on a poor performance and getting laughed at… Every time I found a musician to try to apprentice with, they'd cruelly mock me. They really were the worst. Even though I really just wanted to listen to music up close and touch an instrument for myself. I encountered Lord Rustica for the first time while I was traveling, as he was playing a flute, and I laughed at him. What's up with this?! What a weird-sounding song! What a bizarre melody! But he just smiled at me and said, "That's not true. It's a lovely song. Why don't you try to play this flute, too?" And for some reason, when he said that to me… For the first time in my life, I said that I did, I did want to try playing the flute. And I meant it completely. I have loved Lord Rustica ever since.

Chloe: …

Kelvin: And Lord Rustica loved me, too. It was as natural as the fact that candy made from sugar is sweet that people loved him, but he loved them in return so easily. He had an unshakeable faith in himself, but he never strayed from his kind, considerate nature. He freely gave his possessions, his time, and his love to anyone who wanted them.

Chloe: (…That's true for me, too… I'm just one of the people he gave those things to…) (Rustica is a very, very special person to me, but…) (To Rustica, am I…?)

Kelvin: Hey, are you okay?

Chloe: Ah…

Kelvin: You're looking kind of pale. Maybe it's just because of the moonlight, but…

Chloe: I'm fine… Ah… Wait, I need to go find Rustica! He was with me until just a little bit ago.

Kelvin: I know. I could feel his presence… Where is he now?

Chloe: W-well… A wizard I've never seen before suddenly showed up and then vanished with him.

Kelvin: Huh?! Did Zara take him?! Even though she hasn't so much as laid a hand on him before now…

Chloe: Why did Zara turn Rustica's bride into a songbird? If Rustica went through something terrible because of that witch, then… If I were to defeat her, the witch controlling Western Country, would that make Rustica happy…?

Kelvin: Lord Rustica would… I don't think he would be happy with that, no matter who it was.

Chloe: …

Kelvin: You'd just make him sad. So he has no choice but to forget things like that.

✦✧☾✧✦

Rustica: …

I was in a room that smelled absolutely lovely. It was a fine perfume, the sweet, refreshing scent of flowers blended with burnt sugar. I felt oddly nostalgic being wrapped up in that aroma. It was a sweet and gentle atmosphere, one of sadness tinged with joy. The windows of this room were also lovely. Through them I saw a magnificently built palace, backed by the pre-dawn sky. I felt a bit sleepy, so I thought I'd lie down for a bit. I undressed, leaving my clothes scattered untidily over the floor, and suppressed a yawn. And then I thought to myself, something seems off. If someone saw my clothes on the floor like this, I knew what they'd say.

???: You can't do that, Rustica. They'll get all wrinkled like that.

Rustica: Oh, my apologies.

I apologized to that someone and folded my clothes. I couldn't quite place what that someone's name was. I found a brush, and brushed out my hair. I heard the voice of someone who had talked to me while brushing my hair, from sometime before now. It smelled the same now as it did then. Sweet, refreshing flowers and candy. Flowers dancing gently in the breeze. Small, purple flowers. Gemstones glittering brightly. A delicate porcelain cup…

???: Rustica. My angel. Everyone fortunate enough to meet you is blessed. Your eyes are pure and innocent. Your heart is serene and unselfish. You understand the underpinnings of this world. It is possible that in the future, you may hear thoughtlessly said words, words not worth hearing. But please, you mustn't criticize the people who say them. There is no reason for you to take offense to them. Those who are so poor of heart are those pitiful, those not blessed with good fortune. Those who are well-loved, however, are earnest and virtuous. You must extend your hand to them without hate, without hostility. Kindness and compassion are paramount. As those of high status, we have a responsibility to learn proper ethics. My sweet Rustica. Please extend your love to everyone you can. This way, everyone will be happy.

The sky began to brighten. A veil of navy and violet fluttered at the hem of the night sky's dark dress. Birds began to sing their lovely morning songs. My eyes were on the verge of falling shut. I laid down on the bed. I laid down on the bed, and I was happy. Being able to sleep for as long as I like made me feel free and peaceful. Liberated. I began to hum a song, and fell asleep to that same song of my own making.

✦✧☾✧✦

Aria Mastandrea was the princess of Western Country as well as my fiancee. I have loved her since the day we first met. She was like a little sister. We were often told we suited one another. We were very happy together. Aria loved the sound of my harpsichord, and I loved the stories Aria would tell. Aria spoke to me often about the things that she loved. Brightly colored pastries, wax seals, bluebirds that pecked at flower petals, buttons with gold around the edges, the royal palace's gardens. His Majesty the King, her Majesty the Queen, me. Her favorite chamberlain, Francesca. The lizards that would appear by her window on rainy days. However, she was lying to me. I knew Aria loved more things than that. I saw her once, as I was walking through the palace garden, contemplating something very deeply. I saw tears in the corners of her eyes as she stared at the garden around her, her gaze very earnest. As if she were committing a sin.

Rustica: Why are you crying?

And Aria replied, She was afraid. She had never disobeyed her parents before. But she was disobeying them for the very first time, right now. Please, she pleaded, take the secret I'm about to tell you seriously. Being told something like that made me quite nervous. For I had never had a "secret" before. Under the boughs of a tree, with no one else around, Aria told me something in little more than a whisper. She had an elder twin sister. Her name was Zara. But twins in the royal family were considered unlucky. And because of that, the twin who was born a witch was forced to live in secrecy. She lived in a tower on the palace grounds. Once, she had asked to look out from the top of that same tower.

Rustica: I remember that. You said you wanted to look at the birds perched by its window. But there were no birds to be seen.

Please forgive me, she said. I lied to you. I wanted to show my beloved elder sister the man who would become my husband.

Rustica: I see, so that's what it was. Your sister lives in that tower…

I have a request, Lord Rustica, she said. I'll never ask you for anything more in my life, so please. Please take a walk through the gardens with Zara, dressed in my clothes, as though she were me. If you can, please take her outside the palace walls. Zara has never been past them before.

Rustica: In other words… I should take your elder sister on an outing somewhere? I would be happy to.

✦✧☾✧✦

Liliana: …

Rustica: …

Liliana: …He's asleep…

Rustica: …mm…

Liliana: …

Rustica: …I don't want to get up yet… Chloe…

Liliana: …

✦✧☾✧✦

Chloe: …So Rustica's just going to keep forgetting things forever? One day he'll forget me, and the Sage, and everyone else…

Kelvin: That's right. Like how he's forgotten who I am.

Chloe: Isn't… Isn't there anything I can do?

Kelvin: Can you really say something about it? To Lord Rustica? Can you tell him that the bride he's looking for is already dead? That he's the one who killed her?

Chloe: …uu… I don't want to…

Kelvin: Exactly. Because if you tell him that, the current Lord Rustica will disappear. The happy nobleman, the child beloved by the sun and moon, will vanish. I never want to see Lord Rustica suffering like that again, wailing like he was no more than an animal…

Chloe: …

Kelvin: …I need to go. You never know when or where the witch is listening. I'll be avoiding this place for the time being. You should do the same.

Chloe: Wait, Kelvin…!

Kelvin: Take care of Lord Rustica.

Chloe: Ah… …He disappeared… …If I tell him the truth, the current Rustica will disappear… …Then… Who is the real Rustica…? Will he really be happy continuing to search for a bride that no longer exists…? But…I don't want Rustica to remember…something so horrible… … I need to find Rustica… …This isn't the time to be moping. First off, I need to find Rustica… …I need to help Rustica. I at least owe him that much! …Oh, I should tell Master Sage! They said they were going to Cortes Palace, and then heading to the royal palace… If the witch is at the Western royal palace, then that's the first place I should look for Rustica. I need to hurry…!

4 - Dawn is Coming

Shino: This is…

Bradley: …

The spirits definitely felt like Western ones. I didn't feel any hostile intentions from the bone monsters surrounding us. Figaro was still actively wary of the guy with Murr's face. Mithra seemed unhappy with traveling through a door in space that someone else had made. Nero was out like a light again. I didn't know if his condition was stable or not. I wanted to get him properly treated as soon as I possibly could. And Shino was on edge, supporting Heathcliff on his shoulder and fidgeting like he couldn't decide if he wanted to stick close to Nero or to the curseworker. He had the most repressed bloodlust out of all of us right now, even counting the bone freaks.

Bradley: Stand down, Eastern tiny, Mithra.

Mithra glanced over to me, moving only his eyes.

Bradley: Don't make 'em underestimate us.

That was all I needed to say. Mithra focused his attention on what was in front of him, which was impressive, given his short attention span. The guy with Murr's face smiled.

Murr: Welcome. Please, use this manor as you will. I'll arrange for medical supplies to be brought to you shortly. You have many injured, after all.

Shino: You think you get to say that…?! All of their injuries are because of those damn things standing next to you!

Heathcliff: Shino…!

Shino's eyes were blazing with fury for the things that had put his comrades into this state. I could still feel traces of the curseworker's protection magic on him, and he had the guts to try and fight his way out of this. His courage was downright admirable.

Figaro: Get them to me immediately. As well as several people familiar with medical training.

Figaro's voice was calm, but it was steeped in a very obvious, very deadly anger.

Murr: But of course. I'd love to help you myself, but tragically, there is somewhere else I need to be.

Figaro: And where would that be?

Murr: I need to greet the Master Sage.

Figaro frowned, and I wasn't feeling any more happy about that than he was. I didn't want this Murr getting anywhere close to the Sage.

Bradley: (Should I get Mithra to go with him? But if I do that, then we won't have enough people here.) Bradley: (I'm pretty sure this is one of those actualized shards of Murr's soul I've heard about. And the shard was probably attached to that cat of his somewhere.) (Should I shoot it? If I do, how would the bone freaks react?)

While thoughts like that were chasing themselves in a circle in my head, Figaro handed the unconscious Faust off to Lennox.

Figaro: Sorry. I know you're hurt, too.

Lennox: No, it's fine…

But in the next moment, Figaro's magic focus, his orb, appeared at his hand.

Bradley: (This guy's got a short fuse too, huh.)

I was sick of him doing things that reminded me of how the twins wanted to run things. Even if they act like they're sensible, they jump the gun way too damn fast. I held Nero tighter in my arms, and my next words were very pointed.

Bradley: Yo, Southern doctor. You've got wounded to be lookin' after. If anyone's gonna be doin' anything right now, it's gonna be me.

Mithra: I'm going to be the one to take them down. All of them.

But Murr wasn't intimidated.

Murr: Did you enjoy it that much?

Figaro: Then hurry it up. I want to get to treating my patients. I'd rather not get attacked while I'm busy tending to them, so finish things up before that happens.

Murr: If we were planning on attacking you, we wouldn't have brought you here.

Bradley: What do you want with the Sage?

Murr: I intend on collecting all of the Sage's wizards here. Ah, of course. Perhaps I shouldn't have gone about this in the middle of the night. Is that why you're suspicious of me? Things that could happen innocently during the daytime can become perilous in the dead of night. This, too, is a captivating aspect of…

Mithra: <Arthim>

Blue flames raged out of Mithra's crystal skull alongside a furious blizzard, and the shape of Murr in front of us was annihilated. Me and Figaro were both left completely speechless. The cat that had been at Murr's feet leapt away, escaping as far from us as it could. And then, above the now distant cat, Murr once again flickered into view.

Murr: Goodness. Northern wizards have such short tempers. Hey, hey. Can you get close to those people over there again for me? Don't be scared. Please, I'm begging you…

Mithra ignored Murr distantly grumbling to himself and turned to face me.

Mithra: I'm going to go get the Sage.

Bradley: Sure, good plan. You know where they are?

Mithra: If I feel for their presence, yes. Well, I'll be going now. I have a feeling they're here in Western Country.

Having said that, Mithra glanced down at Nero, who was still securely in my arms. I was instantly wary of him. It was more instinct than anything.

Mithra: Is that person dead?

I didn't know what exactly he meant by that, but it still put me on edge. He better not tell me to give him Nero's stone.

Bradley: He ain't dead. He's too stubborn for that.

Mithra: Is that right? Thank goodness. Shino asked me to save him.

There was no possible way I really just heard him say something so…human. The concept alone was completely alien to Mithra of the North--he wouldn't even consider it. Mithra was still staring at Nero, and there was even a smile on his face.

Mithra: Anyway, I'm leaving now.

Bradley: Yeah, thanks.

Mithra: <Arthim>

Mithra was gone, leaving behind only the night breeze. I raised my head, and my eyes met Figaro's. He was as shocked as I was by how Mithra was acting. We both looked away without saying anything.

Figaro: Let's hurry. This way, Leno. Heathcliff, can you walk?

Heathcliff: …ah, I'll be fine.

Shino: You can lean on me. How's Faust?

Lennox: His breathing is shallow. We need to get him laying down as soon as we can.

Shino: Bradley!

Bradley: I'm coming! Nero's still doin' fine.

The jet-black night sky was starting to turn blue around the edges. Dawn was coming. The time Oz's magic would return. Even if the bone freaks attacked us after the Sage and the lil' ones joined us here, everything would be fine. I noticed myself feelin' relieved about that and felt a sudden sense of dread. There's no goddamn way I was feelin' relieved about Oz's continued existence. Maybe I was dreamin' or something. I needed to walk around or somethin' to make sure I was actually awake. The amount of people that could actually be saved was limited. I needed to prioritize and cut the rest off. I glared at the air in front of me, and started walking.

✦✧☾✧✦

Rutile: It's almost dawn…

Oz: So it is…

Rutile: Mitile and Riquet are both asleep. I'm sure they must've worn themselves out.

Oz: … Why…

Rutile: Hm?

Oz: Why would one give birth?

Rutile: … I…haven't given birth…

Oz: Yes… Of course not.

Rutile: Ahaha… Are you talking about my mother?

Oz: Correct.

Rutile: Do I really resemble her that much? Although I've been hearing that ever since I was Mitile's age.

Oz: You do not. However, there are traces of her in your countenance. The two of you can be…difficult to distinguish.

Rutile: That's an interesting way of putting it. …Were you close with her? My mother?

Oz: No… I had no particular interest in her.

Rutile: …

Oz: Given we have the opportunity, there is something I'd like to discuss with you.

Rutile: What is it?

Oz: … Is there anything… You would not want children to know of…

Rutile: Is there perhaps something you don't want to tell Lord Arthur about, Lord Oz?

Oz: …

Rutile: Ah… Sorry. That was just what came to mind.

Oz: … We should have talked more.

Rutile: You mean with my mother?

Oz: Yes. She talked often.

Rutile: Ahaha. I know all about that.

Oz: …Every time someone used their words with me, part of their heart entered mine. I disliked that.

Rutile: …

Oz: And yet, as I think of her now, I believe that perhaps I should have listened to what she said more attentively.

Rutile: …Why did you dislike it?

Oz: …Yes, why did I… Because I could not understand them. Even if I attempted to, I could not. Consequently, I did not wish to hear the words of others. I do not understand myself, either. And so… I have no words with which to describe myself. Putting myself into words would be inherently inaccurate. That things would always be conveyed inaccurately…left me weary.

Rutile: …

Oz: …Why are you crying?

Rutile: …I'm sorry… It's just, I think that…I must be the same way…

Oz: You talk frequently, however.

Rutile: Ahaha… But…I really do think I'm the same as you. I want to properly listen to people, I want to properly speak to them… But I can't understand what they're trying to say, and so I can't properly convey what I want to, either… …And so I hurt them and get hurt in return…even though I want to be kind to them…

Oz: I see… If it is difficult for someone as kindhearted as you, then I am sure it must be a trial all must face. Though she had a wild temperament, you are kind.

Rutile: You're a kind person too, Lord Oz…

Oz: …That is incorrect.

Rutile: You did great at talking with me, too. I understood what you wanted to tell me. I want to think that I understand…

Oz: …This is something Riquet has said to me. "I feel the same way."

Rutile: Huh…?

Oz: …The sky grows bright.

Rutile: Does this count as dawn?

Oz: Not just yet.

Rutile: Maybe you'll be able to do it if you try. Could I ask you to do that?

Oz: I shall.

Rutile: Then please sit down right here. That way if you fall asleep and fall over, you won't hit your head.

Oz: Here?

Rutile: Yes! Well then, take it away!

Oz: … <Vox…> Snz…

Rutile: Ah!! It really was a bit too early…!

5 - I Don't Want to Lose Anyone

I was flying through the night sky with Shylock, Murr, Gregory, and a piece of Murr's soul. Although we did return to Cortes Palace, none of us could relax, so we departed again after leaving a message for Chloe and Rustica. I was traveling with Western wizards, but no one said a thing. Having been overtaken by my exhaustion from everything that had happened that day, I was nodding off on the back of Shylock's broom.

Murr: You're falling, dear Sage.

Akira: ……ah!

I startled Shylock, and he turned to face me. He narrowed his eyes a bit and smiled.

Shylock: My apologies for not realizing. I suppose a trip like this is a bit taxing for a regular person such as yourself, Master Sage. I can use my magic to ensure you don't fall, but if you'd prefer, shall we find somewhere to rest?

Akira: I'm fine. But, um, just in case, if you could make sure I don't fall…

Mithra: <Arthim>

Just then, I heard a familiar voice. A door suddenly opened in the night sky, and then, there was Mithra.

Akira: Mithra.

Mithra was as relaxed as always, but when he saw Saku-chan, his face twisted into one of blatant distaste.

Mithra: That thing's still clinging onto you.

Saku-chan didn't mind, though. It was just nudging my shoulder with its nose. Mithra came closer to me and shook his hand a little, like he was trying to get something off of it. Gregory took to the air.

Mithra: There's more of you than I was expecting.

Gregory: Wah, watch out--!

Mithra: And I believe this is the one I missed my chance to kill earlier.

Murr: By any chance, are you referring to me?

Shylock: Murr was almost killed?

Murr: Ooh, by who? By Mithra? By Oz? Or by you, Shylock?

Akira: H-hold on, Mithra. Don't throw them off.

I held Gregory and the shard of Murr protectively in my arms, and then asked Mithra a question.

Akira: Do you mean that you tried to kill a shard of Murr's soul? Where did you meet him?

Mithra: A shard of his soul? Oh, now that you mention it, I do think I heard something about that before. No wonder something seemed off. He was on top of a cat.

Akira: A cat?

Murr: Sounds fuuuun! I want to ride on a cat, too!

Murr: I'm glad to hear that shards other than myself are enjoying their lives as well.

Shylock: You killed a shard of Murr? Did the Murr you killed return to the shard? Or did it destroy it permanently?

Murr: Ooh, what an eager student you are, Shylock!

Murr: Are you planning on composing a thesis on the subject?

Shylock: Be quiet, Murr. Mithra, what happened to that Murr?

Mithra: He was riding on top of a cat. He said he was going to go greet the Sage, so I came here to get you instead.

Mithra was frowning. It seemed like something unpleasant had happened to him.

Akira: Why were you and a shard of Murr fighting?

Mithra: He set bone doll monsters on us. Faust and Nero almost died, and Heathcliff and Lennox got done in, too.

Akira: Huh…?!

My mind went completely blank. My heart started pounding in my chest, and my vision started fading around the edges.

Akira: Wh…why…

Mithra: Like I said, we were attacked by doll-like, bone monster-like things. I won, of course.

And now Faust and Nero were almost dead, and Heath and Leno were badly hurt… Their smiles popped into my head. The idea of losing those smiles scared me so bad I wanted to scream. We'd encountered all sorts of dangerous situations before. I always knew that them losing their lives was a real possibility, and yet I just sent them out with little more than a "Take care." Not a single time had I ever been prepared to face the prospect of them actually dying.

Akira: (What do I do, what do I do, what do I do…)

I was so scared and confused I could hardly breathe. Without even thinking about it, I grabbed onto Mithra's arm.

Akira: Did…did you save them?

Mithra: Probably. Figaro is with them.

Akira: …Haahh…

My sigh of relief came from the very bottom of my heart. And yet at the same time as that relief, I felt my stomach twist itself into a knot and my fingers start to tremble. I was told they were almost dead, and then only seconds later, I was told they were going to be okay. But it had felt like an eternity. There were tears in my eyes, ready to fall.

Akira: …sniff, thank goodness… Can I see them? Can you take me to them?

Mithra: Of course I can.

Mithra was looking straight at me.

Shylock: Master Sage…

Shylock tugged me closer to him. The moment I relaxed, I'd started to slip. From within my arms, the shard of Murr started to speak.

Murr: The probability that these "bone doll monsters" are artificial wizards is very high.

Shylock: Artificial wizards? Are you saying you made a wizard? How could you create something like that all over again…

Murr: I didn't make them. But the plans for them were in my laboratory. It seems someone found them and perfected the concept.

Mithra: <Arthim>

Mithra opened another door in the sky. Gregory whispered to me, worried about how pale and shaken I must've looked.

Gregory: Are you okay?

Akira: Yes…

Though he was in the shape of a bird and all he had for a face were his beak and his round eyes, I still felt like he'd smiled gently at me.

Gregory: You're a very kind person. The Sage's wizards must be happy to know how much you care about them.

But of course I did. If even a single one of them were missing, I wouldn't be here right now. I was able to live in this world only because each and every one of them had helped me. I didn't want to lose any of them.

✦✧☾✧✦

Mithra: <Arthim>

Mithra took us to a room I'd never seen before.

Figaro: Master Sage.

Akira: Figaro…

I wanted to say something to him, but the sight of his fingertips stopped me. They were stained crimson. I looked down and saw Faust laying on a bed, covered in wounds.

Akira: …!

I had to put a hand over my mouth to keep myself from screaming, and that startled Gregory, who took to the air. Seeing what looked like a bird, Figaro drew the bedsheets over Faust's body.

Figaro: What a pretty bird. Or, a person? Sorry, but I'm in the middle of treating patients right now, so you'll need to wait outside.

Akira: S-sorry. Figaro, Faust is going to be okay, isn't he?

Figaro's eyes met mine and he nodded, his smile a reliable one.

Figaro: Of course he is. He's got Dr. Figaro by his side, after all.

Akira: Thank goodness… Thank you so much!

There was a gentle kindness in Figaro's hazel eyes. And maybe it was just my imagination, but he seemed happy, too.

Figaro: Yep. Just leave everything to me.

Akira: What about Nero? Is Nero okay, too?

Figaro: As long as he rests. If he strains himself, he'll lose his life. He's through the room on the other side of the hall.

Akira: Thank you! I'm going to go check on him.

Figaro: Ah, don't walk around on your own. Shylock, could you go with the Sage?

Shylock: Of course. Does that mean this place isn't safe? Or, unsafe enough that we can't let the Sage be on their own.

Figaro: That's right. I'll explain what's up later. Mithra, I need you to fetch Rutile next.

Mithra: Excuse me?

Figaro: We don't have enough hands here, and I want to check up on Nero and Heath, too. He should be somewhere here in Western Country.

Mithra: I refuse.

Figaro: Why?

Mithra didn't respond. I looked up at him, and he was almost pouting.

Akira: …Did you two have a fight?

Mithra: He's a pigheaded jerk.

Figaro: Come on, Mithra. I need you to hurry. And while you're at it, can you track down Oz, too?

Mithra: Absolutely not.

A voice called out from my breast pocket.

Murr: I shall assist you.

I blinked, and my pocket Murr was full size again. When Mithra and Figaro saw him, their faces turned grim. Murr's bright eyes narrowed to slits as he smiled at them.

Murr: I am still a doctor of medicine, you know.

The shard of Murr reached his fingers towards Shylock's hair and stole Shylock's hair tie, just like that. Shylock frowned at him, looking annoyed. As Murr tied his hair back with his purloined hair tie, he addressed me.

Murr: Shall we go, Master Sage?

I pressed my hand against the shard of purple sapphire in my pocket and nodded. Just before we stepped out, I looked up at Mithra.

Akira: Are you sure you won't help us with Rutile? Mithra…

Mithra: …

Mithra was still pouting, his lips curved down in dissatisfaction. He sighed, but he was being reluctant about it.

Mithra: Just this once.

Akira: I'm sorry for the trouble. But thank you.

Mithra: <Arthim>

Mithra disappeared into a door through space. Shylock stepped toward me and put a hand on my back. The nimble, catlike Murr was about to follow us so he didn't get left behind, but Figaro called out to him.

Figaro: Murr, hold on.

Murr: What, what?

Murr: What is it?

Figaro: Err… That's rather troublesome, isn't it. Could the one that's Shylock's dear pet stay and help me? You are a doctor, aren't you?

Murr: I mighta forgotten how to be?

Figaro: I'll tell you what you need to do. Ahh, just when I was getting a feeling of deja vu, instead it turned into Dr. Figaro's Classroom…

Figaro grumbled to himself, looking bitter. It seemed like it had been a long time since he'd taught healing magic, down in the South.

Lennox: Excuse me. --Master Sage.

Just before we could step out the door, Lennox stepped in before us. His clothes, too, were stained with blood. He noticed me before I could figure out what to say and smiled at me.

Lennox: Don't worry, they're just scratches. Please look in on Nero and Heathcliff. What kind of bird is this…? I don't think you should bring the bird with you.

Gregory: Yes, that's true. Master Sage, I shall leave your side for the time being.

Lennox's eyes widened when he heard Gregory speak. Figaro smiled bitterly, even as his hands moved swifly and skillfully.

Figaro: You should at least be able to identify the presence of a person turned into a bird. Faust is going to scold you.

Lennox: That's true.

Their quiet words sounded like prayers. Both of them were waiting for the moment when those prayers would be answered and Faust opened his eyes again. They had faith that moment would come.

✦✧☾✧✦

I went to the room Nero was supposed to be in with Shylock. Shino was already there. The moment he saw the shard of Murr, his expression changed. His scythe appeared in his hand and flashed across the narrow room. Murr only got a second to dodge. If he'd been even a moment too slow, his head would've separated from his body.

Murr: It seems I've earned quite a bit of resentment.

Shylock: As you always do. Shino, this shard of Murr is one we found in the Royal Botanical Gardens. This shard is different from the one that attacked you Eastern wizards.

Shino: …

Shino eyed us warily, trying to confirm what Shylock had said. It was very easy to tell from the sharpness of his gaze and his lack of composure that something terrible had happened. Shino was a proud wizard and a stranger to cowardice. Any other time, I would've seen a grin on his lips as he boasted about what he'd done. Instead, his whole body was tense. Something had happened that needed him to be that on edge, ready for anything. He let out the breath he'd been holding, and his scythe disappeared.

Shino: Sorry. Sage, come sit with Nero.

Nero was tucked into a bed, his eyes closed. I watched Nero's face quietly, but Shino muttered something.

Shino: Figaro said Nero's wounds were the worst out of everyone's. We were only saved because he took the first hit and told us what to watch out for.

Shino was staring straight into my eyes.

Shino: Be sure you praise him a lot when he wakes up.

Akira: I will… Shino, did you not get hurt at all? Even though I sent you somewhere so dangerous…

I'm so sorry. I'm so, so, so sorry. Right as I was about to say that, I remembered what Bradley said to me. I couldn't look apologetic if I was going to give them orders. I needed to be proud of them for what they've done. Be proud of him… What should I say to tell him I'm proud of him? As I thought that, I looked at Shino, at his expression that he was trying so, so hard to keep even. And then I realized something. Faust and Nero had both been badly wounded, and Heathcliff had gotten hurt, too. Right now, Shino was struggling helplessly with something worse than I could ever imagine. When he'd swung his scythe at us just moments ago, he'd been trying to protect his comrades, all on his lonesome.

Akira: Shino… Thank you. Because of you, Faust, Nero, and Heath all came home in one piece. The fact that I can come see them all is all because you were willing to put your life on the line for them. I'm glad you were there for them, Shino. …I'm so, so glad…

Shino's red eyes looked up at me, startled. His gaze trembled, the rippling of the ocean at sunset captured in his eyes. It was the expression of someone very close to tears, even as he smiled at me. But he was so proud and fearless, he wouldn't admit that.

Shino: Yeah, well.

My eyes started getting hot, so I averted my gaze. Instead, I looked down at Nero, still sleeping. I couldn't say I liked seeing his sleeping face like this, though. His skin was so pale it was hard to believe he still had blood pumping through his veins. It hurt to look at him.

Akira: You, too… Thank you, Nero.

My voice was trembling. Shylock gently put a hand on my shoulder. His eyes were closed, and he murmured into my ear.

Shylock: Are you alright, Master Sage?

Akira: Yes… Shylock, Murr. Can I leave Nero to the two of you? I want to see Heathcliff. Shino, is it okay if I do that right now?

Shino: I'll take you there. Shylock, take care of Nero.

Shylock: Of course. Shino, please stay at the Sage's side. If anything should happen…

Shino: I know. Don't worry. Bradley's here, too.

Akira: He is?

Shino: He was here until just a second ago. After we swapped off, he vanished. So he could keep watch from far away, he said.

Akira: From far away…

Shino: He'll be acting as sniper if anything happens. You should be glad a bullet didn't pass through your skull.

The shard of Murr simply shrugged his shoulders. I looked outside through the room's window. I could feel someone out there, watching over us, protecting us. Even if we were far apart, he would protect me. And he was still much closer than any god was.

Next Chapter

[the-switch-conspiracy]

[Prev]

Undo, Redo

Chapter 8, Part 1: [No More Shortcuts]

Luo Binghe was floating. It felt like he was being held by a million crisscrossing strings. There was nothing around him but thick white fog, reminding him of the many rainy days on Qing Jing Peak, where the clouds blanket the grounds leaving nothing but soft hazy white, and the thick and humid air coils in his lungs. This fog feels different, however. Thick and choking, his lungs felt like they were being filled with syrup, his chest felt like it was being blanketed in a heavy weight. The silence is loud.

The hairs on his neck raise, the sense of someone’s eyes on him appears, and his cultivation-enhanced senses are screaming. Then soft, echoing footsteps appear. He raises his head sluggishly, his eyes struggling to focus on the approaching figure. Black spots coat his vision.

“Binghe.” A voice close to his heart speaks, full of affection and faux disappointment, “Husband… I’ve seen you’ve gotten yourself into quite the plight.” That voice ignites sparks in his heart, and a giddiness flows through his every limb. Husband! He struggles to reorient himself enough to stand and walk toward the voice, but the strands tighten around him.

“Don’t worry, I’ll help get you out of this mess shortly,” The voice and steps pause. The sudden resurgence of silence causes Binghe to struggle, desperately pulling at the bindings around him. A sharp tch breaks it, and the footsteps close in on him once more. Two cool hands press against his cheeks, and his eyes take in the blurry figure leaning over him.

“Binghe! You’ll tangle yourself more struggling like this!” Warm lips press lightly against his forehead, and his eyes finally adjust to the sight of the man in front of him: his Husband, his Shizun. The man of his dreams, fully, looking at him the way he remembers. All but for his vibrant green eyes.

“Shi… zun?” He slurs out the word, the syllables escaping his mouth haltingly. The man smiles, his pink lips curling as his eyes brighten. Unhidden and open for him.

“Hmm, mostly.” Mostly? The word slips through his mind, hard to hold on to. It was all hard to hold on to. Time seems to slip through his fingers, thoughts seem to slip from the sieve of his skull. His tongue feels thick in his mouth.

“Hus...band?” If Shizun was only mostly then… this Shen Qingqiu laughs, light and airy in the way he allows in front of others, rather than the deep wicked chuckle that escapes him while alone.

“Closer! Ah, I’d call the me out there ‘Shizun’ more than the me in here. It's all he knows after all…” He pauses, looking down at him with a searching, pensive look. “I wonder how much you truly remember? It’s not everything. That would break so much. But it’s not nothing.” His nimble fingers begin to untangle the bindings surrounding him. Not quickly, but with a single-minded focus. Much like his gaze on Binghe.

“You remember our marriage, but how much up to that do you? How much of the end can you recall? How about Qingge?” Fragments, cold eyes, and a blade. The fall and abyss. Their wedding night, and moments here and thereafter. And death, so much death. He doesn’t know how they got here, he doesn’t care how they got here. His Shizun was with him, they were alive, why should the past matter in the face of that? As if he could hear his thoughts, Shen Qingqiu shakes his head.

“Not as much as you think you do then. That’s fine. It’s not time yet and I don’t think you’ll need much help remembering on your own.” One hand buries itself in Binghe’s curls, patting his head so sweetly. A glossiness covers his vision, a pain appearing behind his eyes and along his sinuses. Something about this feels like a parting, as if he doesn’t hold on tight he never would be able to again.

“You need to wake up! We need your help out there.” He smiles, eyes flashing, and unties the final knot. Binghe hangs suspended in that infinite misty space for a single lingering moment more, before plummeting.

~O~

The unholy screech falters to a long whimper, and the lower head of the monster shakes its’ head, one of its spindly arms rubbing at its face. Die-er squints at Shen Qingqiu, her lips pulled back to expose needle-sharp teeth.

“Annoying little fly who brought the light that burnt our eyes. How cruel, how pointless .”

The words swallow the silence of the room, haunting in the darkness. The only chance of not dying Shen Qingqiu had, was if their sight remained damaged. The sheer amount of Qi Shen Qingqiu had channelled into the talisman was enough to blind a mortal. He could only hope it affected the creature before him even a bit.

The echoes of crumbling stone against stone still linger in the air. The entire room shudders from the remnant of the crash. A cloud of dust still swelling from where it landed, the plume rising from the pile stained red from the crimson light at the end of the hall. Everything stills for but a moment, broken once more by the crazed cackling of Die-er.

“Qingge! Can you hear me, are you conscious?!” Shen Qingqiu calls into the darkness, shocked horror spilling from the cage of his mouth. The laughter swells and shifts closer as the creature moves, dragging itself in a lopsided manner... An arm lashes out, shattering the tiles where Shen Qingqiu had been standing… only after he had spoken. While adrenaline was pulsing through his body and his hands shook from the strain, a plan was slowly forming in his brain. He hisses, his eyes flicking towards the silhouette of the demon.

“Stand still little fly! You don’t want me to miss. ” Die-er’s voice fills the air mockingly, punctuated by the sudden lash of its stinger. Narrowly dodging the limb brought Shen Qingqiu closer to the demon and away from the rubble that engulfed Liu Qingge’s form. Not ideal, but…

Craning his ears, he can still hear the faint thud of two human heartbeats other than his own, and the slight rasping breath of someone with their chest compressed under immense weight. Liu Qingge, like Luo Binghe, didn’t seem to be able to move. That the demon was even capable of knocking the War God down seemed unbelievable to Shen Qingqiu; especially so for the man who has only ever lost to Luo Binghe. Too unbelievable in fact. The demon had been so very sloppy.

Their cultivation has been bound. It is hard to notice with the overwhelming demonic energy surrounding them and blurring their senses, but it is noticeable. Or at least it was noticeable now that he was aware. It flared just before Liu Qingge was hit; a sudden seizing emptiness of his spiritual veins for but a second. It was reminiscent of the time Shen Qingqiu spent with Without a Cure as it was flaring up.

Liu Qingge's body had been reforged by his physical cultivation practices, this has left him sturdier than most. Even without the entirety of his cultivation accessible he managed to survive the hit in a way a mortal would not, even as his reflexes were hindered by his sudden lack of Qi. Shen Qingqiu is not as lucky; after all, should he get hit while his Qi was blocked – No more Shen Qingqiu!

He’d noticed in the moments before impact, that the demon’s stinger pulsed in the seconds before their Qi was drained – and immediately after the pulse the stinger faded out almost entirely. Should his initial instinct be true- there was an opportunity he could take. But Shen Qingqiu was trapped between his desire to release Luo Binghe, and his desire to drag Liu Qingge from the rubble. He would only have one chance, the second one of them was freed from the demon it would come down to ‘destroy the demon’ or ‘die’, and Shen Qingqiu refused to die again.

The demon’s entire attention was focused entirely on him, its overbearing presence baring down on his own. The only speck of hope he had was that the mysterious ‘him’ didn’t want him dead. Whether that would last was unknown and Shen Qingqiu was not planning on standing around and finding out. The heady thrum of his pulse pounded in his head, his heart beating sharply against his rib cage with each panicky breath.

He makes his choice.

He bolts towards the pile of cracked stone and rubble that engulfs Liu Qingge, his focus narrowing in on a scrap of white, glowing bright even in the dark gloomy red hue of the room’s light. His feet slap against the floor loudly, and flinches as the demon’s stinger hits the ground close to him, shattering the tiles beneath his feet and causing him to stumble despite his cultivation-enhanced reflexes. He holds his breath, and tosses his fan. The demon hand lashes towards the noise, and Shen Qingqiu propels towards the cocoon that engulfs his disciple’s body whole.

Liu Qingge was amazing and, with knowledge of the demon’s Qi blocking abilities, could probably defeat the demon single-handedly – but Luo Binghe was the protagonist. The world would be forced to submit to the unchanging status of his being. Undoubtedly, even with the world in this state, Luo Binghe is not allowed to fail. The choice then was obvious; Luo Binghe needs to be freed.

With an arc of Xiu Ya, the edge honed so sharp not a single noise sounded, Luo Binghe falls into his arms as he himself hits the ground and slides under the vast bulk of the demon’s scorpion-like body. He was now far closer to the red glow upon the altar, and far closer to the demon’s stinger. The demon turns, looming over their prone forms and its stinger raises to strike down when a sharp dual toned howl suddenly fills the room. The pained fear dripping from the sound chills him to the bones, more so than anything else from the demon. It sounded like it was being ripped apart from the inside. Bubbles formed beneath its skin, as it writhes.

“Nơ̤̠̣̈͂!̧̼͈̭̮̎̍̾͆͝ You said we would be rewarded! You said we-” Die-er chokes, her mouth foaming red as her eyes roll back into her skull. Betrayal, was all the last vestiges of Die-er felt before she was snuffed out like a candle. So quickly, so meaningless. A hollow vessel now ready to be filled by something much worse. A system box pops up just beyond Shen Qingqiu’s view, unseen.

[ERROR, Corrupted unauthorised instance detected. Activating W4R.60D Antivirus Protocol. Please Stand By until completion.]

The whole room trembles, dust streaming from the cracks forming in the ceiling, and Shen Qingqiu stares up at the sight of something horrifying. Incomprehensible. As Luo Binghe lay pressed tight to his body, cradled in his arms protectively, reality shifts.

The demon screeches a blood curdling scream, its’ body warping and contorting under the pressure building within as glowing red cracks form along the stitch lines holding the creature together. Black foam drips from its lower head’s lips, as Die-er’s head tilts, twitches, and snaps sharply to the right with a sickening snap. It falls limp, unmoving for but a second, before rising to stare down at him still awkwardly angled from a broken neck. It’s eyes glow vermilion, its’ mouth pulled into a sickly sweet smile. The voice, when it speaks was lower, smoother, and masculine below the static crackles that overlay it. So familiar, yet just out of reach...

"̬͎͚̬̍̄̈́̋S̨̛̝̲̘̬̆̑̃͘h̡̭͚̄̍͐͘͟ï͍̜̔iz̿͢u̧͂͐͢n."͍̭͉̐͘̕ It croons, the words full of malevolence, "̙̥́̌Ś͓ḧ͈͇͙͔̈͌̂͟͡i͎͑ȋ͉̭̩͌͑ī͖̱͋͐͢i̝͇̜̞̋̐̈͝z̢͍̪̹̊̀̊̄̕͢un̢͕͓͒̄͒͟͠.̣͛ ̛͇I̜͙̳̒̎̽ ̛̘͍̮͕̋̇͗t̝̹͗̌ò̡̟͈̘̇̓̂l͙̗̜̍͊̓ḍ̭̝̹͂̀̅͘ ̡̲̐̅͌̎͟͟y̧̦͈̫͒͐̂̍o̪̰͐́ṳ̮̜̤̀̉̆̾ ̪͗Ȉ̭ ̨͈̼̱̝̾̐̑͛̔ẅ̜̖͌ou̲̣̭̱͑̏̔͋l̖̫̓̐d̡͇͈͎̋̾̉̕͞ͅ ͕͉̼̝͂̆̔͝f̛ͅi̙̿͋͟n̫̊d̟͍͚̲̄̍̂͠ ̬̝̈̑y̝͋̀͟o͎͞u͇͇̓͞.̢͍̙̯͙̃̑͂̋̈́"̺̆

The head twists the opposite direction of the first, another sickly sharp crack sounding from the neck as it realigns, and a deep shudder travels through the monstrosity. The strands of hair still wrapped around Binghe start to wiggle despite no longer being attached to the creature, tightening around his neck and arms, beginning to drag him towards the beast .

Shen Qingqiu struggles against the pull, one hand desperately clinging to the chipped tiles beneath them, his bleeding fingertips staining the floor where they scramble furiously against it. His other hand trying to tear the thousands of wriggling strands as they sliver against both of their skins, forcing them closer to the entity now possessing ‘Die-er’, the being she referred to as ‘him’. The many claw tipped arms move, as the demon lurches backwards, it’s stinger rattling as its stitched back together and puppeteered limbs still struggling to hold its unnatural form up.

“Ś̻͖̳̘͊̾͡h̫̬͗̉̀͜iż̪̜̣́͝u̡͛n̈͜,͉̪̋́ ś̬̩̯̫͋̀̚ȏ̡͔̖̘͋̔̉ ̯͓̾͠g̏͟r̦̃ą̖͇̓͑͌c̫̍e͖͐́͟f̠͔͚̩͇̅̽̎̈͑ụ̧͉̞͊̓̐̓ļ͙͋̍ ̝̱͇̦̾͂̅̄̀ͅs̰̯͆̏o ̤̦̈́̾abŏ̤v͉͚̓́e͓̟̖̍͋̅ ̼͚͍̜̎͒̀̃w̧̨̻̍͗͋o͎̗̞̰͒͂̌͠r̳̩͆̌͟͝͝ͅl̀͟d̨̗̑̓͂͜ly̫̠͊͆ ̻͎̻̩̳͋̂̊͂̒c̜͙̖̙̲̒̈̎̐̌o̤̮̫͇͐̉̔̄ń͔̫̥̳̒̂̔ć̤̼͈̆͝e̡͔̞̾̔̉̒͟r̨̹̲̘̈͑̑̉n̼͔̗͂̿͛s̫̯͙̼͂͂͆͆.̩̜̏̂ ͍͌Y̡̛͈͇͓̤͂̄̽̍et ̞̳̈͡ḣ̨̪͕̔͘ȅ̖̫̯̮̅̎̐̾͢r̩̩͇̿̊͐e ̪͙̉̋̀͟y̨̖͆̂o͚̞̊͋͒̓͜͜u̥̓ ͈͈̟̫͖̋͗͒͂̕ą̛̣͛̑ͅrȇ̜̦̣͉̔̂͌,̡̟̲̾͗͛ ̟̦̞͂́̂ro͘͢l̡͓̩̔̒͂̀ͅl͚͝ǐ͕̳̆ň͇ǧ̰̟̈́̀̄͜͢ aṟ̚o̬͇̾̌u̦͗͊͢n̫̋d̛̼͍̙̠͍̅̄̈́͋ ̪͑in͔̾ ͖̥̥̮͎̀̐́͘͝tḩ̖́́è̪̻͟͡͝ ̢̿m̡̗̯̩̓̽͂̕u̝͑c̢̡̭̦̏̽̈̄k͋ͅ ̹̎l̳͑i͍͕̫͈͂̎̈́̑ķ͖̭́̓̑e̥͋̚͢ ̯̗͑͘a̳̞̪̗͒̽̿͑ ̛̩̞̲͑̂͘͢m̤͋́̈́͜ͅu̫͙͇͍̐̾͛̊͊͟t͓̜͖̩̑̿̀̆͡ͅť̯͙͍̀̕.̟̘̿̃͟͠”

It hisses, and grins wider as a hint of inhuman rage burns bright behind the barrier of its eyes. Binghe’s limp form was pulled tight between two forces; a tug of war between Shen Qingqiu and the beast Shen Qingqiu was desperate to win. His fingers leave bruises along his disciple’s sides with the force he grips him with.

No, you’re not taking him ağ͔ä̻̙̼͛̓i̖̲̲̽́̇̔̅͟͢n! His instincts scream at him to run, to hide from the beast before him. The scent of blood fills his lungs, the flicker of a red sky fills his eyes. His teeth chatter as he wills himself to rise to his feet, slipping against the tiles as they’re dragged cun by cun closer to the entity smiling down at them. Every muscle in his body was wound tight, reflexively flinching from pain that hasn’t yet been inflicted. And Shen Qingqiu, he was terrified. More terrified than he’s ever been before. It paralyses him whole.

This thing knew him. It was after him. And he thinks…

"͎̻̰̌͌̈́Ŝ̤͎̼̀́o̺̓ ̣̗͕̪͐̋̓̂̿͜m̺̭̬̞̭̓͊̃͘͝a͍͛nŷ̜̩̜̀͐͜͠ ̣͚̈̿w͆ͅō͉͉͐̆͜ṙ̨̠̮͛͛l͖̺̅̅d̺̺̊̀̒ͅs̭͕͂̈́ ̠̫̗̌̀̒I ̠̹́͝h͈͝a̯͓͇̝̐̑̔̚v̧̨̲͎̝̊͛̿̚͝e̝̬͍͐̈̊ ͝ͅj͙͆u̦͕̥͐̽͐m̜͕̮̼̺̎̇̓̈́͠p̺̖͖̪̄̅́̚ed̥̾͞ͅ ̗̆t̠̣̤̊̏̚h͉̓͌ͅŗ̗̽͌̽ͅŏ̺̤͠u̢̢̦͋̇̕gh̨̲̹̣̾̏̾͂̈́͢ t͉̩͓͉̒̀͌͌o̘͂ ̥̟̝͇͒͆͋́̕͜f͇̓͆͢ị͕̾̆n͔͠d ̩̙̯̦̄̑̚͠y̤͙̣̟̐̇̐̕o̩̗͖̿̀̈ṷ̢̗̳̖̈́͌̈̑̕.̺̘̎̀"̻̗̈́ ̠̀ ̡͘

It purrs, crooking one of its claws, as if beckoning Shen Qingqiu closer. The force pulling Binghe intensifies, and Shen Qingqiu presses hard, holds him tighter to his chest. It had something to do with why he had to come back.

͎̲̫͖̊̊̃̕"̛̝̅͜S̹̪͐̐o̤̲͗͌͢͞r̫͌t͙̮̋͐i̝͎̔͑n͕̰̦̩̽́̅͡g ̢̹͇̻͋̋͊͊͜͝t͇̭͔̭̀͗̐̚h͈̹̤̉̓͝r͖͚̰̟̭̒̀̋̌͒o̡̭͋̀ų̨̘̹̌̽̆̽gh̢̛͉̱̭͑̄̍ ̗̦͈̣̃͆̅͑̂͜s̺̩̑̍o��̿̓͜ m̞̜͙̐̇̄ȁ͕̩̬̳̄̆͞ǹ̻ÿ̢̯̘̔͘ ͕̘̹̺̅̇̑͂c͓̘͍͒͊́o͔̳͘͠u͉͛nt͖̠̋̔ḛ̩̇͒̔͜r̲̥̔́f̜̭̫̫͐͊͡͠e̪̓i̟̹̅̇t̰̟̂́̿͟ṡ̠̜͋,̞͠ ̻̣̏̐ả̢̩͍͆̽n͇̹̹̱͉͐̉̒̎͡d̬̳̮͊̎͊̚͟ ̮̳̈̎m̨̘͋͠o̰̹̙̩̍̒͋̒c̤̱̦͗̒̉̂͜ḱ̳͘͜e̹͛r̛̼ȉ̫̜͔͉̳̀̅̒͠è̫s̟͖̿͆.̛͚͒̃͜͟"̢̖̙̙̉̀͘͝ ͉̼̀̀

Its voice coils around them, fanatic in its intensity. The half remembered fragments of memory that flood his brain. Bodies upon bodies all with his face, and the all consuming weariness so heavy his limbs could not be moved...

̜̞̓́̇ͅ"̫̣͈̌̏̂Y̧̭̭͂̈́̀͊͟e͙̫͛͋́͢t̯͚̤̲́̽̿̍ ̎͢n̦̻̯͍̪͛͑͒̌͠ò̱n̯͖͂̇ḛ̔͝ͅ ͔̿c̙̍ọ̳̊̅̕͜m͉̾p͎̖̞̿̃̕a̞͎͉̥̽̽̉̐r̯̕è̗d̼̭̱̼̠͛̋̈̎̕ ͖̰͍͚̈́̏̂̇t̛̯ơͅ ̫̋͟͠y͙͙͎̲͂̎͛̄̕͢o̺͘u̖̙͆͘.̝̱̌̎̚͜ ̘͉͌̃T̥̝̠͎͋̍̀̿h͍̅e͖͕̯͓̼͗̄̏͌̚ ̳͙͕̐̌͑ỏ̢͈̫̚͠n͉̠͓̠̊̊̍͡e̮̝̝̅́͋ ̢̲͉̲̉́̚͠wh̜͑ỏ̪͙̼̽̉͘͢ ͈̰͘͝r̝͕͋̅á͖̏ͅn̛̼͍̝̑͋.̹͞"̧̹̄̍ ̮͎̫͔̈́̓̕ ͍̝̿͊ And Shen Qingqiu, he...

"W̠̩̾͋h̳̅o h̜͚̗̀̓͊͛͗͟͟ȋ̤̻̪̪̎̋̓͋͟d̜͉̓̃.̜̤̾͊"̙̮͎͈̯͂̿̔͛̿ ̟͈̙̈̅̕ Didn’t know what to do.

"̛̺Wh̠̒o̫̬͔̅́̄͘͜ ̟̾g͚͆ot̗̝̰̹̋̏̀͘ ̧̩͔̟̄̀̄̌ą̞̿̌w̝̺̘̻̏́̅́ay̨̬̻͍̽͛̍̈́.̨̹̤̄̌͠"͍̈

He wasn’t strong enough to save them on his own. Or quick enough. Or smart enough. He was going to fail again. Because this monster was after him. Ha… haha. This dying world was his fault, this beast was his fault. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t even think.

They were going to die, and once more it was all his fault.

“Y̘͝e̛͙̱̕͢͞t͚͇͚̅̀͠ ̠̦͊̌ḫ̾e̟̿r̩̃͟͞e͕̒ ̼̻̑͒yǒ͓̫̳͒̊̓̆͜ͅu̧̱̻͊̓̒ a͕̼̽͌re̥̫̲̔̎̅ ̧̳̼̟͒̃̏͝s̖͍͎̈́̅̈́e̞̫̟̘͗̂͡͠t̠̑t͖̾l̞͑i͙̖͈͎͊̓̉́n͎̜̝͔͒͐͐͠ḡ̢̝̖̓͌̉ͅ ̮̰̱͍͕̀̓̓̏̀f̡͍̿͛o̙̩̼̾̉́r͕͚̗̖̊̓̆̕ ̩̩̹̘͒̀͂̚͘͢f̜̲̃̄ȃ̛̳̲͖̙̈́̂ļ̦̙̦̅̃̾͊ş̨̰̐̎̎ė̫͉͎̄̾ ̟̿ĵ̪̣̟͑͐a̮͐d̠͚̿̓͠ͅe͙͓͐̋.̡̤̓̋ ̹̤̞̣̒̀̌͝ A soft noise rises from the form pressed against his chest. A tiny groan, barely a noise at all but…

Help please, I need...

“Shi-?” Slurred, barely coherent, Binghe.

“I̧̛̛̼̲͗͡ͅ ̪͒do͇̼̔̕n͖̰͕͙̎̒̈̌'͑͢ț͛ ͔͉̄͒w̧̛̻͉̭͘̚͠a͓͎̝͎̦͒͐̉͋̄n̅͜t̻̟͙͇͂̅̽̄ ̧̛̘̱͐̓tǫ̰̻͐̅̀̌͟ ͈̞̱̜̌̽͂̍k̡̤̜̭̅͆̃͋i̤͔̰͐̀̂l̥͙̗̉͂̌̕͜ľ͈ ̼̩͚̂̐̐y̦͕̼̆̉͆ȯ͕͙̅u̠͙̿̑ ͈̮̪͈̤́͆͛́̕S̱͍̘͖̒͒͘͡h͐͜i̢̼̰̭̔̎͘͠z̟͖̰̆̔̕͘͢u̪̐n͇̦͈̱͒̑̊͘.̭͘ ͇̭̓̾I̥̫̋̀ ͎̯̳̅̌͞͡ͅĉ͖̯̐å̢̨͎͈̊͞͝ñ̹ b̻̗̂͘ę̭̂̏ ̟̳͐͐m̗͑̏͟a̭̩̿̑g͋͢ǹ̝à͖̩͐̚͢n̺̾į̧̮̻̒̏̄͒m̜̬̱̃̏̕̚͝ͅͅǫ̯̩̓̆̄ȕ̠͙͛s̨̲̞͐͐̋.̼̦̹͚̅̆͊̕ ̝͕͑̕Ģ̢̃̚ivę̱̖͙͎̅̌̓̀͝ t̨̓͊͟h̬̹̄̔͢͞e͇͘ ͕̾̕͢b̖̤́͊ō͖̟̞̲͆͗͋ẏ̗̜̾̇͢ ̢̳̥̯͑́̓́ẗ̩̫́͋ǫ̲̉̈ ̻̭̓̕m͍̐e̬̦̗͚͐́̓̃, ̭̦͎͒̐͛͜͠ș̬̇̿u͎̞̝̟̼͌̐͐͠͝b͙̩͓͆͐͗m̙̳̯̰͗̀̌̐ị̎t̡͓́̆͡ͅ ̮̽͗͢and͖̼̏̓.̫͕̼̗͎͛̔̍̆͝.̧͕̱̒̿̽. ̛̞͇̲̺̟͐͌͌̕ ̝̐”

The beast turns its heads vaguely towards where the pile engulfing his shidi was, a wicked expression flickering across the remnants of Die-er’s face. Though even that was changing, morphing into something Shen Qingqiu feels he should be able to recognise. But the thought slips from his skull like oil, leaving the residue of a feeling that leaves him sickened.

“Ỉ̖̻̐ ̝͎̘͑̔̓̾ͅw͕͎̞͋̕͝ỏ͎̮̖͍̎̓̏ń̖̊͟'̮̩̾̊̐͜t ̤͎̍̀k̪̪̋͝i̮̖̠̒̿̂l̨̛̖͕̦͈̈̌̓͡l ̧̞̱̰̓̒͑̕y̟̍o̼̮̲̐̀̑ự͈̌̍͌͟͜r͍̆ ̠̔l̡̺̻̰̅̎͂̊i̭̥̟̬͔͌̉̽̏͞t̨̺͚͖̀̿͋̚tl̝͊e͍̒ ̬͒w̛̮̩̙̜̓̋͡ã̠͈̣̬̓̑͘r̠͔̿̀̿͟ ̺̈́p̩͔̦̿̄͒͡ͅȩ̦̤͙͆̈́̔̃t̫͉̽͞.̧̢̦̮́̉̈̚͢͡ ̧͎͕͕̀̎͡͡ ̛͕̬̘͘̕͢͝Hë̩͕́͛ ̲̙̆͋d̨̙͚̫̮̋̾̄̈̾ơ̹̥̣͖͉̎͌̑͒ĕ̼̠̙̎͘s̠̺̀̐͢͝ ̪́̈ͅso ̠̰͍͖̔̓͐͡r̡̨̢̪͓͑̀̄͞͞e̥̠̟̎̀̇̒͢m̘̄ị̡̚̚n͚̺̞̔̍̾̄͟d ͖̓m̪̆é̪͙̰͍̾̇̕͢͠ ̗̫͐̇ó̡̻̯̩̈́͗f̺̯̲̽́͛͜͠ ̳̼͕̞̒̋̕͝s̙̲̹̼̦̀̈́̋͒o̢̖̦̼̓̎̕͝m̳͉̗͂̒͝é̞͕̖͛͠o̖̅͛͟ņ̡̦̳͐̀̑́ȅ̥͎̽ ̰̫̗͑́͑I̫̻̝̍̐̀ t̹͞ḩ̦̬͉̾̇̀͝i͉̒n̲̈́k͓̙̍͘ ̛͕͚̲̐̚f̟̪́̚o͖̪͈̳̿͋͊͑ñ̨̖̹̆̂d̢͓̝͕́̐̏͞l̻̈́ỵ̦̥͔̀̒͛̚ ̳͒o̥̊f̢̪̣̀̈́̋.̨͍̠̮̽͂͝͡

The expression morphs into a lascivious smirk, sending another intense pang of nausea through Shen Qingqiu’s stomach. This was wrong, so wrong. The stirring in his arms grows stronger and Shen Qingqiu glances down to meet starry black eyes gazing at him with wonder.

“Shizun?”

[First] [Masterpost] [Ao3] [Next]

[barbwritesstuff]

anon asking about achievements again: the achievements menu does show up! turns out i just haven't seen any pop up while playing the game because i've not unlocked them yet 😓 sorry, i didnt mean to alarm you

All good, anon.

I think I'm going to go back and add a bunch more in once Chapter 4 is finished.

But, actually, this reminds me.

In Blood Moon, the achievements were all hidden. So, you had to find them to know what they were. I think some people disliked this based on the feedback I got, and so, in Thicker Than, I have opted for unhidden achievements. Currently, you can clink on the menu and see all the possible achievements.

I haven't been putting achievements on spoilery moments, and even if I had, you'd have to scroll through the achievements to find hints at those spoilers, so I don't think they'd ruin the game even if they were in there.

Or maybe I'd just name them something unspoilery. Eg, Ending 5.

Or maybe I will include hidden achievements alongside unhidden ones.

I don't know. And so, I want to ask...

[branmuffins22]

IIIIT'S THE MUFFINTOP FIC REC HOUR!!!

This fic just got unhidden and I want y'all to read it because it's super good and I like it a lot and I'm not sure why it got hidden for a while (seems the author doesn't know either, which is. Troubling.) and I think you should experience it now in case it ever disappears again.

[gettem with the FOMO, thats what i always tells em]

Anyways, its a Vee & Luz fic, it's a Veesha fic, it's a bit of a fucked up character study, it's angsty, it's funny, it's a pretty major canon divergence from Kings Tide and onward, it's also a bit of an AU in general but ehhh thats semantics. It's GREAT, and that's the most important thing that matters.

Oh, and it's part of a series! Technically the second in a series of 3, though with the others being two different flavors of prequel, this fic contains pretty much all of its own context.

here's the Summary:

Vee had a pretty decent life in the Human Realm, she'd say. No more magical experiments, no more being locked up in a cage eating rats, she had a mom that she loved, friends that she liked and a school that she... tolerated. But there was one thing that was lacking in her life: the girl that gave her this life in the first place. Her mother's missing daughter. Her "sister". Luz. Though she only met Luz for a few hours, the girl left a deep impression on her. She saved Vee, helped her find food, and even allowed Vee to keep living her life in the human realm. Ever since actually meeting the girl she stole her face from, Vee had been excited to finally have a family reunion. To finally have someone she could share her new life with, without keeping any more secrets. Now, Luz is back, but this angry, scarred, traumatized girl is a far cry from the Luz Vee had created in her head. With Luz and her witch friends stuck in the human realm, Vee now has to come to terms with the fact that her peaceful, carefree days in the Human Realm are over as she learns that families can be way more complicated than she ever imagined. (Set after King's Tide and before Thanks to Them)

[ao3feed-narlie]

Bold and Unhidden

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/HthOjLs by gummybeyere At one of Harry’s infamous parties, Charlie finds himself navigating the usual undercurrent of jealousy and frustration. Nick is still working through how public he wants to be about their relationship, and Charlie is trying his hardest to respect that—no matter how much it hurts. But as the night unfolds, Nick surprises him in more ways than one, and suddenly the boundaries between private and public affection blur. Maybe this party isn’t so bad after all. Words: 11586, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Series: Part 6 of Quiet Echoes Fandoms: Heartstopper (TV), Heartstopper (Webcomic) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Charles "Charlie" Spring (Heartstopper), Nicholas "Nick" Nelson, Otis Smith | Omar, Sai Verma, Christian McBride (Heartstopper), Harry Greene, Imogen Heaney Relationships: Nicholas "Nick" Nelson/Charles "Charlie" Spring Additional Tags: POV Charles "Charlie" Spring (Heartstopper), Gay Charles "Charlie" Spring (Heartstopper), Established Nicholas "Nick" Nelson/Charles "Charlie" Spring, Smitten Nicholas "Nick" Nelson, Bisexual Nicholas "Nick" Nelson, Nicholas "Nick" Nelson has Strong Rugby Arms, Established Relationship, Public Display of Affection, Jealousy, Party, Partying, House Party, Coming Out, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Dancing, Dirty Dancing, Drunk Dancing, Drunkenness, Drunken Confessions, Drunken Shenanigans, Drunken Kissing, Drunken Flirting, Drinking, Underage Drinking, Kissing, Boys Kissing, Rough Kissing, Neck Kissing, Mild Sexual Content, Groping, Snogging, Harry Greene Being an Asshole, Homophobic Harry Greene, Harry Greene Bashing, I mean is it bashing if its canon?, Harry Greene Is A Jerk, Nick Nelson's Hands, Charlie Spring Deserves Nice Things, Rugby Lads Are Supportive, Rugby Lads Are Still Lads, Public Affection as Character Development read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/HthOjLs