#I am so goddamn lonely and it really isn’t for lack of trying :’(

[ghostpunkrock]

I have 3 extremely tentative social plans this weekend and I just have a bad feeling that at least 2/3 are gonna cancel on me

[ktmarison]

in  trousers  sentence  starters.

'  he  needs  love.  '  

'  i  need  sleep.  '  

'  i'm  awake.  '  

'  i'm  still  here  alive.  '  

'  i'm  sick  of  counting  goddamn  sheep.  '  

'  goodnight  !  '  

'  i'm  reading  !  '  

'  i'm  still  awake  and  thinking  maybe  i'll  become  a  nun.  '  

'  go  to  sleep.  '  

'  maybe  one  day,  i'll  win  at  love.  '  

'  we  love  you.  '  

'  i  can't  talk.  '  

'  they  never  really  disappear.  i'd  like  so  much  to  whiz  without  them  there.  '

'  look  out,  he  breaks  the  golden  rule.  '  

'  who  can  rebuild  the  people  i've  killed  in  bed  ?  '  

'  i  need  bombs  exploding.  '  

'  it's  important  to  win,  but  i'm  scared  to  begin.  '  

'  i  could  sleep  through  the  day.  '  

'  i  accept  my  faults  and  welcome  sudden  death.  '  

'  it's  a  helluva  day.  '

'  it's  our  moment  to  shine,  just  forget  last  night.  '  

'  this  itty-bitty  glass  of  wine  helps  us  start  our  day  out  right.  '  

'  time  to  wake  up  and  face  the  day.  '  

'  our  eight  year  old  is  crying,  please  show  your  face.  '  

'  i  think  he  plays  with  girls  and  dolls.  who  can  know  what  love  he's  lacked  ?  '  

'  what  time  is  it  ?  '  

'  we  can't  stand  here  waiting  forever,  so  move  your  ass,  (name)  !  '  

'  something's  missing  in  my  life.  i  don't  know  what  it  is,  though  i  have  suspicions.  '  

'  i  have  a  family,  and  a  family  pet.  '  

'  i  have  a  family,  with  a  wife  who's  perfect  in  many  ways.  '  

'  in  my  mind,  i'm  a  kissing  a  man.  '  

'  i  have  a  family  while  i've  never  defiled.  '  

'  i'm  honest  when  i  say  i'm  a  child  for  a  fella's  caress.  '  

'  i  love  being  me  !  '  

'  i  turned  fourteen  today  and  will  eat  the  very  best  breakfast  in  town  !  '  

‘  do  i  really  have  to  show  you  people  how  ?  ’  

‘  no  one  looks  busy  in  this  kitchen,  and  my  breakfast  isn’t  ready,  and  my  stomach  aches.  ’

‘  try  to  make  me  hungry.  ’

‘  cat  got  your  tongue  ?  ’

‘  he  always  knows  the  sorts  of  answers  he’ll  allow.  ’

‘  wait  until  i’m  older,  then  i’ll  kill  you.  ’

‘  i  need  my  breakfast  now  !  ’

‘  oh,  jesus  christ,  it  wasn’t  loaded.  ’

‘  she's  an  actor  from  the  old  school  and  a  lousy  chef.  ’

‘  i  don't  want  miracles  from  heaven,  just  some  eggies  over  spinach  over  toast.  ’

‘  no,  i  will  not  apologize  !  ’

‘  she  should  win  a  prize.  ’

‘  that  girl  can’t  cook  !  ’

‘  he  wouldn’t  read  that  kind  of  novel  anyhow.  ’

‘  stop  your  staring.  ’

‘  get  to  work.  ’

‘  life  is  lonely,  life  is  rotten,  and  thankfully  short.  ’

‘  he  throws  a  fit,  then  a  knife.  ’

‘  you  call  this  breakfast  on  my  birthday  ?  this  is  shit,  this  isn’t  breakfast  !  ’

‘  i  mean,  for  god’s  sake,  am  i  talking  to  the  wall  ?  ’  

‘  (name)  underestimates  the  fear  that  he'll  endow.  ’

‘  i’ll  wait  here  until  you  get  it  right.  ’  

'  he's  laughing  all  the  time.  '  

'  he's  a  veritable  fool.  '  

'  (name)  is  my  very  best  friend  in  school.  '  

'  lately  i've  been  thinking  maybe  he  needs  attention  of  a  private  sort.  '  

'  should  his  mother  be  blamed  ?  '  

'  he ��has  something  which  most  everybody  needs,  he  cannot  ever  be  embarrassed.  '  

'  he's  my  very  best  friend  in  school  and  i'm  embarrassed  and  ashamed.  '  

'  my  high  school  sweetheart  is  a  person.  '  

'  he  says  i'm  just  ridiculous.  '  

‘  i  tell  him  he’s  a  person,  he  says  i’m  just  a  ridiculous.  ’

'  he's  a  person.  '  

'  i  want  to  hold  him,  but  he's  not  alive.  '  

'  a  person  has  their  wants  and  needs,  i'm  not  a  greedy  person.  '  

'  here  i  am,  (name),  hold  me.  i  want  you  to  want  me  badly.  '  

'  put  me  onto  your  bed,  not  a  pedestal,  will  you  ?  '  

'  but  i'm  his  sweetheart.  '  

'  she  cast  me  in  her  play.  she  gave  me  words  to  say,  made  me  what  i  am  today.  '  

'  stop  begging,  stop  making  me  crazy.  '  

'  i  love  the  way  he  acts,  i  do.  '  

'  do  not  make  faces  and  do  not  undo  the  facts.  '  

'  relax.  '  

'  it  was  one  of  the  best  nights  of  my  life.  '  

'  nothing  is  for  nothing  and  a  new  land  is  a  new  land  to  explore.  '  

'  hey,  i  love  you.  '  

'  a  good  man  never  fails.  '    

'  i  am  living  proof  that  cowards  still  can  rise.  '  

'  you  might  tell  me  you're  a  victim,  you  might  get  what  you  deserve,  but  i  won't  excuse  a  boy  who's  lost  his  nerve.  '  

'  stay  clear  of  love  and  jail.  '  

'  lovers  don't  go  hungry.  '  

'  kids  live  and  learn  to  attack.  '  

'  take  a  break.  '  

'  we'll  drink  it  and  talk.  '  

'  does  he  like  the  rain  ?  '  

'  does  he  kiss  ?  touch  ?  drink  ?  screw  ?  '  

'  does  he  like  to  screw  ?  '  

'  we're  alone  at  last.  '  

'  i  thought  for  a  not  unseemly  price,  you'd  introduce  me  to  the  wonders  of  the  bed,  and  also  treat  me  nice.  '  

'  (name)  is  cute,  though  rarely  good.  '  

'  but,  dearest,  please  accept  my  hand.  '  

'  tell  me,  how  did  you  get  in  here,  please  ?  '  

'  i  drugged  the  man  who  was  guarding  the  floor.  '  

'  i'm  the  only  one  here  in  the  school  except  you  and  the  guard  who  you  beat  in  a  fight.  '  

'  he  was  drugged,  not  with  pills,  but  with  some  apples  from  a  basket.  would  you  like  a  few  ?  '  

'  what  i  do  for  you  is  your  pleasure.  '  

'  i  like  your  eyes.  '  

'  i  was  never  out  of  place.  '  

'  that's  true,  she  minded  her  business  and  taught.  '

'  i  always  like  the  way  you  got  angry  in  your  glasses.  '  

'  you  little  shit,  i'll  throw  a  fit,  i'll  beat  your  head  in  with  a  hammer  !  '  

'  just  keep  your  dirty  fingers  away  from  my  face,  kid  !  '

'  listen,  i'm  a  bastard,  bummer  with  a  penis,  and  i  need  us  two  to  be  together.  '  

'  i  need  us  two  to  screw  together.  '  

'  make  me  a  happy  boy.  '  

'  please,  please,  please,  rub  your  hands  between  my  knees.  '  

'  he  always  gets  the  things  he  wants.  '  

'  accept  the  things  he  wants.  '  

'  do  you  want  my  telephone  number  ?  '  

'  lest  we  forget,  she  will  always  remind  us  how  they  two  met.  '  

'  love  me  for  what  i  am,  not  what  i  try  to  be.  '  

'  he  gave  me  a  phony  home  address.  '  

'  i  am  a  person  who  likes  to  lie  too  much,  i  try  too  much  to  impress  other  people.  often  my  inferiors.  '  

'  could  you  like  a  girl  like  that  ?  '  

'  would  you  hold  her  in  your  arms  ?  '  

'  darling,  we  might  survive.  '  

'  this  whole  damn  thing's  a  joke.  '  

'  perhaps  he'll  trip  or  she  might  choke.  '  

'  forget  this  guy,  he's  no  damn  good.  no  action  and  all  words.  '  

'  call  me  a  disgrace  and  then  be  done  with  blame.  '  

'  how  was  i  to  know  that  he's  a  gigolo,  emotionally  underbred  ?  '  

'  when  the  passion  stings,  i  think  of  pretty  things  instead.  '  

'  after  winter,  i'll  marry.  i'm  entitled  to  that.  '  

'  here  i  sit,  drunk  and  self-indulgent,  dressed  up  in  a  hat  which  even  i  detest.  '  

'  marry  money,  money  wins.  ’  

‘  your  past  will  disappear,  and  with  it  all  your  sins.  '  

'  joy  once  seemed  so  near.  '  

'  he'd  approve  if  i  let  him.  '  

'  though,  it's  hard  to  forget  him.  '  

'  where's  her  goddamn  husband  ?  '  

'  always  acting  infantile,  that's  one  thing  that  makes  him  smile.  '  

'  i  do  not  think  that  this  will  work.  '  

'  i  think  we  should've  spoke  before.  but  today's  too  late.  '  

'  i  hate  weddings.  '  

'  is  her  veil  on  straight,  and  is  she  drunk  ?  '  

'  will  he  be  the  man  i've  dreamt  about  ?  '  

'  isn't  this  a  perfect  day  ?  '  

'  what  do  i  think  about  five  seconds  before  i  die  ?  '  

'  i'm  about  to  die  and  i  didn't  feel  like  shopping.  '  

'  please  stop  your  bye-ing.  '  

'  have  pity  on  the  one  who's  dying.  '  

'  when  her  passion  soon  cools,  and  it  will...  if  she's  smart.  '  

'  will  i  break  the  girl's  heart  ?  '  

'  did  i  ever  have---  no,  will  i  ever  have  fun  ?  '  

'  things  on  which  we  most  depend  seem  to  fail  us  in  the  end.  '  

'  we've  been  married  for  ten  years.  eight  were  fine,  and  six  were  not.  it  seemed  longer  than  ten  years.  '  

'  the  first  two  were  the  best  years.  '  

'  i  felt  him  slipping  away.  '  

'  i  felt  him  die  in  my  arms.  '  

'  how  could  i  ever  compete  ?  '  

'  the  cause  of  all  his  lust,  she  must  be  sweet.  '  

'  he's  used  to  love  me.  '  

'  don't  be  pathetic.  '  

'  he  could  just  as  well  leave  me.  '  

'  when  he's  with  us,  he's  somewhere  alone.  '  

'  i'll  be  fine  if  he  leaves  me,  but  i'm  sure  he  won't.  '  

'  the  bitch  might  be  dumb.  '  

'  he  will  not  admit  the  truth.  '  

'  why  are  men  so  damn  uncouth  ?  all  they  ever  tell  are  lies.  '  

'  he  hates  my  wife.  '  

'  i  hate  his  food.  '  

'  he  thinks  i'm  rude,  but  nice.  '  

'  i  think  he's  nice,  but  indiscreet.  '

'  he  thinks  i'm  sweet,  but  he  treats  me  kind  of  funny.  '  

'  isn't  it  delightful  playing  easy  ?  '  

'  he's  on  his  knees,  i'm  lying  flat.  just  like  a  bad  idea.  '  

'  i  think  i'll  die.  '  

'  listen  to  him  laugh.  i'm  reminded  of  the  old  times,  'cause  at  last  he's  got  passion.  '  

'  he's  sick.  '  

'  i'm  delighted.  no  i'm  not,  but  it's  better  than  it  was.  '  

'  let's  recapitulate  the  things  he  does  to  earn  my  blessing.  '  

'  first  he  hurts  his  wife,  it's  a  good  move  if  you  ask  me,  but  you  didn't,  so  i'm  quiet.  then  he  hurts  his  child,  that's  a  less  good  move,  but  necessary.  '

  '  call  it  passion  and  don't  regret  it.  '  

'  him  and  the  boy  live  happily  ever  after...  that's  a  sickening  thought.  '  

'  all  of  us  alive  need  something  we  can  live  for.  '  

'  i'm  counting  on  this  boy  to  make  me  dream.  '  

'  he  needs  love  ?  i  got  love  !  '  

'  i'd  like  to  be  a  princess  on  a  throne.  '  

'  men  will  be  men.  '  

'  i  saw  them  in  the  den.  '  

'  he's  a  queen,  i'm  a  queen.  where's  my  crown  ?  '  

'  my  life  is  shitty,  and  my  kid  seems  like  an  idiot  to  me  !  '  

'  i  mean,  he's  great.  it's  me  who  is  the  matter.  '  

'  if  i  repeat  one  more  word,  i  swear  i'll  lose  my  brain.  '  

'  i  can  cry  on  cue,  but  so  can  you.  '  

'  you  ask  me  if  it's  fun  to  cry  over  nothing.  it  is.  '  

‘  a  healthy  fruit  is  healthy  until  it  rots.  ’  

‘  speaking  of  friends,  (name)  is  sweet  and  trim.  ’  

‘  i  think  in  fact  i’ll  marry  him.  he  wants  me.  ’  

'  i  think  it's  strange  because  the  sex  was  good.  '  

'  i'd  take  his  mouth  and  feet,  and  make  them  do...  well,  i  forget.  '  

'  i  think  it's  rotten  how  i  lately  feel.  '  

'  it's  like  a  nightmare  how  this  all  proceeds.  '  

'  i  hope  that  he  don't  fulfill  his  needs.  '  

'  i  wanna  sleep.  sure,  things  will  probably  worsen,  but  it's  not  like  i'm  a  healthy  person.  '  

'  i  only  wanna  love  a  man  who  can  love  me.  or  like  me.  or  hold.  or  touch  me.  or  stand  me.  '  

'  he  was  never  mine.  '  

'  i  used  to  cry,  we'd  make  a  scene.  '  

'  and  me,  i'm  just  a  freak,  who  needs  it  maybe  every  other  week.  '  

'  does  he  feel  awful  ?  and  has  he  grieved  ?  '  

'  i  do  not  feel  awful.  a  little  unlawful,  but  a  lot  relieved.  '  

'  (name)  will  act  very  parental,  completely  gentle,  absolutely  swell.  '

'  those  were  things  i  used  to  do,  which  i'll  leave  behind.  '  

'  tell  her  your  sin's  called  hanging  on.  '  

'  honest  to  god,  no  one's  the  villain.  '  

'  i'm  not  a  saint,  let's  not  mince  words  here.  '  

'  am  i  your  nightmare  or  your  dream  ?  '  

'  if  you  see  me  at  your  door,  swear  you'll  let  me  in.  '  

'  pack  it  up  and  call  it  quits.  like  good  quitters  do.  '  

'  god,  what  have  i  done  ?  '  

'  i  dreamt  last  night  we  flew  to  china.  '  

'  your  parents  own  a  car,  don't  they  ?  can't  we  drive  away  ?  '  

'  may  we  talk  as  friends  ?  '  

'  i  dreamt  last  night  you  almost  held  me.  '  

'  jesus  christ,  you'll  come  through.  '  

'  hold  me.  hold  him  too.  but  stay.  '  

'  please  drink  your  tea  before  it's  cold.  '  

'  you  can't  go  on  as  if  you're  dying.  '  

'  this  is  much  better  for  the  both  of  us.  '  

'  people  used  to  lick  the  streets  after  she  walked  by  in  order  to  show  respect  for  this  great  lady.  '  

'  he  did  little  all  day  but  jot  down  ridiculous  poems  and  wait  for  (name)  to  call  his  name.  '  

'  he  wasn't  cheating  exactly.  '  

'  they  met  at  odd  hours,  off  and  on  for  three  weeks.  '  

'  he  was  half  out  of  his  mind  with  grief.  '  

'  she  paid  for  his  fine  clothes,  provided  him  with  a  fine  apartment,  rent-free,  and  he  loved  her.  '  

'  you  think  she  was  moved  ?  you  think  so  ?  '  

'  you  don't  know  the  whole  story.  i  was  not  having  an  affair  with  a  lady  in  waiting.  '  

'  he  asked  if  he  could  sit  down.  he  asked  if  there  was  anything  to  drink.  he  asked  if  he  could  take  off  his  clothes.  '  

'  well,  we  slept  a  little.  '  

'  god  bless  america.  '  

'  the  thing  about  explorers  is:  they  discover  things  that  are  already  there.  '  

'  it's  taken  all  of  my  will  to  still  stand  high.  '  

'  he  wrote  me  goodbye.  '  

'  he  filled  it  with  details,  explicit  things  that  i  can't  try.  '  

'  another  sleepless  night  at  home  in  bed.  '  

'  you  try  to  think  of  things  you  might  have  said,  you  try  to  carry  on.  '  

'  i  was  my  face  then  drink  beer  then  i  weep,  say  a  prayer,  and  induce  insincere  self  abuse  until  i'm  fast  asleep.  '  

'  i've  done  too  much  talking.  '  

'  he  never  stops.  i  need  my  sleep.  '

'  five  times  a  night,  he'll  request  it.  i  wanna  rest  it.  '  

'  what  he  wants  is  a  body  that  won't  fuss.  '  

'  he's  feeling  hot.  i'll  close  my  eyes,  and  then  surprise:  i'll  be  awake  and  preforming.  '  

'  i'll  wanna  sleep  but  maybe  trying  to  put  up  with  a  guy  like  myself  must  be  a  bore.  '  

'  he  sleeps  in  this  bed  with  me,  a  survivor.  '  

'  i'm  feeling  alive-er  than  i've  ever  felt  in  my  life  before.  '  

'  another  book  you  thought  was  best  unread  has  proved  indeed  it  was.  '  

'  i  am  so  alone  in  the  middle  of  the  night.  '  

'  they  said  they'd  never  lose  their  love.  and  then  they  lost  their  love.  '  

'  women  sit  like  angels,  men  like  vultures.  '  

'  and  who's  to  blame  them  ?  '  

'  i  write  to  keep  the  pain  alive.  '

[azurevi]

Fluff 49 with the octa trio please? Thank you :333

49. “Is somebody jealous?” with octavinelle

Thanks for requesting! I hope this is good enough 😔

Azul

Your relationship with Azul is so secure that one might even comment about how laid back you are. But both of you know better than anyone that you love each other, and there's nothing to worry about at all.

Well, that's what Azul would like to think, but recently his heart has been betraying his words a lot. In his defense, you've been getting pretty close with someone else. It's not as though he doesn't trust you, no, it is your friend whom he doubts.

He's pretty sure he isn't imagining things, that the flirtations and sly glances and unneeded physical touches are signs that your friend wants more than just friendship from you. Although you've never responded to any of his attempts, he still feels a weird feeling boiling in his chest everytime they get a little too close to you.

It sucks more when he has to stay at Mostro Lounge and work overtime, because that means your friend can take the opportunity and snatch you away. He's grateful that you always come back to him after the day, but he can't get rid of the uneasiness. Perhaps he's scared. You may have told him times and times that you love him, but he admits that there's still something which your friend possesses and he doesn't. There's a constant voice in the back of his head, taunting him about how he isn't as good as them. Sometimes it's so loud that he just wishes to turn it off.

Your friend is getting bolder and bolder by day. Even when you and Azul are clearly having alone time, they will shamelessly join in, and being a nice person you never turn them down. Azul wishes you would though, but he doesn't want to upset you by being selfish.

You aren't oblivious though. It's clear as day how uncomfortable Azul acts around them -- his posture stiffens and his head tilts up slightly, eyes ever so cold but his fingers are always restless. He never confirms anything though, so for a while you just decide to let it slide, but he's been looking so bothered lately that you make up your mind to lure the truth out of him.

"Hey," you knock on the door to his VIP room. His eyes basically shine at the sight of you. 

"I thought you're going out with your friend," he says instead, once again lacking subtlety.

"I was, but I turned them down at the last minute,'

Azul flicks his gaze up. "You did? Why?"

"I don't know, maybe because someone is sulking?"

He doesn't have to say anything. His avoiding glances already reveal enough. "I'm not sulking," comes his futile, weak defense.

"Really? Then what's going on?"

After a moment of silence Azul puts down his pen, burying his face in his head as if in exasperation. "It's nothing… you've just been spending time with them a lot,"

Your brow arch curiously. "No way. Is somebody jealous?"

Blood shoots to his cheeks, painting the tips of his ears red. He looks like a child caught red handed for stealing candies during midnight. 

"I'm not- I- fine. I am a little jealous, alright? But I trust you. It's them I don't trust," he nudges his head to the side, as if your friend is standing right there. "I may be overthinking things, but I think they're interested in you,"

"Are they?" you recall the times you spent together, trying to pick up possible hints. At your serious expression Azul waved you off, "As I said, it's just me overthinking. Don't fuss over it,"

"That won't do, you're clearly troubled," you walk to his side, prompting him to turn to you. "How about we do this, I make sure to draw the line between us and spend more time with you. Will that make you feel better?"

"You don't have to. I'm not a child who whines when his mother disappears for a minute."

"No you aren't. What you are is my partner, and I am willing to do anything to comfort you, alright?" you plant a kiss on his cheek, noting how hot his face is. "I'm sorry for neglecting you,"

"You don't have to apologize…" he mumbles, although his originally furrowed brows have relaxed significantly. Knowing that you're going to be there for him no matter what is already enough for him to ease his worries.

Jade

Jade adores you. It isn't anything surprising, basically the whole school knows about it. It isn't as if he tries to hide it anyways. He loves to shower you with affection even when you're in public, more so when you're having alone times. His affection is gentle and understanding, which is one of the many reasons you fell for him, but you've never expected these qualities to become the source of your plaguing worries.

Jade's smile is one of a kind. It can be benevolent and hostile at the same time, and it can be as venomous as it can be soothing. As someone who has to constantly deal with customers by Azul's side, he has mastered the ability to please someone with his appearance. And being the serious businessman that he is, he seldom acts recklessly.

That explains why he's caught the attention of one business partner, and for the past few days they've been asking Jade to accompany them around the campus. You shouldn't feel jealous about it, really, it's part of his job after all, but you can't help comparing the both of you and realizing how you lack the same charisma that they hold. However, you decide to keep it to yourself, not wanting to come off as a clingy and inconsiderate partner.

There's only one thing that you fail to realize, which is how sharp Jade's eyes are. It's true that he has been spending less time with you lately, but during the scarce moments when you're together he can already figure out what is clouding your mind.

"Good evening, my dear," Jade arrives at the Ramshackle dorm after work as usual, to steal more time with you. His workload may be burdening, but he never misses any chance to be around you.

"How's work?" you ask casually, trying not to bring up the fact that he was once again asked to entertain the client and had to cancel your lunch together.

"Work's fine," he reaches out and pulls you towards him just as you walk to hang his jacket, planting a long, deep kiss on your forehead. "How was your day?"

"Fine," you frown a little.

"Is that right? You seem to look upset though," he leans back to get a good look at your face, but you bow your head down in embarrassment. "I'm not upset,"

It seems that you're not going to give up your secret easily.

"Is somebody jealous?"

Your head shoots up, eyes widened in surprise. "What?"

Jade chuckles. "I asked whether you're jealous. I know I've been occupied lately, and I don't want you to feel lonely,"

"I'm not lonely. I understand that you have responsibilities," you mumble, still too stubborn to admit what's going on in your mind.

"That's true, but I am also your boyfriend, am I not? Making you feel loved is my responsibility too," he cups your cheeks with his palms, fitting your face in his hold and looking at you with the soft look that's reserved only for you. "Don't worry. Even when I'm busy, I'm always thinking about you,"

His honesty brings a blush to your cheeks and you wrap your arms around him in an attempt to hide your flustered countenance. 

"Thank you, Jade."

"Of course, my love."

Floyd

Dating Floyd means that you're going to be loved for every single moment in your life. Floyd is physically affectionate, and he's definitely going to give you tackle hugs at any given chance. Be prepared to have him stick around and shower you with kisses and touches. With his constantly overflowing affections for you it's really hard for you to feel jealousy and envy.

Well, that's before the rabbit comes between the two of you.

You still can't believe that you're jealous of a goddamn rabbit, but here you are. Perhaps you've been getting too used to Floyd and his intimacy that the moment he averts his attention, you immediately feel hollow.

The two of you found this fellow outside your dorm, shivering in the cold and seemingly lost. Floyd took an interest to the small creature almost immediately and seems to have forgotten about you. You're sure he doesn't intend to ignore you, but suddenly losing his fondness just makes you feel out of place.

You refuse to act on your feelings though. What will he say if he finds out how needy you are? Perhaps he will deem you too hard to please or even a nuisance… you shake your head at the thought, returning to watching him play with the bunny.

"Oh, aren't you the cutest~" Floyd buries his face into the soft white fur, giggling at himself. At your silence he turns to you, only to find you seemingly troubled as your eyebrows knit together. 

"Y/N~" he calls out and pouts when there's no response. He scoots over to you and pokes your face, only then is he successful in getting your attention. 

"Is something wrong?" he asks, resting his jaw on his palm with an interested shine in his eyes. 

"Nothing," you shake your head, nudging your head towards the rabbit. "Why don't you go and spend some more time with it? I'm sure it's getting lonely,"

Floyd is quiet for a while, face blank as the gears in his head work. After a moment, he breaks into a small smile. "I only left for a minute, it's not going to get lonely that easily…" you gulp at his words that suddenly seem to carry a hidden meaning. "What about you? Are you feeling deserted, somehow? Or better! Is someone jealous~?"

"I'm not," you quickly retort. Floyd laughs, throwing his head back carefreely. "I think you are though? Are you sad because I haven't been giving you love lately?"

You grunt, unwilling to answer any more of his questions which he already has the answers to. Seeing your annoyed expression, he decides to drop his teasing. "Alright~ I will show you more love, alright?" he wraps you in his arms, bringing you close to his chest and swaying you from side to side. You're not going to admit it, but you've missed this.

"Next time you want hugs and kisses, you only need to ask~" he says in a sing-songy voice, chuckling as you denies ever having such desires.

[ezrasarm]

More Than Friends

Pairing: Frankie Morales x demisexual!reader

Word count: 1.9K

Warnings: Some angst, some fluff, discussions of sexuality

A/n: This isn’t my usual spiel and it wound up getting a whole lot angstier than intended but this fic means a lot to me and I would really appreciate it if you took the time to read it and let me know what you think because I am nErVoUs about posting it and in need of validation 😬😂

Just a wee disclaimer: Demisexuality is a pretty broad term and the way people experience it is all across the board so I’d like you to keep in mind that this draws heavily from my own experience with identifying this way (which I am very new to). If you would like to learn more about demisexuality there are some wonderful resources here at demisexuality.org and my inbox is always open if you’re curious.

[ masterlist ]

It was a complicated thing to explain to people who didn’t understand- who didn’t want to understand. “That’s how it is for everyone.” “You just haven’t found the right person yet.” “I can change that”. You’d gotten tired of being told the experience that was very much real to you didn’t exist, that your identity didn’t exist, of being labelled a prude or being told you were just nervous. Feeling that desire and choosing not to act was one thing but it was another thing entirely not being able to.

When you found yourself in a position where you had to explain yourself to him, you needed him of all people to understand that the way you felt had absolutely nothing to do with him. You had tried. You thought there was a chance you might get there with him but the longer you waited for that connection to form, for that feeling to come, the more you realized you were wasting both of your time.

You were terrified as you walked into the cafe to tell him that just like all the other people you had tried to broach this topic with before he wouldn’t believe you. He wouldn’t get it. He’d shrug it off and tell you that you didn’t know what you were talking about. That he’d get offended and take your lack of attraction to him personally. That he’d overreact. That he’d blame you for stringing him along. But you had to rip the bandaid off. He’s a reasonable person right? He won’t do that. You were just psyching yourself out. It would be fine.

Or not.

You were distraught by the time you were supposed to meet the boys at the bar that night. You hadn’t meant to hurt him. Why did he have to look at you that way? Why did he have to say it like that? “Right, I thought as much.” He had frowned down at his coffee. What was that even supposed to mean? Why couldn’t he have taken your word for it? Why couldn’t you have faked it till you made it? Why couldn’t you feel something? You questioned yourself as you got in the door, shuffling around in your purse for your phone before dialling Frankies number. You couldn’t do this tonight, you couldn’t run around pretending everything was fine when you had been lonely for so goddamn long and this fell through too.

You got his voice mail and hoped it wasn’t because he was already on the road. Of all the times for him to decide to be early, you hoped it wasn’t this one. “Hey, Frankie, it’s me. I hope you’re not already on your way here, I just- I’m not feeling up for tonight. I think I might be coming down with something and don’t want to get everyone sick.” You say when you get his voice mail, sniffing back your onslaught of tears before concluding the call with a “Anyway say hi to everyone for me and I’ll see you later.” before hanging up, your voice finally breaks into a sob when you drop your phone onto the couch and collapse into the cushions next to it with an aggravated and teary-eyed sigh.

As though by some cruel joke the universe had decided to play on you today it's hardly five minutes later when a knock sounds at your door and you just about have to suppress an exasperated laugh as you wipe the tears from your eyes with your shirt sleeve and go to get it.

“Hey, you ready to-” Frankie is cut off when his phone buzzes in his pocket and his brows furrow for a brief second when he goes to check it. “Oop, hang on I got a message.” He declares, “Hey look, it’s from you!” He says, throwing a wiggle of his eyebrows in your direction as you fold your arms in front of you and lean against the doorframe waiting for the penny to drop. It takes a second before you watch the grin slowly fall from his face and he finally takes in the puffiness around your eyes and the stray tear which had managed to escape your hurried attempts at wiping them away.

“You don’t look sick.” He notes solemnly after a brief pause and your gaze drops to your feet at the shame of being caught in a lie. Great, now he was looking at you all hurt too.

“That’s ‘cause I’m not.” You sniffle back, finding it even harder to withhold your emotions now that he’s standing right in front of you.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” He asked, trying to usher you inside despite the resistance you give him.

“Nothing really. You should go to the party. I’ll be fine.” You insist but he’s already managed to wiggle you both through the door and drag you back into the living room.

“And leave you here on your own? Not a chance!” He insists as he plops you down on the couch motioning for you to stay put with a warning hand gesture and glare as he dials into his phone. “Hey Pope, somethings come up, we won’t be able to make it tonight but be sure to give Will a punch in the arm from me and a ‘Happy birthday’ from (y/n) and we promise we’ll make up for it next week,” There’s a momentary pause before Frankie nods. “Yup, will do, Hermano. Bye,” he says as he hangs up shoving the phone back in his pocket before taking a seat next to you.

“Frankie, You shouldn’t have done that. I already told you I’m fine.” You sigh.

“And I already told you that I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s going on.” He replies stubbornly, he’s clearly been hanging out with Santiago too much lately.

“You didn’t, but it’s good to know what I’m in for.” You huff out through a laugh that comes off a lot more bitter than you had hoped.

“I can’t help you unless you tell me what’s wrong, Hermosa,” He says, brushing his thumb up and down across the knuckles you hadn’t even realized he’d taken in his hand until now.

“This isn’t something you can fix Frankie! That’s exactly the problem!” You snap, tears threatening your waterline again.

“What is? What’s the problem?” He exclaims and you realize the situation you’ve placed yourself in for the second time today.

“I broke things off with Andrew today.” You say not expecting him to look quite as shocked as he did.

“Did something happen?” He asked. He could understand you being upset over a breakup but he had never seen you quite like this before.

“No, nothing happened he just- I couldn’t-” You cut yourself off trying to figure out how you can phrase this for it to make sense.

“I really liked him just not in the way he wanted me to.” You say, your gaze falling to where Frankie’s thumb had stopped rubbing circles on your knuckle as he tried to figure out what it was you were saying. “He was dropping some pretty heavy signs that he wanted to…” You sigh trying to decide if you really wanted to get into this with him. “I can’t feel sexually attracted to anyone unless I have a strong emotional connection with them first.” You say probably a bit too abruptly. With the way he’s looking at you now, this clearly wasn’t the direction he had expected this conversation to take and you’re already wondering if you’ve made a mistake by telling him. “And just because I have an emotional connection with them doesn’t necessarily mean I’ll ever get to that point with them.” There’s a beat before he responds and you’ve already braced yourself for the worst when instead-

“And you didn’t have that with him?” He asks. You feel your heart, which you hadn’t realized had been hammering in your chest, settle slightly. He was so understanding that for a second you thought he didn’t understand.

“I wanted to.” You say. “I thought maybe if I got to know him better it might develop- that I might be able to like him that way-” You shake your head hesitantly. “But it didn’t- I couldn’t.” You whispered, your head hung low in disappointment. “He didn’t take it very well.” You tried to say but you could already feel your throat tightening at the thought of the look on his face and the words echoing through your head. “I didn’t want to hurt him I just-“ More tears spilled down your cheeks and Frankie was quick to pull you into his chest, his fingers carding through your hair as you buried your face in his neck. “I didn’t want to be alone anymore and I thought-” A choked sob escapes you and Frankies grip on your waist grows just a little tighter.

“We don’t get to choose who we are and aren’t attracted to.” He whispers into the crown of your head, hating the look of shame he had seen on your face only moments ago. Hating the way you blamed yourself for something you clearly had no control over, hating that he didn’t know what to say. “I’m so sorry he didn’t understand.” He murmured with his lips still pressed to your hair line, his free hand smoothing up and down your arm gently, waiting for your breathing to even out.

There’s a long pause before he speaks again. He knows now probably isn’t the best time to ask this question but it won’t stop nagging at him and he doesn’t know when else he would ever have the courage to. “What about me?” He swallows heavily, after a while, not exactly sure what kind of answer he’s expecting. “Have you ever thought of me that way?” He pries and for a second you’re shocked that his mind even went there. Did he want you to think of him that way? Did he ever think of you that way?

You take a moment to mull over the question, your curiosity for where he was going with it managing to outweigh your fear of giving him an answer when your mind wanders back to the way your heart used to hammer in your chest when he walked into a room and how he was the only one who ever came to mind when you so much as considered the possibility of getting intimate with someone. “I’ve thought about you that way before, yeah.” You admit, lifting your head from his shoulder to look him in the eye.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” He asks, eyes softening as he wonders how many awful dates he could have saved you from if he had just known a little sooner that you thought of him as anything more than a friend.

“Because you were married when I realized it and by the time you weren’t I’d come to terms with it and I didn’t want to screw anything up between us.” You explain truthfully. The entire situation had been so complicated when it started that you wrote off the idea before you could even consider it fully and now he was asking you all these questions and you felt like a fool for not having seen it sooner.

“Do you still?...think of me that way?”

“Yeah. I do.”

“Would you want to try giving me a chance?” He asks, wearily. “We can take it as slow as you want, there’s no pressure-”

“I’d like that.”

[ masterlist ]

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Frankie “Catfish” Morales Taglist: @rebelhan​ @thepjofanqueen​

+ @reluctantlyresponsibleadult

[daisychainsinthespring]

The Snowball Effect: Bucky Barnes and Darcy’s Metal Arm.

Darcy Elizabeth Lewis-Barnes had some of the best childhood friends a girl could ask for. Sure they were now scattered across the world, pursuing their dreams and getting into varying levels of trouble, but they had stuck closely to tradition. They were also part of the reason Darcy had met her husband, Bucky “Come on doll, we’re literally married now, please call me James” Barnes. To be fair, it had really started with a bear, themed after Bucky himself because why not model a bear after a WW2 hero? Stranger things had happened. At least that’s what her parents were convinced of. It would have been embarrassing to let them know the truth, that because her friends sent her explicit gifts inspired by the famous Sergeant Sexy, said Winter Sexbot had taken notice of her. It would be even more mortifying to tell them that finally, after much modelling (of the aforementioned gifts) and many dinner dates, he had put a ring on it. So yes, Darcy had some of the best friends a girl could ask for.

Although, to be fair, now that Darcy had the real deal (and how sweet was that?), she had been pretty sure it would all stop. How could her friends even hope to compete with the effects of his smolder (oh god, his smolder)? Darcy had clearly underestimated them, because it appeared they could (much to Bucky’s displeasure).

A few weeks previously, Darcy had been complaining of her husband being gone so often to one friend in particular, Emma (who currently worked as a marine biologist down in Sydney). For her part Emma had listened and very much been a metaphorical shoulder to cry on. But it wasn’t like she had a superhero husband herself, and so her advice wasn’t the most helpful (however well intentioned it was). Jane too (her work bestie and Science Overlord) was little help. After all James, while a super soldier who could carry her one armed over his shoulder, was not a God.

So Darcy suffered. She dealt with sleepless nights and pent up frustration while Bucky was away on missions. Which wasn’t so bad, as he had been kept to shorter jobs until he was deemed fit for long term, infiltration-esque missions. The only problem was that he had passed those examinations with flying colours and would now be going out into the field for months at a time, doing what Winter Soldiers do best (aside from giving the best back rubs known to man). Darcy had thought that was the end of it, her friends believed they had helped, and her husband didn’t know about her issues. Darcy really needed to learn that she was routinely wrong.

Bucky had continued to check the mail, it would be brought up to their apartment in the wee hours of the morning and without fail, he would look it all over in the kitchen. Darcy would usually get up some time in the middle of this procedure and go join him, sitting together at their little dining table while she waited for her coffee to kick in. On this particular morning though, their routine had changed. Darcy did not wake up (due to the intense nature of the previous night's activities), and Bucky went through his routine alone. It also happened that on this particular morning Darcy received a package from Emma.

When Darcy finally did come to, she left the bedroom and shuffled slowly down the hall (because ow, she was sore, not everyone had super healing James), finally coming to an abrupt stop upon reaching the kitchen. She didn’t know if she actually wanted to go in, based on her husband's stormy expression. In fact, her body seemed to notice that, based on his glare, this might not be the best place for her at all and had started to subconsciously back up. That was until she heard him growl (because apparently Sergeant Stone Age was a thing now) out a harsh, “Don’t. Come sit. We need to talk”.

Darcy Elizabeth Lewis-Barnes was a brave woman. She had tazed a god, regularly faced off against the famous wit of Tony Stark, and married The Goddamn Winter Soldier (trademark pending, courtesy of the previously mentioned Tony Stark). But the phrase “we need to talk” never boded well for anyone in a relationship, so she shakily went to her usual place across from him, and sat.

Bucky leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as his eyes narrowed, “Am I not enough for you?” he asked, sounding more broken and insecure than had probably been intended.

Darcy, to her credit, was actually able to form a coherent response as her panic gently subsided, “What? No. Honey you’re perfect. Literally cut from marble, the stuff of Greek myth perfect. Why would you even ask that?”.

Bucky nodded, seemingly satisfied with the voracity of whatever she had said (super spies and their super ways, she really shouldn’t dwell). Moving to reach under the table, he picked up the box by his feet, “Your friends sent you this,” he said as he opened it, revealing what appeared to be a miniature model of his metal arm, “and I thought you were hiding something from me”.

Darcy inspected the arm, not fully understanding what it was for a moment. When she finally remembered her conversation with Emma she barked out a laugh, “Oh honey no, this, you see, Emma and I were talking”, Bucky raised an eyebrow in response, prompting her to continue, “Right. You want more details, details are good. Communication is good. Okay, well we were talking right? And I mentioned how, with you being posted on longer assignments, I was feeling lonely. But I didn’t want to tell you, because superhero business is literal apocalypse aversion, and wife pleasing isn’t”. It would appear that it was now Bucky’s turn to look guilty. He ducked his head, folding his arms in his lap, and started shaking? No that wasn’t shame, that was laughter. The asshole found this funny!

“Oh dollface, you only had to tell me. I don’t have to go on those longer missions, I just thought you might want some time away from me.” he glanced up from under his eyelashes and damn her if she didn’t know exactly what he was doing with his puppy dog eyes and innocent expression.

“Honey, your missions are important. Please don’t go changing them on my account” she replied evenly (see Jane? She could be mature!).

James got a sour look on his face, startlingly similar to that one time she had made him try Toxic Waste, “But dollface, don’t you just want the real thing? I know my hand is much better than whatever this...thing...could do” he breathed out, looking at her as if to dare an objection.

It could never be said that Darcy Elizabeth Lewis-Barnes backed down from a challenge. Instead she straightened up, lifted her chin in utter defiance, and retorted, “Well dear, I don’t know. We haven’t tested this new one out yet. I’m sure it could work just as well as your arm, maybe even better. It is a new model after all”.

At his silence and blank stare she wondered if perhaps she had finally won an argument against him. Except, oh no, he looked predatory again, like a hunter ready to pounce on its prey, and given the lack of other people in the room that prey was her. Nothing good ever came from that look, she still had the lovebites from last week's battle of wills to prove it.

“Hmmm,” he mused, placing his hand on his chin, “what I’m hearing is that we need to test them both out, so I can prove you don’t need this...toy?” he asked, or rather, demanded. James didn’t actually wait for an answer as he dove across the table and swept his darling wife into his arms, walking back to their bedroom with Darcy held safely over his shoulder.

Darcy Elizabeth Lewis-Barnes knew when to pick her battles, and she also knew when to compromise. James didn’t stop going on longer missions, but he made her promise to get rid of the arm. And she did, get rid of it from the apartment that is. It wasn’t kept in their home anymore, instead resting in her drawer at work. If she took it back with her on particularly lonely nights when he was away, well it wasn’t like he needed to know.

[poptimus-prime]

Here is what the kids call my highly disorganized, half-baked list of stuff that could have been done with Jack to make him a better character.

@yeetmetothehell I am sorry if you are disappointed by my ideas.

“Optimus was more like...Jack.” OK…so show us that.

In my opinion...Jack seems like he was intended to be written to be almost a parallel to Orion’s journey to becoming Optimus Prime, at least how he is used in the plot. Jack is described as “smart and responsible”, which can also be read as “hardworking and responsible” and really this can be achieved in narratively using a few points, IMO:

Long hours in his room/the library studying outside of work and school. 

Filling out the background of the garage more with sketches/print outs of motorcycle blueprints (to keep the idea that Jack really wants a motorcycle and show hints of extreme dedication, but they’re kept in the garage rather than his room to metaphorically show that distance he’s put between himself and what he wants)

“Man of the House”/”Grew up too fast” (This will be discussed more later but TL;DR “I’ll handle the electric bill this month, Mom”)

Somewhat fragile work/school/life balance that Jack somehow perfectly maintained before meeting the team

Orion was very physically passive. Jack seems to be intended to be written as passive but it comes off as an apathetic reluctance that Orion doesn’t possess (Orion may not believe in violence but he clearly wasn’t unwilling to communicate his thoughts; it’s how he got the title of Prime in the first place.) However, Orion had to learn to become more outspoken over time probably, so we can keep him as being aloof/reluctant at the start of the series.

“Man of the House”/”Grew up too Fast”

It’s no secret Jack came from a nonconventional home; June is very explicitly portrayed as a single mother with a dad nowhere in the picture. However the situation surrounding Mr. Darby is unknown. The way June talks about it makes me personally feel like Jack’s dad either ran out or divorced June and doesn’t bother with his kid. Dysfunction in the family really just goddamn changes you TBH. (can confirm bc hi, I come from a dysfunctional home) Sometimes you just grow up super fast. Jack probably spent his childhood missing his mom as she worked shifts at the hospital and seeing how lonely and hurt she was. He maybe went out and got a job the first day he could and helps with smaller bills (“I’ll handle the electric bill this month.”), or maybe other expenses like groceries and his own phone bill. June probably makes enough to comfortably support her and her son, especially given her job and the cost of living in rural ass desert Nevada. But Jack still does this anyways--it’s how he copes with his issues after what happened with his dad. Doubling down and trying to be what he thinks is the bigger man because his dad couldn’t be fucked. 

This would make the disruption him letting the bots into his life creates more staggering; June doesn’t expect her son to pay bills, but the sudden change in behavior (skipping out on work) would be a cause for concern because sudden shifts like that are Usually Signs that Something is Very Wrong. Especially because Jack is usually responsible and open with his mom; he would have told her if he was gonna cut hours at work, theoretically.

Jack feels like he has to constantly put his own wants aside to contribute to his household. Even if June doesn’t force this expectation upon him, it’s a feeling that he will have, especially if he watched his dad just abandon him and June. Maybe he has resentment towards his dad for this and that is causing some anger he’s keeping tightly under wraps? And maybe the bots give him an excuse to do something he actually wants to do for once or some excitement in his life and that’s why he goes along with it? Lots of options, people!

Clothing Choices: The Hoodie™

You are going to have to deal with me being a whore for costuming choices and what they can mean. The show has a problem with the humans wearing the same shit every time they’re on screen and I’d love to rant about all of them (yeah yeah I get it saving money) but I’m focusing on Jack right now. Give Jack a hoodie 2020. A grey one or some other dull and drab color. And make him actually always wear the hood (except like in scenes where he is working bc workplace dress codes obviously) As time progresses, the drab hoodie is changed to a more vibrant color, but he still always has the hood over his head. And then, at a pivotal moment, the boy takes the hood off. (You could even throw in Miko cracking a joke about Jack actually having hair if you really wanted TBH.) Why this? The narrative is that Jack is constantly holding himself under wraps because of his self-imposed responsibilities. As he starts to become more into his own, he decides to express himself more with brighter colors, but still has some reservations. When he takes the hoodie off, that’s when he’s fully realized himself in this process and thus completes the parallel.

Actually make him interact with Optimus in a meaningful manner.

Arcee can still be his guardian in the field and I think working on strengthening their relationship is vital. But also, if you’re gonna make Jack the confidante holding the key to Vector Sigma, there actually has to be...meaningful interaction. Optimus asking Jack what he’s so engrossed in reading and Jack explaining the book he’s got with passion before shutting himself up and saying “it’s kinda dumb though” or something. And Optimus just responds “I don’t think it’s dumb, tell me more.” Coaxing him towards more self-discovery and expression. Optimus maybe sees more of his old self in Jack and starts attempting to be a quasi-paternal figure without really thinking about it because he is, after all, Dadimus. Jack maybe lashes out about how he doesn’t need Optimus to be his dad and that makes the space between them tense for a while. Eventually Jack comes to apologize and maybe there’s an important Talk.. Just a few ideas I will expand on later. I feel like forgiveness and lack thereof is a good theme--I know I was held back for a long time because of how convoluted the concept of forgiveness is with family.

The Character Arc

 So, what would Jack’s character development throughout the events of season 1 be? My basic idea for a Jack arc that mirrors Orion’s self-realization and coming into Prime-hood without being a carbon copy is essentially: 

Jack is portrayed as a responsible, hardworking, studious teenager who constantly turns down chances for fun and excitement to handle his responsibilities. Has clear dreams for after high school and for his own personal life; but he’s constantly contemplating and changing his mind about whether he will or not because he’s extremely dedicated to helping his mom and all that. However, he still gets super curious about Arcee and gets swept up by her in the Vehicon chase, and he still has whispers of courage and protects Raf during the altercation. He first tries to ditch Team Prime because he’s concerned about his responsibilities, but eventually returns because he’s drawn to the opportunity to finally go buck wild for once in his life (even if he spends his time being hesitant about everything.) His hesitancy and dedication to severe self-imposed responsibility is a result of his inability to move on from what his dad did to him and his mom; he’s under the impression that he 1) Has to forgive someone to move on, and thus 2) He cannot move on because his dad isn’t there to bother to say sorry and take on his position as Dad. In essence, he becomes less the character telling Miko to stop and more the character being pushed by Miko to be more adventurous. In lulls in action, Optimus starts to take interest in him when he notices his constant hesitance to express himself and is just being dragged along rather than going willingly. Has a conversation with him about a book Jack’s reading, which Jack attempts to shut down because it’s “dumb and childish,” but Optimus urges him to continue. The idea that June knows about Arcee as a bike and Jack explaining that he bought a motorcycle as a fixer-upper for dirt cheap can stay. (He probably still is saving up for his motorcycle.)

The longest portion, after Optimus starts interacting with Jack on a level of bonding and gently coaxing him to be himself— Jack becomes more outspoken and he’s shown as curious, analytical, quick witted, and has a deep sense of justice. Being young and craving a childhood lost to his trauma and self-imposed obligations to help his mom with running the household, he suddenly starts spending more time at the base pursuing hobbies and going on missions rather than studying and work, which concerns June. She tries to press Jack, and is met with what can be described as typical teenage headbutting that gets progressively worse. She grounds Jack after the fight, MECH takes her, the rescue happens. (That makes sense to stay in this narrative IMO.) Around this time, Optimus has effectively started becoming Jack’s own Alpha Trion—teaching him things that he’s picked up that he may feel apply to Jack. Jack interprets one of these lessons as Optimus trying to be “dad” and he’s not having it. Makes it VERY clear that he does not need a dad (“didn’t need one before and sure as fuck don’t need one now”) and definitely snaps at Optimus, which then pushes his progress in the arc closer to the end. He eventually comes back to apologize, and Optimus forgives him. He and Optimus have a heart-to-heart about one of the hardest lessons Optimus has had to learn—how to let go of the past without forgiving those who have hurt you and refuse to make amends, so that you may determine your own future. It’s very clear he’s talking about Megatron, even though he never says his name. Jack takes this lesson to heart.

His final bit of development before the hood removal thing probably happens during the events of “Rock Bottom” and reinforces that hard lesson, right when he’s faced with the option to off Megatron. Maybe there’s some taunting about how Optimus preaches softness and forgiveness too much when Jack refuses to kill him. Jack gets angry, and he’s about to fucking do it. But then he stops, takes a breath, and says “Optimus doesn’t preach forgiveness, he preaches moving on from those who refuse to move on themselves. He will never forgive you, but he’s learned to live on despite what you’ve done.” Soon after this, when Megatron comes to the base, Jack takes off his hood, stares Megatron right in the face, and says “This is not forgiveness, Megatron. Don’t you forget that.” Later, when Optimus gives him the key, he tells him something along the lines of “you have grown since we’ve met, Jack, and even though there is still a long way for you to go...” he hands Jack the key. “...Remember that even I am a work in progress.”

Anyways this is again, half-baked. And needs lots of polishing. But it’s something.

[brokebuckkmountain]

I’m entering a strange new chapter in my life right now. Very lonely, very empowering, and overall really making me realize how much I’ve grown tf up.

Like, I am in a good upswing right now, as hesitant as I am to say that (because I know how tenuous they can be). I know I can’t keep everything great forever, but I’m enjoying the energy that comes from crawling out of a depressive episode and dedicating my time to stuff that matters. My 25th is around the corner and I feel so goddamn mature.

I just hit a point where I realized I needed to cut as much as the negative from my life as I could. And if that left me with two whole friends, so be it. I have so much more energy to focus on other shit when I’m not constantly getting mad at the people around me or mentally drained by the shit they say to me. It’s not perfect, but it’s a lot easier to manage my mental health when I’m the only person I answer to, not friends making backhanded comments that make me feel like shit and egg on the issues they know I’m dealing with. When you’re the type of person who isn’t necessarily kind to themselves, it’s easy to want to find refuge in your friends as a support system. But if those friends only poke at your insecurities and treat you poorly, you might just wind up taking care of yourself out of spite. If you want a job done right, do it yourself- and if no one is going to love me right, goddammit I’m going to do it.

My job remains insanely stressful, especially with my promotion. But it’s nice that the only drama in my life I can clock out of and forget about once I get home. It’s not perfect, and I do get stressed out constantly and have been pulling so much overtime it’s exhausting. But. I’ve been on my daily routine lately. Working out, taking my vitamins, solid sleep schedule, knocking out errands, doing all the small things I wanted to do before but always let slip through the cracks (like side work projects and goodie bags for my coworkers and keeping in contact with acquaintances). I actually have the mental energy to text people back, go on impromptu dinner invites, and clean my apartment.

It’s not lost on me that when I dropped the people constantly stressing me out, my daily moods got way better. How instant the change was threw me though.

This is such a weird, lonely, empowering time for me. I really don’t have any close friends, just coworkers I can hang out with outside of work every now and then and weekly phone calls with the people that live far away. I don’t do much outside of going to work and going home, but I’m okay with it. If I have to buckle down for a few months, focus on making my money and working on my mental health, so be it. Yeah, I’m a social butterfly who is trying not to go insane without constant plans and hangouts and parties. But I’d rather be a little bored than out and about with people that make me unhappy, leaving me so emotionally drained I don’t have energy for myself.

I know I’ve been panicking about the big 25th birthday (as I do for every year older I get, but especially this one). But if this is what my brain is like fully developed, maybe I don’t mind so much. Teenage me would be horrified at the lack of drunken nights out and romantic flings. At the fact that I always do the same errands on a certain weekday, get a ton of fulfillment from a job well done, and spend my free nights in. But I’m so much calmer. When the bad moments hit, I feel more capable of working through them and getting myself back to an emotionally stable state.

I had no idea how much my toxic friends were making me worse, until I decided I didn’t want them around anymore. I’ll probably fuck around and dye my hair a new color to signify this new chapter in my life. There’s a lot changing at the same time right now. But I’m super okay with it. Whatever comes next, I know I can handle it because right now I’ve never been more comfortable with my own company. If I’ve got to be on my own for a few months, at least I’ll be with someone who actually wants me to succeed.

[woozibby]

The Switch | Wonwoo

a.n. originally posted on my shared blog, but now i’m posting all my writing there to this blog instead. This is my main blog.

1 | Next 

// unedited

Your P.O.V

I groaned as my alarm clock rang. Sitting up, my vision shifts and clears and I see my two best friends already awake and ready.

“Morning guys,” I mumble as I rub my eyes with the backs of my hands. “What are you doing up already?”

“I have class soon,” Yeri says in a sing-song fashion.

She was the only one that could be so happy in the mornings. I look over to Sooyoung and I notice she’s actually only half ready. She had a cup in her hand and her hair was still a mess from waking up.

“She woke me up,” Sooyoung states, sipping away at what I assumed to be coffee. “I hate her” She lies.

“Oh yeah,” Yeri says, completely ignoring Sooyoung’s remark before she turns to me. “I wanted to set you up on a date”

Holding my hand up, I take a moment.

“One, It’s eight o'clock in the morning, two, I’m fine thanks and three, It’s eight o'clock in the morning!” I say, pulling the covers off of me. “It’s way too early for you to request setting me up on a date”

Yeri shrugs, grabbing a hair tie from her desk as she begins to push her hair up into a ponytail.

“I just thought it be a good idea, and I wasn’t sure when I was going to see you next”

“At lunch?” I say, but it’s more of a question than a statement. Sending her a look, I get up from out of bed and over to the coffee pot Sooyoung had on her desk, I grab my own cup and pour some of the black liquid into it.

“Hey, that’s my coffee” Sooyoung mumbles.

“With her talking about dates and relationships this early in the morning, I need it”

“How about it though?” Yeri says. “I could set you up on a date, you can fall in love and then I can be the maid of honour at your wedding” She giggles. Rolling my eyes, I shake my head.

“This is a dream- no wait, a nightmare,” I say.

“Oh, come on Y/N, it’s just one date!” Yeri whines, “If the guy turns out to be a creep then we’ll back off, but what if he’s the one?”

Ever since Yeri got together with her girlfriend, it was like every single person in the world was lonely.

“I’m fine being single, I like being single” I laughed as I tried to reason with her, but she wasn’t listening.

“Come on, Y/N! One date isn’t going to hurt” Sooyoung teases, She had gotten up from her seat on her bed- probably for more coffee. The look on her face was enough to tell me that she was enjoying the fact that I was the one under Yeri’s ’relationships are great, get one’ wrath and not her.

“Why are you even siding with her- you’re single too!” The black-haired girl shrugs in response as she poured more coffee into her cup, but it isn’t long until she thinks of something to say.

“You’ve been single longer than I have,” Then she rubs salt in the wound. “I mean come on when was the last time you had sex? Like a century ago?”

“Hey! I’m only like two months older than you!” Sooyoung shrugs again.

Rubbing my temple with one hand, I finish my coffee and grab some clothes to head to the bathroom.

“Why are we talking about my love life at eight o'clock in the morning”

“Or lack thereof” Sooyoung snorts. I send her a glare before closing the bathroom door behind me. I place my clothes onto the counter top and run the tap water as I grab my toothbrush.

“I can set you up with someone!” Yeri yells through the door, something about her tone told me she was smiling. “How about the guy from Momo’s dance group?”

“Hoseok?” Sooyoung asks, causing Yeri to nod quickly. “Oh no, he’s way to happy-go-lucky for her,” This causes me to send another glare at her. Sooyoung was walking a thin line.

Yeri thinks for a second, before nodding again.

“Yeah, you’re right Sooyoung,” I gasp again. I suddenly open the door and stare at them, my toothbrush hanging from my mouth.

“What do you think is wrong with me?” I ask, pointing at them. “I’m lovable, am I not?” Sooyoung and Yeri exchange a glance.

“Do you really want us to answer that question?”

I slam the door behind me and continue to get ready. By the time I’m finished, Yeri is about to leave and Sooyoung is also finished getting ready.

“I’m sorry if we made you angry,” Yeri frowns, picking up her lanyard and slipping it over her head. “I’ll speak to you guys later at lunch”

Letting out a small sigh, I send her a look.

“I’m sorry too, I’ll see you later” Yeri’s smiling again and nodding her head.

“Okay,”

-

The next time I saw Yeri was during lunch. I had finished up my morning classes and had decided to meet her at the university cafeteria for a nice relaxing lunch- or so I thought.

I was halfway through my burger and chips when she brought up the idea again.

“Just think about it, I could set you up with a really nice guy or girl if you want” Yeri’s picking at her salad, with no interest in eating it. Her and Hana had decided to go on a fad diet. Yeri hated diets, so I knew it was probably Hana’s idea in the first place.

“Why did you even get a salad? Hana isn’t even here” I say, as I slide over my plate slightly, offering up some of my chips.

“Because I love her and we decided to do this together,” Yeri says, refusing to have a chip, but the look in her eyes didn’t change. “And don’t try and change the subject!”

“Do you really think you’re in love with her? You’ve only been dating like what, two months?”

“Two months and thirteen days and yes,” Yeri states, looking down at her salad. “You know what they say when you know you know and well,” She pauses, shrugs her shoulders and looks up at me again with a small smile. “I know, I love her, I really do”

I honestly hadn’t excepted her to be so serious like that and I could not smile?

“I’m glad you’ve found that with her,” I say. Yeri hums.

“Me too,” but no matter what I tried, I couldn’t get her away from the topic at hand. “So please, I just want to see you happy too,” I push my lips into a thin line. It was something about the way Yeri was pleading with me that was slowly breaking away at my fight. Of course, I didn’t want to date- I liked being single, I was fine being single, but the way she was so fondly talking about being in love made me want it too, even if it was slightly.

“F-Fine!” I break, “But one date and if it doesn’t work then you leave the subject alone okay?” Yeri nods instantly and jumps in her seat.

“Yes! yes! Okay, I’ll set you up with someone really nice I promise” I send her a smile, but inside it felt like I had just drawn straws with the devil and the devil won.

-

Later that day. Hana’s P.O.V

Vernon was only half paying attention when I brought up the idea of setting him up on a date. He raised an eyebrow at her for a moment or two before turning his attention back to his video game.

“You know I don’t date right?” He says, which results in me rolling my eyes. Of course, I knew that he was one of my best friends after all.

“I know that you dipshit, but Yeri wants to set up her friend and you’re the only one willing enough I could think of”

“That and I’m the only one apart from Wonwoo and Soonyoung that’s single” I laugh awkwardly.

“That too”

“Let me guess, you won’t ask Wonwoo because you think he’d say-” I cut him off.

“I know he’d say no”

“Fine- that he’ll say no and Soonyoung, again let me guess, you don’t want to scare her with someone so crazy” I make a face to myself before I even begin to talk.

“That’s not it, Soon’s lovely you know that, but”

“But what?” Vernon buts in.

“You’d be more of her friend’s type than Soon is” I try to send him a smile, but it comes off weak. Pausing his game, Vernon groans and places his game controller next to him. “Come on, it’ll be one date and if it doesn’t go well you never have to speak to her again” I plead. “Please, for me”

“Fine, when’s the goddamn date?” I let out a giggle and I raise my hands in the air in triumph, before grabbing my phone.

“I’ll text Yeri and see what she says”

Hana<3

Vernon said he’d go on the date!! When’s best for Y/N?

Yeri<3

She said she’s free Friday! Eight PM!

“She says Y/N’s free Friday at eight,” I say, looking over at the younger boy, whose attention was back on the television screen. “You free then? Vernon?” It’s a moment before he speaks.

“Huh, oh yeah,”

“Vernon, I’m serious,” Vernon hums and nods.

“Yeah yeah, I got you, Friday at Eight, I’ll be there”

-

Your P.O.V

“So,” I started, shifting my position so that I was sat crossed legged. “Who’s the guy you’re setting me up with?”

“His names Vernon, he’s one of Hana’s friends,” Yeri smiles. Just the mention of her girlfriend’s name made her act like a teenage fangirl. Clicking my tongue, I send her a look.

“Do you actually know him?” I ask. Yeri shrugs, looking down at her phone.

“I know him, just haven’t met him if you get what I mean,” All I can do is roll my eyes.

“I thought you were going to set me up with someone you knew?” Yeri huffs, finally looking up from her phone.

“I would and I have, just trust me okay, I’ll make the preparations for your date so all you have to do is show up” Yeri tries to send me a supportive smile, however, right now I’m not feeling very excited.

“Fine, okay,” I say.

“Good, because your date is Friday at eight” Now Yeri is back to her giggly self. She slides her phone into her pocket and grabs her lanyard from her desk.

“Where are you going?” I ask and she just hushes me.

“I’ve got a date to plan!” Before I can say anything, she rushes out of the room.

-

Friday, Seven-Thirty PM

Ever since I woke up this morning, Yeri had been begging me to let her help with my outfit. Since I knew the best option was to just say yes, that was what I did. Now I wish I had just said no because Yeri went straight towards the dress I brought last spring. It was a nice dress, I just wasn’t confident enough to wear it.

So here I stood, in front of the mirror, with a maroon dress on that just reached my knees. I could understand why past Y/N brought it, it was nice. My hair was ready, I was leaving it down and untouched. I hated my hair when it was in a ponytail, or up in whatever style. I slipped on some trainer socks and my pair of maroon shoes and grabbed my bag.

Yeri was sat on her own bed, smiling to herself.

“You okay there smiley face?” I ask, making her send me a look.

“Smiley face? Girl, you need to learn some better insults” Rolling my eyes, I grab the things I needed and slipped them into my bag before going over to my phone where it was charging on my bed. “But you need to go! You’re going to be late!”

“I’m going! I’m going!” I go to reach for the door handle, but it opens before I can get to it. Jumping back, Sooyoung emerges.

“Oh hey, sorry Y/Nie” I wave her off with a smile.

“It’s cool, I’ll see you guys later”

“Have fun!” Yeri sings.

“Don’t do something I wouldn’t do” Sooyoung laughs, making me turn back quickly.

“And what wouldn’t you do Sooyoung?” I ask, with a raised eyebrow. She just shrugs her shoulders and winks.

“Wouldn’t you like to know”

Laughing, I let the door close behind me and I make my way towards the destination of my date. Hope, growing within my heart.

-

It had been ten minutes since I arrived at the restaurant that Yeri booked. I was sat, at my table, alone. I take a quick sip of my water to try and calm my nerves before I grab my phone from within my bag and send a text to Yeri.

YNie-_-

I thought you said the date was at eight?

Yerimm

It is! He not there yet?

YNie-_-

Nope, not yet.

Yerimm

I’m sure he’ll be there soon!

if he’s not there in another ten minutes, text me and I’ll call Hana

I lock my phone with an annoyed sigh. This Vernon guy was testing my patience. I knew I should have just said no to Yeri setting me up.

It was then, a few minutes later that a brown-headed boy walked up to my table, a small awkward smile present on his face. He was also wearing round glasses- they were cute. Not to forget that he was taller than me, I’m five foot seven and he could have been at least six foot tall if I had to guess.

“Hey, I’m sorry I’m late,” He says, holding his hand out for me to take.

“Vernon?” I ask which prompts him to nod his head. “Nice to meet you and it’s okay, I wasn’t waiting long” I lie.

He sits down in the chair across from me and smiled as his shoulders relaxed.

“So,” He begins. “What made you want to be set up on a date?” He asks.

“Well honestly,” I laugh. “My friend wouldn’t stop trying to set me up with someone, Yeri’s her name” A realisation comes across his face as he snaps his fingers.

“Hana’s girlfriend”

“Yeah!” I laugh. “That’s her alright” I look down at the menu, but every now and then I glance up. “What about you?”

Vernon makes a face to himself as he thinks. He then nods.

“Honestly, I’m one of the only people in my friend group that is single anymore, I think it was just time to try and get out there you know?” I nod my head instantly in response.

“Yeah, I get what you mean” Continuing to look through the menu, I bite my lip and begin to close it before I look up and notice him looking at me. “Would you want to go get some beer and BBQ instead of eating here?”

Vernon’s face lights up and he smiles.

“Of course, honestly, this place isn’t my usual type” I grab my bag and motion for Vernon to go ahead.

“Same here,”

Once we get outside, Vernon begins to lead me in the direction of his favourite BBQ place. I was right about him being six foot- he’s taller than me by miles.

He’s cute- I’m going to have to thank Yeri for setting me up, aren’t I? Maybe she is right about some things sometimes.

Once we got to the BBQ place, we talked and talked for what felt like hours. Once we finished our food, made our way back to campus. When we got to the front of my dorm, we stopped. Turning to him with a smile I couldn’t hide, I spoke first.

“I had a really good time tonight,”

“I did too” He responds. In the next beat, he continues. “Say no if I’m being too forward, but would you want to go on another date with me?” I nod.

“I’d love to,” I lift myself up onto my tip toes and kiss his cheek before pulling away. “So, I’ll see you again soon then”

A light blush graced his cheeks and he nodded his head quickly.

“Yeah, real soon”

Biting my lip to fight my smile, I turn around and make my way into my accommodation building. Turning around when I get to the door, I wave and he does too.

Between the door and my room, it felt like I was floating. Unlocking my door and letting myself in, I let myself fall back against it as I let out a sigh.

“Good date?” Sooyoung asks, causing me to jump. She’s sat at her desk, her face ilumated by the light of her laptop. Apart from her laptop, the lamp on her desk is the only souce of light in the room.

“God, you made me jump a mile” My eyes travel to Yeri’s bed and she’s fast asleep. “What are you still doing up?”

“Had some last-minute work to do,” She says, closing her laptop lid and spinning in her chair to face me. “So, how what is?”

I couldn’t help the smile that took form on my face as I placed my bag down on my own desk and slid off my shoes.

“Don’t tell Yeri I said this, but I think that was the best date of my life” Sooyoung gasps.

“Yeah, she doesn’t need her ego growing any more than it already is” Sooyoung laughs quietly. “But I’m glad you had fun, so you going to see him again?”

I hum in response, grabbing some PJs out of my draw as I head to the bathroom.

“Yeah, I am”

“So you’re going to text him right?” I freeze. “Y/N?”

“Shit shit shit,” I say over and over. Yeri groans, making us both pause and look at her. Once it’s obvious she’s still asleep, I continue to talk. “I forgot to ask for his number”

“Well, that was smart!” Sooyoung whispers, afraid of waking Yeri up.

“Don’t blame me!” I hiss, “I didn’t think about that when I was on the date”

“You’re going to have to ask Yeri for it” Running my hand through my hair, I let out a sigh.

“Great,” I mumble.

“Look, just get some sleep, and let’s figure it out in the morning” Sooyoung suggests. I agree and change into my PJs. “Goodnight Y/N”

[phcking-detective]

FOUND

Find Familiar: ch 1

Rating: E

Summary: Nines cast the spell Find Familiar, but instead of an animal, they accidentally summoned a werewolf. Gavin is just happy to have finally found his mate and start pack bonding with the half-elf wizard. His best idea for a fun bonding activity? Touching his dick of course!

***

Gavin wakes up with a warm, breathing body pressed against his own, and it's all he ever wanted.

Then reality seeps in like cold rain and he realizes it's just the one person, not a dog pile, because he doesn't have a pack. Only a wizard who maybe sort of magically owns him now.

So that's a great start to the morning.

He gets a stew started like he promised, once he finds some potatoes and carrots, one lonely haunch of meat in an icebox, and no spices beyond salt. There aren't many places to look, since the whole room is five, maybe six hundred square feet.

Gods. Gavin's a lone wolf living half-feral without a tent or even a fire half the time, and he still thinks this is pathetic.

He knows better than to touch any of the books scattered around—fucking wizards—so he doesn't try to clean anything while he waits for his new … boss? Alpha?? person, to wake up.

(He does risk moving a stack of papers to sit in front of the black leather collar on the desk. Not hidden. Just. Out of sight.)

"No celery?" the wizard asks.

Gavin bites down on a flinch and a few choice swears. Sweet Selûne shift him. Who the fuck goes from asleep to awake completely silent like that?

"No," he growls.

Nines blinks themself more awake. "Is your negative an agreement to my question or simply a negative?"

"Baby, I have no idea what the fuck you mean, but there's not any celery."

"Oh. Thank you."

The conversation ends there when he dishes out a bowl of stew, that Nines eats at their desk, one agonizingly slow bite at a time, almost as an afterthought as they work on creating papers and papers of writing.

Since the wizard is so absorbed in their scribbles they can barely notice food, Gavin strips down and takes a bath. The water runs hot straight out of the faucet, even without any signs of pipes. Sinking into a whole tub of it feels goddamn luxurious.

He's half-shifted before he even realizes, but Nines probably wouldn't notice he got out and swung his dick around like a propeller, so he doesn't force himself back. His hybrid form always feels better anyway, the best of both animals, with human hands and wolf senses, still able to stand and walk upright but with stronger muscles and thicker protective body hair.

He's still sunk down and amusing himself by blowing bubbles in the water with his near-snout when Nines finally surfaces for air on their own side of the tower.

"Gav—oh."

They turn around and blink at him. Gavin hunkers down lower in the water and prepares to force himself back, but even without actively poking the bond, he can tell there isn't any fear or revulsion from the wizard. He still pulls his snout of out the water and scents the air just to check, but … nothing.

"Good. Yes. Feel free to utilize any of the …" Nines pauses, stuck on the words. "Accommodations. Can you read?"

It's probably a fair question—especially since the answer is barely—but Gavin still hauls himself out of the bathtub and onto the sand pit so Nines will have to look at him. All the scars, the body hair almost thick enough to be a pelt, the way his bone structure is clearly halfway between one form and the other right now.

But instead of making the wizard flinch away and stop asking questions, Nines just grabs a different notebook and begins sketching him.

"Why?" Gavin growls out.

He can still speak, but just like his amount of literacy, the amount is barely. With lots of effort.

"Hmm?"

Nines looks up. Sort of. They lift their head at least, but their eyes stay focused down on their notebook, reluctantly dragged up at the very last second.

"Mm? Oh. Yes, here is your contract," they say.

They place the small stack of papers they'd written onto the dining table in the center of the room, then the two of them meet in the middle, each awkwardly taking a seat across from each other at the table, then staring at each other even more awkwardly.

"That is my brother's seat," Nines says.

Gavin raises an eyebrow but doesn't move his ass out of it. At least he put pants on before sitting down.

"I have never had another visitor," the wizard continues. "So. That has always been …"

They trail off, then grab their notebook and begin reading from it.

"My name is Nines. I am a wizard. I am thirty-two year half-elf. I do not have a gender. I use they-them pronouns. Pause for—"

They stop abruptly and look back up at him.

"… Gavin," he says. "I'm a fighter, thirty-six, werewolf. Born, not turned, so we don't really keep track of any races. You're either a wolf or you're not. Probably human though. Uh, he-him."

If they don't bother with human binary genders, maybe they'd understand just … switching genders? He thinks about it while Nines writes down what he'd said, like anything he says is actually important enough to be recorded.

Maybe he should let them get a little more attached to him before he tells them about the other crazy, evil wizard with a claim on him—and all the transformations they'd done on his body.

"Does your entire pack consist of born lycanthropes?" they ask, drawing him back into the conversation.

"Can just say wolves," Gavin grumbles. "And yeah. Haven't taken in a stray for a while."

No one does. That's why he's still—ugh, stop it. Fucking feeling sorry for himself.

"Is there a significant cultural difference between born and turned … wolves?"

Gavin stares at the wizard. Significant cultural difference, Selûne shift and collar him.

"Turned wolves don't have a pack," he finally says. "No one to share the mental load—most of the poor fuckers don't even know what's happening until they're already shifted and scared and starving. They've got just enough instinct to go back home, and then the screaming and running starts …"

He assumes he doesn't have to finish it from there. A hungry wolf sees something run, and they think prey, not child.

"I apologize if I ask simple questions," Nines states while still writing. "But I have never had the opportunity to meet a wolf in person, and so my knowledge is likely biased and incorrect. Is a coastal environment a suitable habitat for you?"

Gavin shrugs. "Sure. You gonna let me run around outside at some point?"

"Yes, of course. You may come and go as you please," Nines says. "How much land will your pack need? I do own the surrounding—"

His pack? Gavin stares at Nines as they ramble on about this land they own and how it's too rocky to support farming but has access to a cove, and the ensuing treaty with the local pod of merfolk, and—

And his pack. He has no idea what game the wizard is playing, but he never imagined it would include letting him "come and go as you please" and providing land for his—

"I don't have a pack," he blurts out.

Nines stops and blinks at him.

"Got kicked out."

He doesn't explain. It's impossible to explain just one thing, because it's all tangled together, in his mind, the words stuck in his throat. Refusing his pack's Alpha, bargaining to have his body changed and transformed, his womb scooped out so he could never be bred, never ever—

And where exactly that got him. They sit together in silence for a long, horrible moment.

"No one has need of a ninth child," Nines finally says.

"You really call yourself that?" Gavin asks in return, for lack of anything less dick-ish to say.

"Yes." Nines looks at him without any self-pity and factually adds, "It states all that most need to know. They do not need me, and I do not need them."

Gavin nods. "Fuck 'em."

"Yes. Well. I—" Nines stops and abruptly pushes the small pile of paperwork closer to his side of the table. "Here is your contract. It details what I … do need. And, expectations. I suppose the fifth clause is no longer necessary, unless you intend to create your own."

"My own … pack?" Gavin asks slowly.

"Yes."

He snorts. "I'm not going to run around and start turning people."

"Yes, that is included in the clause," Nines says. "Subsection A. Not to offend, but I thought it best to lay out a certain number of precautions first. B notes that you will be beholden to all the same laws as any other citizen, and C states you will make adequate arrangements for the full moon with myself or Knight Commander Anderson."

Gavin pulls a face at the rank. That shit's almost definitely a paladin. No sense of humor, holier than thou, and allergic to critical thinking. Just because you pledged allegiance to a deity society deemed "Good" doesn't actually mean literally everything you do is always going to be right or kind or morally just.

"He is also a lycan—" Nines stops and corrects, "A turned wolf, you called it? If expecting the two of you to … have commonalities … is unreasonable, then the subsection can be adjusted accordingly. The point is merely that you arrange for a safe and secure location each month."

"Yeah, we're not going to sniff each other's butts and be best friends," Gavin tells him. "It's probably how you feel about sorcerers and warlocks. Magic just looks like magic to me, but—yeah."

He stops when he sees Nines's face collapse into itself in the purest form of affronted disgust he's ever seen. This time, he can't stop a chuckle before it slips out.

"I can just stay here though?" he asks.

Nines unfurls their face enough to nod. "Yes. My power may be my own, achieved through my own studies, but I was sent to the same monastery as my twin. I acknowledge you have been sent by my patron deity, and I will fulfill my responsibilities to you thusly."

Gavin's eyebrows shoot up. "You're religious?"

"I worship Selûne," Nines answers.

Gavin stares at the wizard.

"Children born under the full moon often have enhanced magical ability," they explain. "She is also the goddess of navigation, quests, and all who work by night. It was the battle with her own twin that caused the formation of Mystral, the goddess of all magic. Many arcane users still worship her as such."

"And werewolves," Gavin says as how this shit all happened clicks into place.

"Your duties outlined in the contract." Nines stops and clears their throat. "Every power has a price, and mine was enacted at my birth. I have always needed certain accommodations. I realize now a mere animal would not be enough to serve as my familiar, yet a person has never been summoned before. A familiar that is both animal and person, however …"

Gavin nods at the stack of papers. "So am I your familiar or your employee?"

"Well, both," Nines answers. "You are magically bound to me, but you obviously are not a simple animal. I have made adjustments due to these extenuating circumstances, but this is a standard contract for all minions, assistants, and others employed by wizards."

He snorts. "Do I have a union?"

"Yes, subsection E, although you will need to opt-in," Nines replies, very sincerely.

Gavin taps the top paper to make a point when he asks his next question, and the paper suddenly yells the word "HEREFORE" at him.

"Oh, my apologies." Nines takes the stack from him and scribbles a few marks in the top corner. "There, the volume should be properly adjusted."

Gavin cautiously slides the papers back over, being careful to only touch the sides of the stack. He takes the first page off the top and pokes his name, one of the few words he recognizes.

"Gavin," the paper announces.

"I have paperwork I must complete to officially register you as both my familiar and my new minion," Nines tells him. "I trust you can be left to your own devices to review our contract?"

"Yeah," Gavin says.

"Very good."

Nines gets up and returns to their desk. Still no collar, only … this contract. Gavin runs his finger along the first line.

"The entity known as Gavin, herefore referred to as THE FAMILIAR, will enter into a magically binding contract with Nines, herefore referred to as THE WIZARD, to serve in the capacities of both a FAMILIAR and a MINION, as outlined by the Wizard Coalition of …"

***

Gavin nuzzles into his bed and groans. Three days of barely stopping to hunt and sleep to get here, and now it's been another three days of slowly figuring each other out.

Which hasn't been bad or anything. He got to run around outside, do a few laps around the borders of Nines's land. Cold, wet, and rocky, but he has to admit, he's kind of digging the melodramatic sea-side vibe. The air smells like salt and storms all the time, crowding out all the memories of soft earth and dense forest.

And he's got a contract. A "boss." That's the word Nines wants to use, so Gavin says that, but they both know he means Alpha.

It's good to have a job, food, and a bed, blah blah blah, he's really grateful and all, it's just—

Maybe not everyone has them or wants to indulge in them, but Gavin does for both.

And it's been nearly a week.

"Nines," he finally says.

He pokes at their bond too for good measure. The wizard won't pay attention to him unless he does. They'll look up and point their face at his face, but somehow their hand will keep writing in the scroll and they won't hear a goddamn word he says.

Even with the mental prodding, Nines barely turns their head. "Hmm?"

"I need to jack off."

Nines keeps writing for half a second before they blink and actually look at him. "… now?"

Gavin half-shrugs, still laying down. "I mean, tonight, yeah."

He's a werewolf using testosterone cream—kept in a jar in his coin purse, which was much more important to enchant to shift with him than shoes—who just formed a mental pack bond again. Full moon already past or no, his hormones are screaming at him that he needs to fuck.

But that's probably not Nines's idea of a fun bonding activity.

"Do you have adequate lubrication?" Nines asks, then continues with narrowed eyes before he can even reply, "Do not use my spell components."

Gavin barks out a laugh. "What—I'm gonna jack it with oblex ooze? That'd melt my fucking dick off!"

"Yes, it would."

He pauses. "Do … you know that for sure?"

Nines sighs. Deeply. "I attended an academy meant to train paladins, clerics, and perhaps the odd druid."

"All the most repressed spellcasters, huh?"

Nines doesn't deny it. Gavin snorts, imagining all the magically-inclined tithe-children being told to keep themselves pure so they can be properly donated to the gods turning into magically-inclined teenagers hit with guilt and libido in equal measure—and all the idiot fuckery they probably got up to without any actual education about their bodies.

"Do you have adequate lubrication?" Nines asks again. "I do not keep supplies for that on hand."

"You don't keep supplies or you don't uh, keep anything on hand?" Gavin wiggles his eyebrows.

Nines flushes and glares like they're still a prefect at that academy. "I—that is not—"

Gavin raises his own hands to prove they're above the sheets. "If that's not any of my business, sure. Figured that, honestly. Which is why I'm telling you that I've got needs, but I can just go downstairs if you want."

"Downstairs?" Nines frowns less furiously.

"That little entranceway at the door is large enou—"

"I'm not going to send you out into the hall," Nines says, like that's what will make them clutch their pearls in shock. "You can stay in your own bed."

"Yeah?" Gavin gives the wizard a once over. "I'm good with that. So good. But what I'm willing to do with pack and what you think is appropriate for a roommate probably isn't the same thing."

Nines's frown turns more calculating, like they're correcting the runes in a spell. "We are discussing you staying in your bed to masturbate while I continue my studies, correct?"

"… yeah?"

"Are you going to call me names, attempt to touch me, or—"

"No, no," Gavin rushes to reassure them. "I can just …"

He moves his hand down and cups himself, just to demonstrate that he's only going to be touching his own body, before he remembers that's not socially acceptable around humans either. Nines only cocks their head to the side though, a mild curiosity leaking through their mental bond.

And fuck, just his hand feels good right now. It's been nearly a goddamn week.

"Do you have adequate lubrication?" Nines asks.

Gavin shivers under the sound of their voice. "Don't need it. Get wet enough myself."

He feels the bond pulse again with that academic sort of curiosity, like Nines is going to start taking notes on him again while he jacks off. He pushes his trousers down, moving slowly enough to give his boss plenty of time to look away. He isn't wearing smalls of course. They'd just be another piece he'd have to pay to get enchanted.

Nines eyes his cock like they might sketch it in exact anatomical detail.

Gavin doesn't mention how he got it—his bargain and the Collar, the collapsed tower, the vows of vengeance—he'll get around to confessing it all eventually. But in the meantime: a fun bonding activity.

Gavin grips his cock and gives it a few strokes. Nines blinks in a way that's more like shutting their eyes repeatedly. He exhales slowly and makes himself stop, although he does still keep his hand held loosely around the base.

"If you don't want echoes, you'll have to wall off your mind on your own end," he advises Nines. "I'm uh … a little too busy here to concentrate."

"Echoes," Nines repeats.

Shit, right. Human. Doesn't seem to specialize in any divination or enchantment magic—so they probably don't have any experience being inside someone else's head.

"Yeah, that's why I offered to," He jerks his chin at the door. "Distance helps, some."

Nines does that tiny little head tilt again. "May I observe?"

Gavin licks his lips. "Yeah."

"May I ignore you?" they ask next.

"Uh, sure?"

He doesn't have any human hangups about nudity, but he's not going to whip his dick out and waggle it at anyone who doesn't want to see it. Jacking off in the same room is probably already pushing it, but then again, the rules seem to be different in boarding schools and barracks and sometimes bars but sometimes not—humans have so many weird fucking rules.

"Then," Nines says. "You do as you please, and I will do the same."

"Works for me."

Gavin gives his cock another squeeze, and Nines turns back to their scroll. Yeah, he's a little disappointed about that, but it's enough just to have his pack in the same room and know he's not alone.

Since the wizard isn't watching anyway, Gavin rolls over and shoves a blanket down around his crotch. He has a whole nest of them, all piled up on top of a mattress Nines insisted he have. They'd tried to bring in an actual bed, but it's just weird, sleeping so high up and away from the ground for no reason.

He gets a soft little mound built up and grips himself again through the blanket. Even if Nines makes him wash it after, this will make his bed smell like him and home and—

Gavin buries his face into his pillow and inhales. It still has Nines's scent on it. All the blankets do too, so now they'll smell like the both of them, like pack.

He feels a fresh jab of interest spike back through their bond and guesses Nines is watching him again. Maybe jacking off right in front of them like that was a little too much, but with everything mostly out of view now, they're back to curious again.

It only takes him a minute to build up a steady rhythm, rutting into the blankets and his own hand. He groans into the pillow and hears Nines breathe in sharply.

Echoes. He grins and keeps going.

He doesn't know what kind of needs Nines has or wants to fulfill, but he likes the thought of making them feel good. Would like it even better if he could crawl over between the wizard's legs and find out what they're working with by licking it.

"Gavin …"

The wolf whines in response to his name in his Alpha's mouth. He squeezes his hand tighter at the base of his cock against the knot trying to plump up there, just in case Nines wants it.

"Yeah, baby?" Gavin manages to growl.

"Oh."

Nines breathes the word, and Gavin can feel a small simmer of arousal bounce back and forth between them—this time from the wizard's end, not his.

"Does it always feel like this?" they ask.

He groans in answer, the only response he has to the soft wonder in their voice. He knows humans' senses are weak and dull, that they don't get hit with lust and frenzy the same way wolves do.

But hearing the awe in his human's voice the first time they feel it too makes him want to show them how good it can really feel.

"Yeah," he bites out. "Better with … you."

His canines get in the way of the words, the partial shift rippling through his body. He's never had particularly good control of it, so there's no stopping the change now when his blood's up.

"Are you wet?"

The question stabs through him. Gavin loses his rhythm with a whimper, nearly overcome with the instinct to crawl over and show his Alpha, present his cock or his mouth or whatever hole they want to use.

And he is wet. He can feel it dripping down the length of his cock, more pooling at the head, smearing into the palm of his hand.

"Uh huh," he pants.

Gavin bites down into the blankets as he ruts harder, but a sharply clicked tongue brings him back to awareness. He turns his head to the side and blearily stares up at Nines as he continues fucking his own hand.

"I would like to hear you," Nines says.

"Baby," Gavin breathes in reply.

Nines closes their eyes and shivers. Well, if they like his voice …

"Wanna lick you," he says. "Suck on you and make you—ahhh, make you feel good."

"I—" Nines stares at him with wide eyes.

"Shh, shhh." Gavin keeps making the noise in a low mumble as he slows down his pace into a dirty grind. "Gotcha baby, get my mouth on your nipples an' your neck, your mouth, make you wet too."

"I don't usually like to be touched," Nines admits.

Gavin's brain snatches onto the word usually, but he doesn't want to push. There's some shit he knows for sure he won't ever do, but then there's a lot more he just doesn't know if he really doesn't want, or maybe only in the right situation, with the right pronouns and body parts, the right person, but then how is he supposed to know if he wants it enough to try it if he won't know if he actually wants it until he's already tried it?

So that's a whole big nest of wyverns, and neither of them need to try to sort it out right this moment.

"Can give you this though, yeah?" Gavin asks.

He twists his wrist on the upstroke against the head, but then stops and holds completely still. Nines tries to strangle a whine in their throat at the lost sensation.

"… yes."

That confession sounds much better. Gavin grins at the wizard and starts thrusting again, still looking at them. Their long eyelashes and shoulder-length hair almost soften their face into pretty, but then thin lips, a straight nose, and strong jaw sharpen the effect back up again. And the ice-blue eyes set against pale skin and black hair just sends it all careening past beautiful or handsome into big words about being scary-haunting-magical that the wolf can't think of right now.

He can feel his orgasm building up, drowning in those eyes staring right back at him, but he squeezes harshly at the base of his cock. The sensation strangles at the root, like the little moans Nines won't let escape their mouth.

He probably shouldn't tempt it, but he sinks into the feeling of tightening and loosening his grip around his knot and the waves of pleasure that sends rolling through them both.

"You," Nines says but can't seem to find anymore words.

"Mmgff." Gavin huffs into the pillow and tries to make his own words work. "Good, feels good. Sorry. Won't knot if—fffuck."

If that scares you. Disgusts you. Bores you, to be stuck listening to him come and come and come while the exasperated wizard is trying to focus on their studies.

He pries his eyes back open when he hears footsteps and stares up at Nines paused in an awkward-half crouch over him, like they're not sure if they're allowed to touch. His tail makes the decision for both of them by immediately wagging in anticipation of pets and attention.

"May I touch you?" Nines still asks.

Gavin nods past a desperate whine. A hand slides up the back of his neck first, while another soothes over his bare flank. Must've kicked off his trousers at some point. All that matters is the hand on the back of his neck, pinning him down, holding him place, exactly where he should be for his Alpha.

His tail wags harder.

"May I see?"

The hands urge him to roll over, and he does, without hesitation, like a dog showing his belly when his master comes home.

Laying on his back like this, he knows the partial shift is even more apparent. Just about everything humans think they know is bullshit, but his hybrid form really does look like those shitty illustrations of big scary wolf men.

And that's without the thick, hairy cock jutting out between his legs.

He's proud of it, wanted it, needed it, but that was for himself. He wasn't trying to impress anyone, and he's not expecting a human to like it.

"Does your phallus typically have this appearance, or is it increasingly engorged due to your partial transformation?" Nines asks.

Gavin stares up at them and tries to impress through their mental bond just how many fucking words that was.

Nines flushes and tries again. "Does it get bigger when you shift?"

"Yeah," he says. "Touch me?"

He holds his cock slightly out toward the wizard in offering. Nines hums in consideration but doesn't make any move toward it. That's fair.

"Do you knot without …" They struggle with the words again. "Sex?"

Gavin strokes himself, tugging upward and pause at the head. It leaves his knot free below, not quite there yet, but noticeably swollen under the attention.

"Can. Sometimes."

"Will you show me?"

Nines stares down at him and meeting their eyes is like looking at the moon. Humans want so badly to sort everything into Good or Bad, even the deities they worship. But some things aren't good or bad, only intense.

Gavin nods, mouth slack and panting. He wraps his left hand around his knot to work it while his right keeps stroking the rest. Nines's eyes sweep up and down him like a search light scanning for a rogue.

"Feel … good?" he asks between pants.

Maybe he's already asked, but it's hard to think right now. He tugs at the bond, trying to pull Nines's mind closer to him, get them to come down out of the sky and feel it with him. The wizard's hands clench into the robes draped over their kneeling legs.

Then they open their eyes again, and Gavin could swear their irises really have turned a silvery-blue.

"Behave."

The order thunders down their bond and into his chest. Gavin groans, the tightness coiled inside him easing another measure. He's not quite ready to unspool, but maybe—maybe just a little?

"I am asking about you."

Nines's voice changes from questioning and a little stilted to informing him of how it is, like casting a spell. Gavin doesn't have any ability himself, but as far as he knows, that's kind of how they do it. Spell casting is just telling reality what to do with enough conviction that reality up and does it.

"Do you want to be mine?"

Gavin thrusts into his hands in answer. It's sloppy and a little pathetic, because there's nothing for him to rut into. But he starts nodding again, just in case that wasn't enough.

"Like this?" Nines touches him for the second time, one hand gently curling around his throat. "To be mine."

He's coming undone. Falling apart. Food and shelter and an Alpha, their own little pack of two, someone touching him and promising to claim him.

"Suh … 'posed to be … yours."

He knows it's true, it's true, true. The call in his mind, their contract, both of them bound by Selûne.

"Yes," Nines confirms. "Show me."

Gavin comes almost before they finish speaking. He tries to hold eye contact as long as he can, but eventually his own squeeze shut as he curls in on himself with a shudder. The first wave passes deceptively quick, with just a few spurts from his cock.

But he's not done.

"Good boy."

Those hands are back again, just like before, this time encouraging him to roll back onto his belly. They stroke through his hair and scritch behind his ears when he obeys, and he thinks life couldn't possibly get any better until there's a warm body sliding onto the mattress behind him.

Then he's being spooned and everything inside him unravels without any warning.

When he's done coming for the second time, he's aware of a few things: the hand wrapped back around his throat, first. That the gangly half-human, half-elf is tall enough to almost envelope him completely. The soft murmur of praise in his ear, shifted halfway up his head now and nearly wolf-like.

Yours.

It's harder to send the thought out when he's only partially shifted. Even with other wolves, they all share best as animals, some basic concepts as hybrids, and only faint echoes when unshifted.

But being the wizard's familiar must be different, since he'd heard the summons in his head from damn near across the country, in all forms, while Nines can't shift at all.

You are mine. I will take care of you, if you allow me to keep you.

Oh yeah, that's definitely different. Wolves share senses and feelings, not full sentences.

Keep me, Gavin manages to think back.

"Yes," Nines murmurs aloud.

The third wave hits him, and he sobs as he comes for his Alpha. His body is just doing the best it can to please, still managing to pump out another two shots of cum. He can finally feel a tinge of mild revulsion from Nines, but it seems to be aimed more at the mess than himself. Bold feelings from a wizard who left a hunk of bread to mold so long they mistook it for a stoneshroom.

"Perhaps I should invest in a toy," they muse. "A sleeve somewhat akin to a bag of holding, so that it can contain all this mess."

Gavin groans in a not-sexy way. "Don't make me fuck a void."

"No, the pocket dimension would only be applied at the tip of the—"

He can't help but start laughing. Pocket dimension applied at the tip—and said completely straight. Goddamn wizards.

Nines expresses their irritation at being laughed at by nipping his ear, and yep, there's wave number four. To their credit, they do continue to hold him until he gets another brief reprieve.

"How many times does this occur?" they ask when he's done.

"Depends," Gavin scrapes together enough brain matter to say. "More with … partner."

"Hmm," Nines says, like the feral scientist they are.

Gavin flips off his pride and goes straight to begging. "Please."

He's not sure what exactly he's begging for though—not to be forced into multiple orgasms while Nines observes or takes notes, or that the wizard will get started on that right away.

"Please, please, baby."

Nines pulls him back to rest half on top of their body, which lets them switch their right hand for their left hand around his throat without him laying on top of their arm. And that in turn frees up their right hand to drop down to his cock.

"Yours, yours," he mumbles. "Alpha."

"What do you need?"

Their hand brushes his own, the one gripping his knot. He lets go for an agonizing second to press their hand against it instead. Nines lets him wrap his hand back around theirs, using both of their hands to squeeze and lightly tug the knot.

"Ah … ahhh …"

"Ask properly," Nines orders.

"Alphaaa!"

He practically wails the word, shaking apart in Nines's arms and beneath their hand, but he can't now, it's not enough on his own anymore, not without permission.

"Hmmm."

Gavin cries freely, but doesn't make Nines grip him tighter or stroke him off. His Alpha will give him what he needs, and he'll take what he's given, like a good boy.

But that doesn't mean he can't ask for more.

"Baby," he groans. "Need it, need it, I—phck, please!"

"Yes."

The final wave sweeps over him so hard he goes blind, or his eyes shut, or he's back on his belly again, face smushed into the pillow, Nines's hand still around him and the blankets beneath his cock to rut into and it's not the last because Nines tells him Again and Again, until he's coming dry, throat hoarse from crying.

And then once more after that.

When he regains consciousness again, his whole body feels sore in the best possible way. There's drool running down his chin, tacky and drying to the pillow. He has his knees tucked up beneath him, but that's OK, because this is how he's supposed to present anyway.

Except the hand reaching between his legs doesn't breach him. Something soft and wet swipes over him instead, and he can't even muster up the mental energy to be scared, to explain why that's still there, that he managed to bargain for a working cock and all his insides scooped out, but that's still—

"Hush." Nines soothes him with another hand rubbing his back. "You did very well. All you must do now is rest."

Gavin sinks back down into the delicious ache and doesn't move while Nines cleans the slick from between his thighs, then further up to his cock. The blankets he'd rutted into have already been removed at some point. He knows from experience not even the best wizard on the material plane could wash his scent out though and takes a moment to feel a little smug about it.

"Yes, you came a truly impressive amount," Nines says. "Excessive, actually."

Gavin smacks his mouth before he can speak. "Your fault."

"Hmmm."

Nines stands when he's done and moves away. Gavin manages to flop onto his side and curl up. His boss did say he could sleep now. He just needs a little nap.

He gets a flask of water shoved in his face instead. The hand petting him goes back awkward again, pat-pat-pat instead of real pets. Nines doesn't seem to know exactly what to do now that they're done, but clean up and water was still really nice of them.

Gavin finishes gulping down the flask and heaves in air.

"I have work I need to finish," Nines informs him. "Have your needs been sufficiently met?"

Sufficiently met? Fuck, he's had orgies that didn't wear him out this good.

"Yeah," Gavin answers. "Need to sleep now."

Nines smiles at him. "Excellent. Good boy."

Gavin grins lazily back at them. "And when I wake up, I'm gonna crawl over between your legs and make you feel good too."

Nines flushes and half opens their mouth to protest.

"When you need a break from your scroll-thingy, and only if you let me," he adds.

Nines closes their mouth. They don't say anything else, but that means they also don't say no. Their blush doesn't go away either. They simply stand back up and sit down at their desk, spending far too much concentration fussing over the exact alignment of all their inks and quills instead of looking at Gavin.

Who keeps grinning, even as he yawns and snuggles down in his bed. He just needs a little nap, and then after that … he has all sorts of ideas for fun bonding activities.

***

***

This fic was commissioned by one of my followers to continue the first drabble! Subscribers to my Patreon get early access to all my commissioned fics 2 weeks before they’re posted to AO3 and tumblr ^^

[captain-emmajones]

in this life, we do not meet

Soulmate AU: The first curse never happened. Killian died 300 years prior to Emma's birth. They both live a life of loneliness, haunted by a love they never met, until death comes knocking at their door.

in which i made an angsty text post and people requested a fic out of it, hope you guys will like it <33

2000 words 🔱 angst 🔱 ao3 

dedicated to my dear friend @b99peraltiago because you’ve always been so supportive of my works i had to write you a gift :’) (sorry it’s not peraltiago :’)) 

The lyrics in italics come from Sarah Bareilles Once Upon Another Time, I had it on loop while writing and I really recommend it for the mood™️.

ORESTES: Where have I seen you before?

MOIRA: In a dream.

ORESTES: A thousand years ago.

.

Once upon another time, Before I knew which life was mine,

As Captain Killian Jones stands at the end of his life, on decks of his ship, still terribly proud in spite of everything, the waves tenderly cradling his boat are his last companions.

His crewmen were reluctant to leave him behind. They had all wanted to go down with the ship. With him. He couldn’t allow it.

“You are a part of my crew, mister Smee, and therefore you are also required to leave this ship –”

“— but Captain, I am your first mate –,”

“— I am well aware of that fact, Mister Smee. However, this is my last dying wish: to be left in peace.” To die alone.

His hooked arm guides the ship’s wheel, as always, while he presses a bottle of rum firmly against his lips. To distract himself from this poison inside of him, this hellish burn radiating from his chest – not only loneliness but the poison the Dark One infected him with.

It was yesterday. Or a week ago, difficult to be certain.

A seagull lands in front of him, completely unaware of his inner struggle. She sings.

He had been so close to killing him, after years, and years, and years…. And then she had appeared.

(He thinks he saw her first the day Milah died. Well, he didn’t properly see her.

But, as he lied sobbing in the safety of his own cabin, he did feel the warmth of a hand over his closed fist.

And it had suddenly felt a little less terrible, the hole in his chest, less terrifying the future to come, without her.

Perhaps is there so much loneliness the human heart can take before it begins to manifest something, someone, that doesn’t exist.)

She is an angel he has seen in so many of his dreams, visions, whatever bloody curse he is under.

Back on this very ship, the crocodile had come to taunt him and the blonde woman had begged him not to kill him. She said there would be repercussions beyond this life, and he wanted to believe her. Perhaps there was no other choice but to believe her.  

From the first moment he had laid eyes on her, years ago, he had known he was supposed to love her.

Perhaps not in this life. Perhaps one in which he is nobler, better, good.

The burn of a knife plunged into his chest had cut his thoughts short, and he had fallen down on his knees in front of his whole crew.

“Enjoy the ride, dearie! Your death will be slow and painful, just like you made my life when you took away Milah!”

The giggles of the Dark One still echo in his ears, but it is a fight he has definitely lost. It is a fight for the living, and he is dying.

He clenches his jaw as a brighter ray of sunshine plays on his eyelids. He frowns. He is drunk enough to numb the pain in his chest but not this gulf roaring within his throat.

As he is about to die, the sum of Killian Jones’ life is a lot of pain and wickedness.

(There is a tear at the corner of his eyes, one he firmly wipes with his hand.)

Dying alone is, after all, more challenging for the nerves than expected by the brave Captain.

A deep breath, to fill in his lungs with the salty sea air, one he’s loved his entire life.

Perhaps is he not so alone after all.

He has been haunted all his life by this angel of beauty, of love, perhaps of death. As if, maybe – just maybe –  things were supposed to end differently.

Bloody nonsense.

A flash of pain. The bottle of rum escapes his hand as his eyes shut in agony, a fire he knows sent from Hell overcoming him. His knees bend down, and his hand tries to hold on to the wooden wheel.

“Bloody hell, can’t it be a quick death?”

He chuckles to himself. What did you expect? The comfort of a loved ones’ arms?

Soon enough, he is unable to see clearly, and his head hits the floor, a muffled sob he isn’t aware of echoing on the ship.

Be quick. Be quick. Be quick.

And then, somehow, as darkness engulfs him and there is nothing but pain, a relief. A cold, white hand on his face – there must some comfort in death.

A smile splits his face open. “Oh, there you are… just in time, love…”

He thinks he sees tears on her face, and his heart screams: someone cares, someone cares,…  

One last breath, one last pang of pain, and he is gone.

(When the Jolly Roger is taken back by pirates with bright eyes and hopes, rumor has it that it is now a haunted ship.

The crewmen avoid at all cost to walk along the corridors at night, for a white figure lingers there.

She has blonde hair and translucent eyes and she seems to be waiting for whom will never come back.)

.

Truly, it is a happy life.

Although King and Queen of Misthaven, Emma’s parents offer her nothing but softness and love. She grows up sheltered by their good heart. (The one they share).

Oh, she does live a good life – one of very few heartaches.

(The few she endures are fighting against Regina, but it is never a lonely fight. Emma’s light magic is too powerful for the Evil Queen and she bends the knee. They evict her from the kingdom.)

Except perhaps when she wakes up covered in sweat, heart about to explode in her chest, eyes filled with tears, and she aches for whom she cannot reach.

It is not for a lack of trying. She feels like she’s dreamed of him her entire life.

Her mother has a knowing smile when she confesses her worries. Together, they decide to create an enchantment to find him, whoever he is.

(His eyes are of a forget-me-not blue, his hair of a dark brown, and there is so much pain in the absent smile he paints upon his face.

She wants to save him. Little does she know she is too late.)

It is truly a good life, except for that one moment, maybe, when she finds herself near the sea and she thinks she has finally found him and she discovers a tombstone with his name on it.

(“How can you tell it’s really him?” her mother asks.

She finds no shame in her heart when she replies: “He told me in a dream.”)

If she can make out anything in between her tears, it is the date: 1755 - 1789.

“He’s been dead for three hundred years,” she whispers in this foggy morning, one hand over the marble.

The sea breeze is cruel against her cheeks.

“Some things are just not meant to be”, Snow White tries to comfort her.

There is a moan that she muffles against her palm. But we were.

Being brought up in this environment of true love and happily ever after makes this burn over her heart even more painful.

(The pain comes from the birthmark she’s got under her breast, the shape of a knife enchanted with poison.)

But it is a good life.

It is however a short one.

The birthmark seems to infect itself, and the poison takes her over in a week.

Their princess is twenty-eight-year old when Snow White and Prince Charming lose her forever.

.

Killian Jones has always been a man of action and this after-life is a long agony of waiting.

Tik tok, tik tok,… Times flies but never towards the future.

At least, there’s still rum.

Rum has no taste back there, but there is a comfort in the habit.

One look at the clock. 8:15. The time of his death. As always. He drinks a mouthful of rum, waits for the burn that doesn’t come.

It is incredibly lonely there. It never gets more comfortable, warmer, it is forever dull and cold.

.

He is sitting in Granny’s when the air shifts. The door opens, and he instinctively looks up from his drink.

And then, a miracle occurs: the clock ticks forward.

There she is.

After all these years. He swallows down, tries to remain composed. His heart is about to burst out of his chest. The woman of his dreams is wrapped up in a dark red dress, a crown on her head, and void in her green eyes.

His blood becomes cold as his gaze meets hers and something within him urges him to stand up.

Welcome her.

There’s a flash of light in her eyes and he knows she recognizes him too.

“Killian,…”

It is awful to hear his name in the mouth of someone who cares for him, after all these years of heartache.

It is freeing.

The ghost haunting him for centuries is finally in front of him, in the flesh, and they are both dead.

A smile. “Well, I sure as hell have been waiting for you, your grace.”

Her smile then doesn’t reach her eyes but does break his heart.

.

“So, you are a royal lady?” a roll of his eyes.

He is playful to hide his discomfort.

They are both sitting outside of Granny’s, echoes of once upon another time dancing all around them.

She’s gazing at the furniture, surely taken aback, and no vision allowed him to fully grasp a glimpse of her beauty. Nor her kindness.

“Was,” she smiles, looks up at him and dives into his eyes.

She takes his breath away.

“And you are a pirate?” she enquires back, playfully.

Something hurts, in his chest. His blood turns cold. “That I am.” He is disappointing her.

You disappoint everybody.

“Well, my mother was a thief,” she quickly adds, she is perceptive.

Tough lass.

He smiles at her. And it is terribly tempting to fall in love with her in the blink of an eye.

.

As things turn out, she is so willing to love him and he is unable to believe he deserves that kind of love.

“I’ve known you my entire life,” she assures him as they sit on a bench by the underworld sea.

She wants to reach for his hand but he is cold and distant and terrified.

The air in this goddamn hell is unbreathable, and perhaps is it because they are not supposed to be breathing. It constantly smells of smoke and ashes, and she still smells like her old self, vanilla and cinnamon, and hope.

“You don’t get it,” he mumbles, remains as far as he possibly can on this tiny bench. He stares at his knuckles. And exhales: “You were the only flicker of light in an ocean of darkness.”

So many times, the only reason he had hold on to life was her face under the sky of a starless night.

A pause. “But I never deserved hope.”

I never deserved you.

.

She surely doesn’t expect him to believe he is a villain. In her visions, she has never seen one. She’s only seen somebody incredibly lonely.

She knows she cannot save him unless he wants her to.

She understands. He wasn’t raised with tales of true love and happy endings – and for heaven’s sake they are both dead and their skin is cold, but lord is her heart beating for him in spite of everything.

He’s waited three centuries. She can at least wait for the rest of eternity.

.

It takes a lot of patience, and kindness, and affection, to melt the ice around Killian Jones’ heart.

Hades doesn’t help her, mind you, is quite determined to keep them both in the Underworld.

“We can move on,” she tells him, still by the sea, “Together. Start over on the other side. Be happy.”

He nods. It isn’t much, but it does give her hope.

And when she grabs his hand, he lets her.

.

It is a very bright light, moving on. For the first time in this life, they do so hand in hand, ready to face all of eternity together.

But mostly, I believed in yellow lights, and tire marks. Sun-kissed skin and handle bars, And where I stood was where I was To be… No enemies to call my own, No porch light home to pull me home, And where I was is beautiful Because I was free.

[threeteentrio]

The Switch | JWW

Jeon Wonwoo x  female reader

Author: @joyfuljihao​

Note: This is my comeback to this account! Woo! I know this may seem a bit crappy, as this is the first thing i’ve written at least in this style for a while, but please do tell me if you like this and if you want to be apart of the tag list, please just send an ask! ALSO, should I continue this?

Seventeen Masterlist | next

UNEDITED

Your P.O.V

I groaned as my alarm clock rang. Sitting up, my vision shifts and clears and I see my two best friends already awake and ready.

"Morning guys," I mumble as I rub my eyes with the backs of my hands. "What are you doing up already?"

"I have class soon," Yeri says in a sing-song fashion.

She was the only one that could be so happy in the mornings. I look over to Sooyoung and I notice she's actually only half ready. She had a cup in her hand and her hair was still a mess from waking up.

"She woke me up," Sooyoung states, sipping away at what I assumed to be coffee. "I hate her" She lies.

"Oh yeah," Yeri says, completely ignoring Sooyoung's remark before she turns to me. "I wanted to set you up on a date"

Holding my hand up, I take a moment.

"One, It's eight o'clock in the morning, two, I'm fine thanks and three, It's eight o'clock in the morning!" I say, pulling the covers off of me. "It's way too early for you to request setting me up on a date"

Yeri shrugs, grabbing a hair tie from her desk as she begins to push her hair up into a ponytail.

"I just thought it be a good idea, and I wasn’t sure when I was going to see you next"

"At lunch?" I say, but it’s more of a question than a statement. Sending her a look, I get up from out of bed and over to the coffee pot Sooyoung had on her desk, I grab my own cup and pour some of the black liquid into it.

"Hey, that's my coffee" Sooyoung mumbles.

"With her talking about dates and relationships this early in the morning, I need it"

"How about it though?" Yeri says. "I could set you up on a date, you can fall in love and then I can be the maid of honour at your wedding" She giggles. Rolling my eyes, I shake my head.

"This is a dream- no wait, a nightmare," I say.

"Oh, come on Y/N, it's just one date!" Yeri whines, "If the guy turns out to be a creep then we'll back off, but what if he's the one?"

Ever since Yeri got together with her girlfriend, it was like every single person in the world was lonely.

"I'm fine being single, I like being single" I laughed as I tried to reason with her, but she wasn't listening.

"Come on, Y/N! One date isn't going to hurt" Sooyoung teases, She had gotten up from her seat on her bed- probably for more coffee. The look on her face was enough to tell me that she was enjoying the fact that I was the one under Yeri's 'relationships are great, get one' wrath and not her.

"Why are you even siding with her- you're single too!" The black-haired girl shrugs in response as she poured more coffee into her cup, but it isn't long until she thinks of something to say.

"You've been single longer than I have," Then she rubs salt in the wound. "I mean come on when was the last time you had sex? Like a century ago?"

"Hey! I'm only like two months older than you!" Sooyoung shrugs again.

Rubbing my temple with one hand, I finish my coffee and grab some clothes to head to the bathroom.

"Why are we talking about my love life at eight o'clock in the morning"

"Or lack thereof" Sooyoung snorts. I send her a glare before closing the bathroom door behind me. I place my clothes onto the counter top and run the tap water as I grab my toothbrush.

"I can set you up with someone!" Yeri yells through the door, something about her tone told me she was smiling. "How about the guy from Momo's dance group?"

"Hoseok?" Sooyoung asks, causing Yeri to nod quickly. "Oh no, he's way to happy-go-lucky for her," This causes me to send another glare at her. Sooyoung was walking a thin line.

Yeri thinks for a second, before nodding again.

"Yeah, you're right Sooyoung," I gasp again. I suddenly open the door and stare at them, my toothbrush hanging from my mouth.

"What do you think is wrong with me?" I ask, pointing at them. "I'm lovable, am I not?" Sooyoung and Yeri exchange a glance.

"Do you really want us to answer that question?"

I slam the door behind me and continue to get ready. By the time I'm finished, Yeri is about to leave and Sooyoung is also finished getting ready.

"I'm sorry if we made you angry," Yeri frowns, picking up her lanyard and slipping it over her head. "I'll speak to you guys later at lunch"

Letting out a small sigh, I send her a look.

"I'm sorry too, I'll see you later" Yeri's smiling again and nodding her head.

"Okay,"

-

The next time I saw Yeri was during lunch. I had finished up my morning classes and had decided to meet her at the university cafeteria for a nice relaxing lunch- or so I thought.

I was halfway through my burger and chips when she brought up the idea again.

"Just think about it, I could set you up with a really nice guy or girl if you want" Yeri's picking at her salad, with no interest in eating it. Her and Hana had decided to go on a fad diet. Yeri hated diets, so I knew it was probably Hana's idea in the first place.

"Why did you even get a salad? Hana isn't even here" I say, as I slide over my plate slightly, offering up some of my chips.

"Because I love her and we decided to do this together," Yeri says, refusing to have a chip, but the look in her eyes didn't change. "And don't try and change the subject!"

"Do you really think you're in love with her? You've only been dating like what, two months?"

"Two months and thirteen days and yes," Yeri states, looking down at her salad. "You know what they say when you know you know and well," She pauses, shrugs her shoulders and looks up at me again with a small smile. "I know, I love her, I really do"

I honestly hadn't excepted her to be so serious like that and I could not smile?

"I'm glad you've found that with her," I say. Yeri hums.

"Me too," but no matter what I tried, I couldn't get her away from the topic at hand. "So please, I just want to see you happy too," I push my lips into a thin line. It was something about the way Yeri was pleading with me that was slowly breaking away at my fight. Of course, I didn't want to date- I liked being single, I was fine being single, but the way she was so fondly talking about being in love made me want it too, even if it was slightly.

"F-Fine!" I break, "But one date and if it doesn't work then you leave the subject alone okay?" Yeri nods instantly and jumps in her seat.

"Yes! yes! Okay, I'll set you up with someone really nice I promise" I send her a smile, but inside it felt like I had just drawn straws with the devil and the devil won.

-

Later that day. Hana's P.O.V

Vernon was only half paying attention when I brought up the idea of setting him up on a date. He raised an eyebrow at her for a moment or two before turning his attention back to his video game.

"You know I don't date right?" He says, which results in me rolling my eyes. Of course, I knew that he was one of my best friends after all.

"I know that you dipshit, but Yeri wants to set up her friend and you're the only one willing enough I could think of"

"That and I'm the only one apart from Wonwoo and Soonyoung that's single" I laugh awkwardly.

"That too"

"Let me guess, you won't ask Wonwoo because you think he'd say-" I cut him off.

"I know he'd say no"

"Fine- that he'll say no and Soonyoung, again let me guess, you don't want to scare her with someone so crazy" I make a face to myself before I even begin to talk.

"That's not it, Soon's lovely you know that, but"

"But what?" Vernon buts in.

"You'd be more of her friend's type than Soon is" I try to send him a smile, but it comes off weak. Pausing his game, Vernon groans and places his game controller next to him. "Come on, it'll be one date and if it doesn't go well you never have to speak to her again" I plead. "Please, for me"

"Fine, when's the goddamn date?" I let out a giggle and I raise my hands in the air in triumph, before grabbing my phone.

"I'll text Yeri and see what she says"

Hana<3

Vernon said he'd go on the date!! When's best for Y/N?

Yeri<3

She said she's free Friday! Eight PM!

"She says Y/N's free Friday at eight," I say, looking over at the younger boy, whose attention was back on the television screen. "You free then? Vernon?" It's a moment before he speaks.

"Huh, oh yeah,"

"Vernon, I'm serious," Vernon hums and nods.

"Yeah yeah, I got you, Friday at Eight, I'll be there"

-

Your P.O.V

"So," I started, shifting my position so that I was sat crossed legged. "Who's the guy you're setting me up with?"

"His names Vernon, he's one of Hana's friends," Yeri smiles. Just the mention of her girlfriend's name made her act like a teenage fangirl. Clicking my tongue, I send her a look.

"Do you actually know him?" I ask. Yeri shrugs, looking down at her phone.

"I know him, just haven't met him if you get what I mean," All I can do is roll my eyes.

"I thought you were going to set me up with someone you knew?" Yeri huffs, finally looking up from her phone.

"I would and I have, just trust me okay, I'll make the preparations for your date so all you have to do is show up" Yeri tries to send me a supportive smile, however, right now I'm not feeling very excited.

"Fine, okay," I say.

"Good, because your date is Friday at eight" Now Yeri is back to her giggly self. She slides her phone into her pocket and grabs her lanyard from her desk.

"Where are you going?" I ask and she just hushes me.

"I've got a date to plan!" Before I can say anything, she rushes out of the room.

-

Friday, Seven-Thirty PM

Ever since I woke up this morning, Yeri had been begging me to let her help with my outfit. Since I knew the best option was to just say yes, that was what I did. Now I wish I had just said no because Yeri went straight towards the dress I brought last spring. It was a nice dress, I just wasn't confident enough to wear it.

So here I stood, in front of the mirror, with a maroon dress on that just reached my knees. I could understand why past Y/N brought it, it was nice. My hair was ready, I was leaving it down and untouched. I hated my hair when it was in a ponytail, or up in whatever style. I slipped on some trainer socks and my pair of maroon shoes and grabbed my bag.

Yeri was sat on her own bed, smiling to herself.

"You okay there smiley face?" I ask, making her send me a look.

"Smiley face? Girl, you need to learn some better insults" Rolling my eyes, I grab the things I needed and slipped them into my bag before going over to my phone where it was charging on my bed. "But you need to go! You're going to be late!"

"I'm going! I'm going!" I go to reach for the door handle, but it opens before I can get to it. Jumping back, Sooyoung emerges.

"Oh hey, sorry Y/Nie" I wave her off with a smile.

"It's cool, I'll see you guys later"

"Have fun!" Yeri sings.

"Don't do something I wouldn't do" Sooyoung laughs, making me turn back quickly.

"And what wouldn't you do Sooyoung?" I ask, with a raised eyebrow. She just shrugs her shoulders and winks.

"Wouldn't you like to know"

Laughing, I let the door close behind me and I make my way towards the destination of my date. Hope, growing within my heart.

-

It had been ten minutes since I arrived at the restaurant that Yeri booked. I was sat, at my table, alone. I take a quick sip of my water to try and calm my nerves before I grab my phone from within my bag and send a text to Yeri.

YNie-_-

I thought you said the date was at eight?

Yerimm

It is! He not there yet?

YNie-_-

Nope, not yet.

Yerimm

I'm sure he'll be there soon!

if he's not there in another ten minutes, text me and I'll call Hana

I lock my phone with an annoyed sigh. This Vernon guy was testing my patience. I knew I should have just said no to Yeri setting me up.

It was then, a few minutes later that a brown-headed boy walked up to my table, a small awkward smile present on his face. He was also wearing round glasses- they were cute. Not to forget that he was taller than me, I'm five foot seven and he could have been at least six foot tall if I had to guess.

"Hey, I'm sorry I'm late," He says, holding his hand out for me to take.

"Vernon?" I ask which prompts him to nod his head. "Nice to meet you and it's okay, I wasn't waiting long" I lie.

He sits down in the chair across from me and smiled as his shoulders relaxed.

"So," He begins. "What made you want to be set up on a date?" He asks.

"Well honestly," I laugh. "My friend wouldn't stop trying to set me up with someone, Yeri's her name" A realisation comes across his face as he snaps his fingers.

"Hana's girlfriend"

"Yeah!" I laugh. "That's her alright" I look down at the menu, but every now and then I glance up. "What about you?"

Vernon makes a face to himself as he thinks. He then nods.

"Honestly, I'm one of the only people in my friend group that is single anymore, I think it was just time to try and get out there you know?" I nod my head instantly in response.

"Yeah, I get what you mean" Continuing to look through the menu, I bite my lip and begin to close it before I look up and notice him looking at me. "Would you want to go get some beer and BBQ instead of eating here?"

Vernon's face lights up and he smiles.

"Of course, honestly, this place isn't my usual type" I grab my bag and motion for Vernon to go ahead.

"Same here,"

Once we get outside, Vernon begins to lead me in the direction of his favourite BBQ place. I was right about him being six foot- he's taller than me by miles.

He's cute- I'm going to have to thank Yeri for setting me up, aren't I? Maybe she is right about some things sometimes.

Once we got to the BBQ place, we talked and talked for what felt like hours. Once we finished our food, made our way back to campus. When we got to the front of my dorm, we stopped. Turning to him with a smile I couldn't hide, I spoke first.

"I had a really good time tonight,"

"I did too" He responds. In the next beat, he continues. "Say no if I'm being too forward, but would you want to go on another date with me?" I nod.

"I'd love to," I lift myself up onto my tip toes and kiss his cheek before pulling away. "So, I'll see you again soon then"

A light blush graced his cheeks and he nodded his head quickly.

"Yeah, real soon"

Biting my lip to fight my smile, I turn around and make my way into my accommodation building. Turning around when I get to the door, I wave and he does too.

Between the door and my room, it felt like I was floating. Unlocking my door and letting myself in, I let myself fall back against it as I let out a sigh.

"Good date?" Sooyoung asks, causing me to jump. She’s sat at her desk, her face ilumated by the light of her laptop. Apart from her laptop, the lamp on her desk is the only souce of light in the room.

"God, you made me jump a mile" My eyes travel to Yeri's bed and she's fast asleep. "What are you still doing up?"

"Had some last-minute work to do," She says, closing her laptop lid and spinning in her chair to face me. "So, how what is?"

I couldn't help the smile that took form on my face as I placed my bag down on my own desk and slid off my shoes.

"Don't tell Yeri I said this, but I think that was the best date of my life" Sooyoung gasps.

"Yeah, she doesn't need her ego growing any more than it already is" Sooyoung laughs quietly. "But I'm glad you had fun, so you going to see him again?"

I hum in response, grabbing some PJs out of my draw as I head to the bathroom.

"Yeah, I am"

"So you're going to text him right?" I freeze. "Y/N?"

"Shit shit shit," I say over and over. Yeri groans, making us both pause and look at her. Once it's obvious she's still asleep, I continue to talk. "I forgot to ask for his number"

"Well, that was smart!" Sooyoung whispers, afraid of waking Yeri up.

"Don't blame me!" I hiss, "I didn't think about that when I was on the date"

"You're going to have to ask Yeri for it" Running my hand through my hair, I let out a sigh.

"Great," I mumble.

"Look, just get some sleep, and let's figure it out in the morning" Sooyoung suggests. I agree and change into my PJs. "Goodnight Y/N"

[theartofbeinganeldar]

The Art of Being An Eldar: Legolas x Reader Chapter 3

Summary: You, a fantasy-loving LARPing human from Earth, got dropped into a fantasy land that seems familiar to you, but you had no recollection of it. Lord Fabulous Elvenking gave you three days to find the portal that would take you home with the aide of Blue-Eyes and a host of Elves, but what you found instead was the portal was closed for another thousand years. On the way back, you saved Legolas's life, prompting Thranduil to grant you freedom, and after, you finally realized where you were; Middle-Earth. Thranduil summons the council, which is made up of powerful wizards and Elves, to decide what should be done with you...

Chapter No.: Chapter 3

Key: [Y/N]=Your Name [F/N]= Friend's Name [B/N]= Bro's Name [S/N]= Sis's Name [M/N]= Mom's Name [e/c]= eye color [h/c]= hair color [s/c]= skin color

Notes: I think Pippin's song matches the reader's situation very much, which is why I use it so often. I mean, your character fell from everything they know, their "home," and now they can't go back, but now they have this whole magical world and life ahead of them... Grief and sorrow, but things to look forward to in the future.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, graphic depictions of gore and violence (Cuz of orc battles y'know?), more angst, slow burn, some light depression in the first few chapters, some amnesia about Middle-Earth because the Valar say you're not supposed to have foresight, hard-core language, feels, lots and lots of feels, mentions of NSFW content, maybe some eventual NSFW content, LGTBQ+ characters, Thranduil being a jackass at first because he's fabulous, Legolas being a hot edgy prince that nobody can handle, Kili being an innocent bean, Hobbits being smol innocent beans, except for Bilbo 'cause he's been through some tough shit, Bard being dad of the year, Thorin being one dumbass boi, The fucking Silmarillion, awesome dragons, awesome Nazgul, awesome scenery, awesome stuff in general, Elrond isn't listened to by anybody, confused Aragorn is confused,  Denethor's a bitch as always, brace yourself for creepy as fuck Cream of Wormtongue Grima Wormtongue, Boromir lives, Gandalf. (yes these are all legit warnings don't judge me.)

Pairings/Ships: Legolas x Reader, Legolas x you, Aragorn x Arwen, Faramir x Eowyn, Thranduil x Elvenqueen, Galadriel x Celery Celeborn, Boromir x OC, Thorin x OC, Fili x OC, etc. general LoTR standard shippings plus some of my own cuz I can't stand my boys being lonely

Word Count: I try to keep my chapters short, under 2000 words.

Rating: Teen (14+) for now

When you woke up, you found yourself blinded by a stupidly bright light that singed your retinas off. "What the hell?" You shielded your eyes as you tried to find the source.

Oh.

It was Thranduil, and beside him, Legolas, the two so bright they could be hung on your porch as bug-zappers.

Ohhhh...

You were in Middle-Earth. Right. Without any memory of it except for bits and pieces. You did remember that you'd watched the movies so many times that you could've recited each line in your sleep and then some, but you couldn't remember anything but what pieces you randomly dreamed of or remembered, which were already starting to fade.

"Hi. Can I help you with something in my half-starved state?"

Blue-Eyes desperately fought a smirk. Thranduil was less impressed. "My son tells me you lost consciousness because of a lack of sustenance. What sort of repayment is that for my favor to you, may I ask?"

You cocked an eyebrow. "Excuse the fuck outta you, Thrandy, but I just learned about a week and a half ago I'd never see my family again. Forgive me if I got upset."

Blue-Eyes turned his head away, trying really hard not to laugh...

"Also," You went on with a forced cocky smile, "I just learned that I'm in Middle-Earth. Where I come from, all this-- the palace, the land, even your fancy Elven toilets-- were created by some old guy called J. R. R. Tolkien, collectively referred to as 'Jrrt.' Now, I don't remember a goddamn thing except for bits and pieces of dialogue and song, even though I knew the stories by heart."

Thranduil and Blue-Eyes-- who was no longer trying not to laugh-- eyed each other suspiciously. "You knew of this place in your world?"

You nodded. "It's very well-known. But, everybody thinks it's fiction. Unaccesible. And be glad about that, too, because if there were a well-known way to get here, there'd be lots of war, new diseases, and this place would be turned to shit, too."

Thranduil stared at you for a minute, before abruptly turning to Legolas. "Son, I am off to the throne room. I shall summon the council at once."

You waited until he left to ask what that meant.

Blue-Eyes smiled slightly. "Meaning, he is not quite certain what should be done with you. The council is made up of some of the oldest and wisest of Middle-Earth, including the wizards and those of my kin, Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn of Lothlorien, and Elrond Half-Elven of Rivendell. Do any of those names sound familiar to you?"

You shrugged. "It doesn't matter if they sound familiar or not. I never remember what anybody looks like. I just get an eerie sense of deja vu."

Blue-Eyes raised an eyebrow. "Deja... Vu?"

You sat up more, rolling your eyes. "It means having a sense of familiarity, like, really strongly. Whatever. Tell me who the wizards are."

Blue-Eyes sat at the end of your bed. "The most powerful of the wizards is Saruman the White, who resides in Isengard, on the edge of Fangorn Forest and the Gap of Rohan. The second is Mithrandir, who is most commonly known as Gandalf the Gray by most folk. The third is the much less-known-of and reclusive Radagast the Brown, but I doubt my father will request his presence; he dislikes his excessive behavior." He raised an eyebrow. "Have you heard of them?"

You nodded absentmindedly. "Yeah. So if I'm an Elf, do I like, have to learn how to act like an Elf, or should you let these really important people decide what to do after they've seen who I am?"

"The latter," Blue-Eyes specified, "But it would still be beneficial to learn Elvish. It should take them quite awhile to arrive; between now and then, you should learn as much of it as possible, after I've given you a tour of Mirkwood."

You made a wheel-like motion with your hands. "After I've eaten and taken a bath, I know."

Blue-Eyes patted your leg. A jolt of electricity shot from where he touched you. What the hell? "Good," He stood and started to leave the room. "I will leave you to your own; there is food on the nightstand, and after, a bath across the bridge there," He pointed, and as you looked across the way seen Elves.

Bathing.

Blushing, you looked to Blue-Eyes wildly. "I-I'm supposed to take a bath with other people."

Blue-Eyes frowned in confusion. "Do you not, from your world?"

"Um, no. We all bathe alone. Where I come from, one's own body is considered... Private, to everybody except your doctor or significant other."

"Oh, I see. I could have a private bath prepared for you, if you wish for it," He answered with a smile. "Even here, we may want to bathe on our own to relax. It would not be a problem." He sneered down at you. "I would not want you bathing in the shared springs anyway. You'd dirty the whole lot of them."

With a very childish glare, you stuck your tongue out at him, causing him to have the oddest look he'd had yet. You'd noticed something about him; he had the unique ability to create a range of dynamically comical expressions. "What are you doing?"

You took up a dramatically serious tone. "I am expressing the 'fuck you' gesture in an immature and childish manner used worldwide, even among the youngest." With that, you stuck your tongue out again.

Legolas rolled his eyes. "Very well, then, Sairen, your bath will be ready for you when you are finished with your meal. I will send someone for you in an hour, if that suits you."

"That suits me perfectly fine, but I beg your fucking pardon, was that 'fuck you' in Elvish?"

Legolas grinned. "Not at all, mellon. It means 'fiery' in our tongue."

"Okay." A wry smile spread across your face. "That I can deal with. But what does 'melon' mean? Both you and Tauriel have called me that so far."

Legolas smiled as he began to close the double-doors, though what they did to block you when the room had only two-foot tall walls, you had no idea. "Mellon. It means, 'my friend.'"

A warm feeling blossomed in your chest as he smiled-- for once, genuinely-- at you. You found yourself smiling back as he closed your doors. When he was gone, your smile toned down a bit, and you took a long, deep breath.

You were still upset. Very. On the inside, you felt torn to pieces. You figured it would be a long, long time before you grief lessened, if it ever did. But now that you knew where you were... It was different. You were sure of something. Where you were, and the fact that the Firemoon Portal would only open every thousand years. If you went back then, you'd already be connected to this world, and everyone in it. If time passed the same, your family would be gone, and you'd be mortal again, without a way to wait for the portal to reopen so that you could return to your new friends here.

But... You knew your family. They'd never forget you, and never stop grieving your loss. But, if they thought you might be somewhere better than Earth, and there was no way back... They'd want you to be happy. They'd want you to make a new life. They wouldn't want you to waste your life starving yourself.

You'd miss them... More than anything...

But for now...

You moved the silver platter on your nightstand to your lap, and started eating.

Home is behind...

The world ahead...

And there are many paths to tread...

***

"No, no," Tauriel corrected you. "Mae govannen."

"Mae govAHnnen."

Tauriel bit back an exasperated sigh. "Well... You're close enough."

You'd been in Mirkwood for nearly a month now, not counting the days of your imprisonment and searching for the portal. You wondered what made Thranduil (Who you still called 'Lord Fabulous' on occassion.) release you and treat you as an Elf, and as it turns out, it was Blue-Eyes himself.

Speaking of, you hadn't seen him in days... He kind of... Disappeared. There was still talk of him, and no one seemed to be worried, so you weren't; for Elves that lived forever, you bet anything that he had princely exploring and regular adventuring to do to keep him occupied.

Around the time he left, Tauriel approached you and asked if you knew any Elvish. Aside from sairen and mellon, you knew less than zero. Apparently, it was considered good Elven manners to at least speak a greeting to guests in their own language, despite what Leggy had said. Meaning, to different members of the council, you had to speak a greeting in Quenyan-- which was different from Sindarin, the most common Elvish language-- Common, and Sindarin. You'd memorized the lines, but it was the pronunciation that really befuddled your non-billingual ass.

Now, you'd pretty much gotten the Quenyan greeting: Mae govannen. It meant well met or something along those lines, but you had to add Lord Elrond Half-Elven of Rivendell. I am at your service. Which was much longer and much more complicated. All in all, it pretty much came out to, Mae govannen, Cundo Elrond Peresta-Elda mi Arcimbele. Nanye ketya veume.

English (Common.) was equally as long: Greetings, Gandalf the Gray, Mithrandir, and Saruman the White of Isengard. Welcome to these halls. I am at your service as well, should you need it.

And lastly, to Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn, you had to say the most: And ana lye, Heri Galadriel and Cundo Celeborn, elen sila lumenn omentielvo. Nanye aistana et ketya toled.

And to you, Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn, a star shines upon the hour of our meeting. I am blessed from your coming.

It was all a mouthful. A regal, elegant mouthful, but a mouthful that your tongue had trouble forming. In addition to all the greetings, you had to address them each in order; first Elrond, then the wizards, then Galadriel and Celeborn at once.

They'd arrived a few days ago, but you hadn't actually been summoned yet. You wondered what Thranduil had told them about you so far. He seemed like the type to exaggerate and make shit up: They're nothing but an abomination! They almost killed Legolas! They tried to kill me! They're dangerous and should be restrained! They toilet-papered my throne room!

The elaborate horns blowing signaled something evidently important; Tauriel's face lit up. "Mellon, it is Legolas! He has returned!"

Despite yourself, your heart jumped like a schoolgirl's. Blue-Eyes was back! "Really?! How do I look? Does it look like I've been taking care of myself?" Legolas would kill you if you weren't. Over the weeks, the blue hair dye had left your hair, returning it to its [h/c] color, even if you did still spike it up-- you'd been an outcast your whole life, so having short spiky hair when everybody else had long, flowing hair made you feel at home. You were dressed in dark browns, nearly blacks, in an outfit very similar to a tunic over leggings, knee-high boots, and all finished up with a long jacket, closed with Elven buckles.

"You look fine, [Y/N]," Tauriel assured you absentmindedly, and the two of you trotted down the many, many stairs and bridges to get to the massive front doors of the palace.

Thranduil and a host of other Elves were greeting Legolas, who looked as if he'd been in Sparkle Land for the last couple weeks. His clothes were in prestine condition. His hair was perfectly plaited away from his face. He wore a faint smile, as if whatever he'd been doing hadn't been stressful at all.

You and Tauriel arrived just as Thranduil finished speaking. "And you failed to locate them?"

Legolas held himself regally. "My apologies, my king. It will not happen again."

Thranduil glared down at him. "I should hope not. You will leave again in three days' time, after you have properly greeted our guests." As Thranduil spun on his heel to leave, Blue-Eyes bowed, rising up again as he seen you and Tauriel.

"Tauriel," He said, his face lighting up. She bowed slightly; apparently Elves didn't hug. He grinned snarkily when he seen you. "And [Y/N]. Last I saw you, your hair was strangely sky-hued."

You scoffed. "You can't even say sky-colored? You have to say sky-hued? Stupid Elves and their fancy ways. Good to see ya anyway, Blue-Eyes, even if you're a priss."

"I believe you mean prince."

You laughed, but it faded when he turned to Tauriel and started speaking in Elvish. He lead her away, talking, leaving you on your own. Your face fell. You wanted to tell him that you knew some greetings. You wanted to say you wanted to go with him when he left again. And the fact that you were already alone here only amplified the feeling of... Jealousy? Disappointment?

You watched them leave for a minute, before deciding you'd take a walk in the Mirkwood-- maybe it'd clear your mind. You nearly rammed into an Elf in turning around. "Whoops."

"Nothing to apologize for," the Elf said; thankfully, they'd caught on to Earth slang and understood you most of the time, instead of just assuming you were insulting them. "Thranduil Elvenking has summoned you to his councilroom. The council awaits you."

Your mouth went dry. All the feelings about Legolas ignoring you vanished in an instant. Oh shit. "I-I don't know where that is. You'll take me there, right?"

"Of course," Said the Elf, and lead the way through the twisting halls. He stopped before the one room of the palace that was actually sealed off from the rest besides the dungeons, with doors almost as big as the ones that lead out of the palace. "Here you are. They're waiting for you." He smiled slightly. "A word of advice for the introductions: let King Thranduil introduce you to them before you say your greetings." You bowed slightly in the Elven way as you thanked him.

You'd be lying if you said you weren't nervous as hell. Meeting a bunch of people, really important people... You'd met some important people before: soldiers were the main ones you'd met, aside from a couple of astronauts. Other than that...

Taking a hugely amplified deep breath, you opened the door.

Inside was a wide winding staircase lit  by gorgeously-crafted Elven wall sconces of stained glass and copper metalwork shaped into vines. Every step seemed to echo, and when you reached the top of the staircase, your breath was ripped from you. It was a pavilion. A pavilion in the one place you loved above all else: the sky.

Rails kept anybody from falling off, and it was roofed, so that you could come up here even in the rain. Birds chirped melodiously, and from here, you felt as if you could see all of Middle-Earth. Behind you was a huge mountain range-- you'd never seen mountains before. They were beautiful, snow-capped, and gigantic; the Misty Mountains, obviously. All around you, stretching as far as you could see south and a long way east and west and north, was the Mirkwood, and to the west and north were vast plains, hills, and valleys. Leaves, gold and copper, swirled around the pavilion, giving it an ethereal look. To the west, where you were facing, was a silver lake, wide and glittering in the midday sun. Standing tall and proud beside it was Erebor, home to the King Under the Mountain; currently, Thror. You didn't know why that name seemed so important, though.

You must've turned around in at least a dozen three-sixties, trying to take in what you were seeing. Even if you didn't remember most of it, here you were. You were seeing it, for real and for true, in person, in the home of one of the most revered Elves of Middle-Earth. It seemed unreal, like at any moment, you'd wake up.

A bird, queerly tame, flitted up by your face and up into the rafters; she carried food for her young, and you watched them with a smile, still in disbelief of the views.

A long sigh snapped you out of your trance. Shit. Thranduil waved at you absentmindedly. "Are you daft, vermin? I just introduced you to the council."

"O-oh--"

"Now, now, Thranduil," A wizard chuckled warmly; he wore blue and gray robes, with an immense beard and long hair. Gandalf. "If they really are of another world, then they are obviously stunned by the land. Have you not shown them their new home properly?"

Thranduil nobly facepalmed.

Meanwhile, you realized that it wasn't just Gandalf sitting there smoking his pipe.

Another wizard, this one with long, straight white hair and an equally perfect white beard, in blinding white robes with a white staff: Saruman the White. You didn't know why you got bad vibes from this guy. Beside him sat another Elf, casually, an ankle on his knee and an elbow resting on his higher leg to hold up his head with two fingers. He wore robes of brown and purple, and his long brown hair was held back with a silver Elvish circlet. That had to be Elrond; he looked amused, so you felt kind of relieved. On his left sat a guy who practically glowed, with long blonde hair and white and blue robes. Celeborn. Standing off to the side, with a kind smile like Gandalf, in a billowy white dress with a beautiful Elven circlet made of fine chains and teardrop jewels was a woman, a she-Elf, putting off wisdom-vibes stronger than Gandalf's. Her curling golden hair went well past her waist, and she held herself regally. Out of everyone in this room, she seemed to be the oldest, and the most knowledgeable.

Your Elvish greetings flew right out of your head for a minute, before Thranduil reintroduced you. "This is the council. With us are wizards Saruman the White and Gandalf the Gray, Lord Elrond of House Rivendell, and Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn of Lothlorien. Councilmembers, this is [Y/N], the one who appeared from a portal we knew nothing of-- and if I must repeat this once more, I swear to the Valar, I shall throw you off of this pavilion."

Gandalf actually chuckled at that, as did Elrond, while Celeborn cracked a smile. Galadriel seemed to find this all regally amusing. You bowed like Tauriel had showed you. At least, you'd mastered that part. "Mae govannen, Cundo Elrond Peresta-Elda mi Arcimbele. Nanye ketya veume. Greetings, Gandalf the Gray, Mithrandir, and Saruman the White of Isengard. Welcome to these halls. I am at your service as well, should you need it. And ana lye, Heri Galadriel and Cundo Celeborn, elen sila lumenn omentielvo. Nanye aistana et ketya toled."

Elrond looked impressed. "Well, Thranduil, you have certainly trained them well." Thranduil watched you with wide eyes. He hadn't known of your lessons. Suck it, Lord fucking Fabulous.

Celeborn bowed his head. "Your pronunciation is nearly perfect. Well done, young one. However, I doubt you know much else of our tongue yet, so for your sake, we shall converse in Common, if that suits you."

You almost said, It does. Thanks! But that sounded too disrespectful. "Thank you very much." You smiled, and took a seat when Thranduil waved you to the only empty one aside from Galadriel's.

Saruman started off with a wary tone. "Thranduil tells us you come from another world. Is this true?"

Out of the corner of your eyes, you seen Thranduil roll his eyes. "Yes, sir. I come from a place called Earth."

The councilmembers exchanged glances. "That sounds strikingly similar to Middle-Earth," Said Gandalf, and raised an eyebrow. "Are there any similarities between this world, and yours?"

You shook your head sadly. "Not anymore. My people ruined it. There aren't many places like this anymore."

Saruman stiffened. "Then what happens if your people find the portal? Surely, they will try to ruin this, as well?"

You made a face. "They would, yeah, but my people are also really stupid. It'd take a stupid accident and a lot of chance to fall through that portal again, and Legolas said that it only opened once every time a Firemoon happens."

"Legolas?" Elrond asked, curiously, as if this hadn’t been mentioned before. Of course it hadn’t.

You nodded, unsure of why you suddenly had to fight a flush at the mention of his name. "He helped me find the portal with some of his Elven friends when I first got here. We found writing-- he said it was used before the time of even Gondolin. I don't know when that is; is that a long time ago?"

"Very," Replied Gandalf. "Odd... A portal of that magnitude would have to be created by wizards of some sort, especially at such a time..."

A thought suddenly popped into your head. "Some people think we have magic," You piped up, and all eyes were suddenly on you. "But it never works. Not effectively. Just standard hocus-pocus and the power of suggestion. But hundreds of years ago, there was this really mysterious guy who they say really did have magic, which he used to help others. His name was Merlin; he looked kinda like you, Gandalf. But he was in another country, where I come from; where I was when I fell wasn't anywhere near where he traveled."

Saruman narrowed his bird-like eyes. "Then what relevance is this?"

"Because if there was one wizard like you guys in the past," You pointed out, "Why couldn't there be others? There's so much we don't know about history-- we're more intent on wiping out what we don't understand. What if the wizards traveled between worlds and time? Hell, they could be you guys from the future, and it just hasn't happened yet."

"They have a point, Saruman," Gandalf agreed, much to your relief. You didn't think they'd understand the concept of time travel.

"There is nothing we can do about the portal now," Elrond said decisively. "It is closed, and if we tried to destroy it, we could only do damage. It is an easy enough position to defend; should an army come through, they'd have only one entryway."

"Says who?" Saruman challenged. "There could be other portals we do not know of, some that people have not had the misfortune of falling into yet. How do we know that this invader is not a spy to seek out these portals and prepare them for war?"

You fought a sigh. Damn this small-minded son of  a bitch... You tried to think of something smart ass to say, but nothing fit the situation.

"They are not, Saruman." Lady Galadriel's voice was sudden, light, and smooth, like honey. It radiated outward with an undeniable power that could make anybody listen to her. "Their thoughts do not lead there." Shit. I mean crap. I mean dang. Mind reader. "They are afraid, and worried... They miss the family they left behind, but they are willing to make a life here, since they have no way of returning."

You nodded. "My thanks, my lady."

Lady Galadriel bowed her head in response.

"Build a life?" Saruman inspected you carefully from where he sat. "You are nothing but an infiltrator. Why should we allow you a place among the citizens of Middle-Earth?"

"It does not have to be here," Thranduil pointed out, and your heart shot to your ankles. "You have an unfortunate habit of collecting needy strays, Elrond; why don't you take them with you when you return to Rivendell?"

Elrond shot him a glare.

Um, I think the fuck not. Lady Galadriel, tell them I say no! Tell them I want to stay here! You thought of the views, and of... of Blue-Eyes...

"Perhaps they should be isolated," Saruman said. "Somewhere they cannot concoct any mischief. Rohan is quite strict, as Gondor is watchful. Either would suffice. Perhaps centuries of isolation in Isengard itself would keep them in line."

"Maybe the Shire would be good for them," Gandalf said. "The hobbits are quite peaceful little creatures. Then again, if isolation is what we are looking for, then Laketown couldn't be better. Or Dale; the dwarves don't let anyone commit any mischief from Erebor."

I don't want to leave...

"Lothlorien would perhaps be suitable," Celeborn added. "Or, maybe even the mines of Moria. I do not have much love for dwarves, but they would be kind enough to them."

"What," Interrupted Galadriel, "Does the subject of our conversation think of this?"

Silence fell. You took a deep breath. "I... I'd like to stay here." You seen Thranduil's head turn slowly to look at you, and you could hear him thinking, the fuck did you just say? "Please, my lord."

A tense silence fell over the room. Finally, Thranduil sighed. "I do not want you here, invader. You would have to prove your loyalty and skill beyond a shadow of a doubt."

You perked up. "Legolas is going on some super-secret missions, right? Maybe I could go with him. You trust him of all people to tell you the truth about me, right? So maybe I could prove myself then."

Thranduil thought about this for a moment. "Legolas is hunting for the orcs who are trying to overtake our borders. He found them, but he let them escape, even though they were a small group. He is leaving in three days with reinforcements; you may join him."

You almost visibly sagged with relief. Almost.

"However," Thranduil added, "If I find his report unsatisfactory, you will go with one of the councilmembers and leave Mirkwood. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good."

Elrond nodded to you. "You would have a home in Rivendell. It is the last safe haven of the Elves in Middle-Earth." He gave Thranduil a pointed sideways glance. "My people are welcoming and kind. They would be glad to have you." With a slight roll of his eyes, he gestured to Gandalf. "And of course, Mithrandir..."

Gandalf looked excited. "I would take you on my journeys with me, if you so desired. First, I would take you to the Shire. Very nice people, those hobbits. And of course, dwarves would be next."

"I thank you both," You smiled slightly, and you truly were grateful, but... "Then it is settled," Thranduil said authoritively. "Elrond, Gandalf, you are welcome to stay here until Legolas returns."

"I would be grateful," Elrond said, but Gandalf defiantly snorted. "I, dear Elvenking, already have arranged for lodgings in Laketown. Send for me once they arrive, so that I may know what I must do."

You felt buoyed a little. Gandalf didn't one-hundred-percent think you'd fail. And you wouldn't. You'd kick ass. You'd save Blue-Eyes's ass again. You'd come back triumphant, and Thranduil would have to let you stay.

Wouldn't he?

Thranduil left first with Elrond and Celeborn, followed by Gandalf and Saruman closely. Galadriel looked out over to the lake, all shiny and pretty and with her hair billowing majestically. "Why do you wish to stay among those who do not wish for your presence?"

You were stunned by the question. "I-I don't know... I've lived all my life an outcast... The hated one... I've just grown used to it. Being somewhere where people would be nice to me makes me uncomfortable. But there are a couple of people nice to me, and that's enough."

Galadriel was silent for a moment. "You think of him."

"Uhhh..."

"The prince."

You did blush this time. "I-I don't--"

"You are one of the Eldar now, mellon," Galadriel stated slowly. "Eldar only fall in love once. I have known many who have been broken by that which is unrequited. Do not be one of them."

You thought about her words for a second. "I don't love him... I don't even have like a crush on him or anything..." I've only known him for a couple days, overall.

Galadriel nodded slightly into the breeze. "Sieze it, if the chance arises. But if it does not, or if you do not think it will... I advise you to seek for a home elsewhere." You got the gist. If I do fall for him on my mission, and I know it won't go anywhere... Leave, even if I succeed.

Your heart was heavy at that thought, but you knew she was right. "Thank you, my lady."

"You need not thank a friend for giving advice." She smiled at you, and you left the pavilion with a deep bow, trying desperately not to let your heartstrings fall apart.

Tag List:

@tesserphantom​ @thedragonghostofmordor​ @hauntedsiriel​ @reclusive-chicken-nugget​ @naryamirie​ @legolasdeserveslove​ @escapingthoughtsandsecrets​ @sagabriar​ @brushwood-souls​  @taurlel​

If anybody wants to be tagged, just let me know!

[amillioninprizes]

An entirely too long post on how to fix Veronica Mars

So, anyone who has followed this blog for any length of time knows: 1) What a massive Veronica Mars fan I was and 2) how distraught I’ve been over the most recent season that debuted on Hulu in July. I’ve been pretty angry about it since it dropped, but the first month after I was pretty occupied with real life stuff. Now that I’m more settled, I’ve found myself getting sadder and angrier over time with just how terrible S4 was and what an obvious fuck you to longtime fans it was. It feels dumb to be so upset over a tv show, but this show got me through a lot over the past 8 years, and I feel like it’s been taken away from me.

 It’s anyone’s guess as to whether there will be a new season. Ideally it would end here with maybe an alternate ending filmed to avoid alienating fans further. On the one hand, the botched release, overwhelmingly negative response, and silence from the creators after initial interviews don’t look good for renewal chances. On the other hand, Hulu doesn’t have a lot of streaming hits, it probably did relatively decent numbers, and there are rumors floating around that its pickup chances look good. On a personal level, I hate the idea that this is where the legacy of Veronica Mars ends, while at the same time being extremely wary of what the creators have planned. I think a big part of the disappointment with S4 was that the movie and books set up what could have been some really interesting storylines and situations, all of which RT and co. squandered for cheap drama and to apparently turn the show into an entirely new vehicle; additionally I had hope that S4 would be a chance to rectify some problems the show has long had, but again, S4 exacerbated them. At this point I don’t expect anyone higher up in the creative process or at Hulu to give a fuck about the fans or making the show better as long as they hit streaming targets, but here are some suggestions:

Fire Rob Thomas

 While he created the show, it’s become clear that not only has he lost touch with the audience and the original spirit of the character, he doesn’t seem too keen on putting much effort into writing the show (as I will discuss below). Then you have his clear misogyny: his views that women in relationships can’t be interesting, that what makes Veronica interesting as a character is her trauma and how much she can endure, and the fact that basically every female character in the history of the show has a history of sexual victimization. He thought that making the Mexican cartel hitmen “philosophical” was subverting expectations (which says a lot of what his expectations of Latinx characters are). Then this is the way he essentially exploited his long term fan base to earn a new season of the show, only to turn around and tell us that we don’t matter. From a business perspective alone keeping him doesn’t make sense; selling a streaming platform on your loyal fanbase and then proceeding to purposefully piss ~80% of them off would be pretty questionable to me as someone in charge. The sheer cruelty with which he treated not only the fans who have supported him for 15 years (I fucking used to liveblog iZombie y’all. iZombie!), as well as how he callously dismissed long time cast members in favor of celebrity guest stars should not be rewarded. He’s admitted in interviews that he would be ok with younger writers doing a reboot many years in the future; why not just let him have a producer credit and then hand the show over to someone who’s invested in making it good?

Put a woman in charge and diversify the writing staff

A big problem with a) Veronica’s characterization in S4 b) RT’s ideas about what makes female characters interesting c) the show’s long history of problematic treatment of sexual assault is that it comes from a man’s conception of the female experience. The Veronica showcased in S4 and that RT wants to write in the future is very much a male fantasy: hates marriage and children, traumatized, DTF, and is too cool for other women. RT stated in interviews that he wanted to show Veronica at a “crossroads” this season in a way he claimed had been shown for men but not women; many female viewers found this depiction to ring false (few women are spending their time fretting about how committing to marriage after five years in an established relationship will bar us from strange sex going forward). In addition to having RT at the helm, most of the show’s writing staff for the majority of its run has been white dudes, which doesn’t bode well for telling the story of a female PI in a diverse community in today’s political climate. Putting a woman in charge would hopefully help rectify these issues to make the character feel more true to life and put a damper on the misogynistic storytelling. The show has a natural candidate in RT’s second-in-command Diane Ruggiero-Wright (despite her problematic history, never forget #KeisterEggGate), who has admitted to not being able to watch the last episode. Jennifer Graham, who wrote both of the books, would also be a worthy addition to the writing staff; while the books had a mixed reception, most fans agree that she got Veronica’s character right. And with the show’s problematic historical treatment of minority characters, adding more POC writers going forward is also necessary.

Bring back Logan (alive)

You don’t have to be a LoVe shipper to recognize just how integral Logan has been since the inception of the show, not just as Veronica’s partner but as a character is his own right. Logan’s journey in many ways parallels Veronica’s, and shows a contrast in how different characters respond to similar trauma. The most critical plot line in the show’s history, the mystery of who killed Lilly Kane, simply doesn’t work without Logan’s importance to Veronica. RT and his defenders like to claim that Logan was holding her back from true growth, which is frankly bizarre as he is the only character to consistently challenge her, like when he tells her that she obviously isn’t happy this season. Additionally, Logan’s scenes this season were the lone highlight of what was otherwise a painful slog of a season. Of the people who have said they would watch a potential S5, a good portion are only interested because they believe that the ambiguity of the last 10 minutes of the season means he’s not really dead (despite what RT has said in interviews). Then there’s what Logan’s death does to Veronica’s character, effectively cutting off what would have been an interesting character arc and stagnating her forever. No matter how much they try to shove Leo the pedo creep and other milquetoast RT self-insert love interests on us, no one else can possible measure up to Logan’s level in terms of being able to match Veronica as a character, intellectually or as a result of shared history.

Plus, the fact that we haven’t had a Weevil/Logan interaction since S3 is a goddamn travesty and should be rectified immediately.

Bring back Veronica

As sad as I am about Logan’s death, for me the most upsetting aspect of S4 was the assassination of Veronica’s character. For many viewers (including myself), the character we saw Kristen Bell portray in S4 wasn’t Veronica Mars but a different character with the same name. Between her abusive behavior towards Logan, her general indifference to her father’s medical condition, her dismissal of Wallace, and her racism towards Latinx characters (using a kid’s lawyer to threaten deportation: not a good look!), she was lacking the marshmallow-y center that always balanced out the pricklier aspects of her character and made her compelling. This change in characterization was especially jarring given that she was not this way when we last saw her in the books, where she mused about having children and sent her half-brother Hunter to summer camp (side note, but does he even exist anymore?). Many of us who had grown up with Veronica were hoping to see her grow with us as a character; instead we got an extreme regression lower than we’ve ever seen her. It would be one thing if they were trying to depict a PTSD storyline, which would make sense given her background, but since her change in behavior is never addressed by the narrative, it just makes her look like a cruel asshole and makes it impossible to root for her. This is exacerbated by the fact that RT has made it clear he has no interest in portraying her inner life, as shown by his wanting to avoid showing her grief over Logan’s death because it would be a real downer compared to the entertaining but ultimately hollow banter and quips he wants to focus on. Veronica this season was also just plain dumb: you mean to tell me that the girl who nearly got killed by Aaron Echolls in her back seat wouldn’t think to check her backseat every time she gets in a car?  (And let’s not even start with RT’s bizarre assertion in an interview that she apparently votes Republican). Not helping matters was Kristen Bell’s performance, which felt very flat for me this season compared to S1-3 and the movie; I don’t know if this was due to personal limitations or a reflection of the bad writing. Writers of future installments and KB herself would be wise to revisit S1, the movie, and the books to figure out what makes sense for Veronica’s character, leading me to my next point:

Get reacquainted with canon, develop a show bible, and hire a continuity director

This show has long had a problem with dropped plots, timelines, and continuity issues. Shelly Pomroy’s party has two happened either in the summer, or the fall. Then we have the movie paradox: Veronica graduated high school in 2006, which means her 10 year reunion should have taken place in 2016. The movie was released in 2014 and the books seem to keep to 2014 dates. Then S4 states that Keith’s movie accident took place in 2013, and mysteriously ages Veronica up to 35 when she should be 32 in 2019. Logan mentions an Aunt Naomi in S4--why didn’t she take care of him after Aaron was arrested (and what happened to Trina)? How the hell is Leo working as an FBI agent when he presided over the disappearance of the Lilly/Aaron tapes? Veronica is shown to be tentatively forgiving of Weevil taking the settlement from the sheriff’s department in Mr. Kiss and Tell, but is then shown to be extremely angry towards him for it in S4. This is just a small selection of the inconsistencies within the show. Plus there is the problem of repeated plot lines: Veronica rejects Leo in favor of Logan in S1, then rejects Leo in favor of Logan in Mr. Kiss and Tell, only for her to...reject Leo in favor of Logan in S4 (and RT says he wants to leave the high school plots behind). This sloppiness doesn’t bode well for a series that is supposed to be about mysteries, which require tight plotting. It would behove TPTB going forward to once and for all determine a timeline of Veronica’s life, keep a detailed record of past plot and character points, and have at least one person on staff who thinks to remember this stuff (RT notoriously has only a “solid, not spectacular” memory of the show, no matter what Kareem Abdul-Jabbar says).

Make an effort (and do your fucking research) 

Moving on from continuity issues to more general problems with the laziness of RT’s writing. He has basically admitted that he doesn’t care much about facts or characterization when writing plots--he shoehorns details to fit the plot rather than have it evolve organically from the characters and prior canon. I know that when writing it’s often impossible to make every story detail 100% accurate, but the extent of RT’s sloppiness is alarming. This excellent Reddit thread details a lot of the problems with S4 in particular, but this has been a problem since S2. Did anyone ever understand exactly why the Fitzpatricks were invested in framing Logan for Felix’s death? In the movie, it makes no sense that if Cobb and co. wanted Carrie silenced, they would add the complication of framing Logan for her murder--given her history, it would have been a lot easier just to make it look like she had accidentally overdosed. Given his previous patterns of villain writing fans were able to guess the identity of the S4 bomber based on casting alone. The mysteries in both Mr. Kiss and Tell and S4 are both ripped from the headlines, which indicates that RT wants to turn VM into the next Law and Order. Meanwhile, he complained about how hard including Logan in the story in S4 was, while Logan arguably had the best lines and most interesting scenes this season--apparently when you put an effort into things, they work out! This laziness extends past storyline issues and into factual problems that detract from the quality of the plot. Longtime fandom pals are probably tired about hearing me go on and on about how there’s no way Aaron’s lawyers could have gotten Veronica’s medical records due to HIPAA laws. Logan’s career change from naval aviator to intelligence is highly unlikely (and unnecessary, given that they changed it only to fridge him at the end of the season). Meanwhile, I know fanfic writers who have spent hours on the phone with strangers in order to research what type of firearm would cause a specific type of bullet injury. It’s very puzzling to me that RT wants to take the show in the direction of being mystery-only when apart from that one time he is piss poor at writing mysteries and puts no effort into them. I shouldn’t have to tell television writers to, you know, do their job but this is what we’ve come to in 2019.

Know your audience

A majorly annoying thing about the promo for this season is how in every single interview Rob Thomas did he was always talking about how he wanted VM to be like other shows and movies: Fargo, True Detective, Game of Thrones, Chinatown (which is apparently the only noir movie he’s ever seen). The thing is, if I wanted to watch those shows, I would; I watched Veronica Mars specifically because I enjoyed its unique qualities, and I would say most fans agree. The general perception within the fandom is that with this season Rob Thomas seems to have been aiming to dump the old, majority female, CW fanbase in order to achieve what he perceives as a cooler prestigious male fanbase; the issue is, new people aren’t going to take up a show in its fourth season if they didn’t watch or didn’t like earlier seasons. Also, trying to write a prestigious show doesn’t make your show prestigious. Considering that based on anecdotal evidence most of the people who like S4 seem to be male, he may have succeeded in the first part of his aim. However, this majority female fanbase he was so willing to cast aside are the ones who have run fansites and rewatches during fallow times (i.e. between S3 and the movie and then between the books and S4), so drumming up interest among fans (and therefore streaming views) in the future may be a challenge. Plus, women are a better advertising demographic since they are more likely to be in charge of household purchasing decisions, so maintaining us as a fanbase makes business sense as well. He may have tricked enough people into watching S4 that S5 is given a go, but I wouldn’t be surprised if streams are weak beyond that. If the show is to succeed as a commercial endeavor, better to go with appealing to a known quantity than trying to make a generic show that very few people have expressed interest in watching.

Bring back the mystery of the week

This is a more minor thing I felt was missing from S4. I think after the criticism of S3 not having a season-long arc RT overcorrected in focusing on one mystery. However, the mystery of the week had the following benefits: 1) giving chances for the characters to interact and telling us more about them 2) helping to modulate the pace of the season-long arc. With better writing a season-long standalone mystery could maybe work, but in the case of S4 specifically the mystery was kind of dull and repetitive and could have stood to include a couple of diversions in the form of a smaller case here and there.

Re-evaluate the creators’ interpretation of the word “adult”

Much of the promo and reviews for this season noted the more “adult” content to be expected this season now that Veronica’s grown. Many fans hoped that meant seeing Veronica act like, you know, an adult with adult problems rather than a teenager less mature than the actual teenager she was. Unfortunately, the show’s interpretation of the word seems to be more in keeping with a television rating sense of the word--meaning sex, drugs, and gratuitous violence (But apparently not the word “fuck.”). Look, it was expected that as the show moved to a streaming service and given the overall dramatic scope that there would be an upgrade in some of this sort of content (and I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t looking forward to steamier LoVe moments, which were sorely overpromised), but the way it was included this season felt like RT and co. included this stuff just because they could and not to serve the storyline. For me, personally, the biggest example of this was Veronica’s drug use, which I know didn’t necessarily bother everyone. Given her history as the daughter of an alcoholic as well as someone who had been the victim of two roofie attacks, not to mention the fact that her character never seemed to be into partying, I found it very out of character (and book writer Jennifer Graham agrees). It felt like RT included this just bc they thought it would be funny to see Veronica on drugs without considering whether it made sense for her character. Also, were the beheadings strictly necessary? Plus there’s RT’s little temper tantrum over not being able to use curse words this season--they weren’t present in the original show, no one was going to miss them now, and the “cuss” thing was just annoying and reminiscent of The Good Place. 

Dealing with a parent who maybe has dementia--that’s an adult storyline. Too bad RT ended it with a dumb excuse about “mixing meds” (another factual error! Pharmacy software would have caught it!) rather than actually exploring what it would mean for Veronica to see her father in decline and take over the family business (and give Rico Colantoni the exit he appears to want). This is the kind of adult content I would hope to see in future seasons.

Adult is not a synonym for “unrelentingly bleak” either. The original show, while dark, always had an element of hope that was completely removed from S4 (no matter what KB might claim). And would it have killed the writers to show Veronica wearing disguises and going undercover like she used to? There was nothing fun about this season (and no, I don’t count the multiple partying scenes as fun, more like sad).

Kill your darlings

It’s cliche, but it’s true. Another issue the show has long had is the writers keeping around characters or inserting jokes and references for their own personal amusement rather than for the story. The most notable example of this is the continued presence of Dick, a highly problematic character considering he pushed Beaver into the room with Veronica the night of Shelly Pomroy’s party, among a whole host of other racist, sexist, and generally obnoxious actions over the years. But because Ryan Hansen is so widely beloved among the cast and crew, so he stays. Then there’s the matter of the infamous Keister egg in 3x08, which the writers and KB have all expressed love for, despite the fact that said Keister egg is an example of sexual assault--which, even if the victim is a douchey fraternity president, is never funny. 

Also the constant Big Lebowski references are tiring. Watch a new movie.

Improve Neptune’s gender ratio

Veronica Mars, despite having a female lead, has always been a male-dominated show; other than Veronica herself, the only consistent female character over the original show was Mac (and she didn’t even come back this season). This is unacceptable in 2019, for any show. The books introduced promising female characters in the form of Marcia Langdon and Petra Landros, but Marcia’s character was was watered down for S4 and Petra was nowhere to be found. Additionally, Veronica and Mac have always been written as “cool girls” who looked down on other women for their femininity, which isn’t a great message. Almost every other female character, even the innocuous Parker, is portrayed as somehow bad or incompetent. I would love nothing more than a season centered on the women of Neptune and their interactions with each other. While we’re at it, stop giving every woman on this show a background of sexual victimization.

Treat VM as an ensemble show, not a Kristen Bell vanity project 

A major complaint from Burnt Marshmallows and S4 defenders alike was how little time was given over to the original core cast this season. While Veronica may be the protagonist, a large part of how the show became so beloved was her relationships with the other characters. Yet RT has decided that going forward VM will be a KB solo project, with her traveling town to town quipping and sleeping with strangers. This seems strange, given Kristen’s recent interviews talking about how difficult it is to shoot VM and how she never wants to be first on a call sheet ever again, not to mention how she asked for less screen time all the way back in S2, which resulted in the Weevil-Logan storyline, which was way more interesting than Veronica’s storylines during the first half of that season. (The traveling detective thing also seems weird considering that KB is pretty insistent on shooting in LA to be near her family.) Additionally, if this is truly the last season of VM with all the original characters, then no one got a proper sendoff. 

I’m not sure how willing much of the cast will be to return for future iterations, given how uncomfortable many of them seemed during promo as well RT and KB’s treatment of them (insensitive at best, deliberately mean at worst) this season (shout out to Tina Majorino for recognizing what a shit show this was going to be), but bringing back all the original characters into the fold and giving them significant storylines would go a long way to mending fences with fans, improving the show from a character arc perspective, and would also give KB the break she apparently wants. 

Recourt the fanbase

What has VM always been renowned for above all else? It’s incredibly loyal fandom which not only got it renewed twice during its original run but also put up their own money to get the movie made--I know many people who donated when they really couldn’t afford to. RT basically owes the last 6 years of his career to VM fans--the success of the Kickstarter arguably got him the iZombie show running gig, and the fourth season likely wouldn’t have even happened if not for it. Thus, the blatant cruelty and disregard with which RT and KB have treated fans during the promotion of S4 has been incredibly insulting and hurtful; I still can’t fathom what in the world possessed RT to think that throwing away this 15-year relationship was a good idea. It’s not a good sign when the 2 fansites most active during the post-movie period (VMHQ and VM Confessions) cease operations in the wake of S4, and when at least 3 out of 8 board members of the oldest running fan group, Neptune Rising (who were dormant during the post-movie period but played a critical role during earlier fan campaigns and in the S4 promo) resign. A fandom this loyal that was betrayed will not stand idly by if the S5 RT wants to make goes ahead; given the number of tweets the official Hulu VM account has had to delete in the wake of S4 due to the overwhelmingly negative response as well as the controversy over editing out Logan from S4 promos, I imagine that S5 will be a PR nightmare. Even if future seasons are amazing the trust can probably never be fully repaired, but it would be helpful for RT (or fingers crossed, a new show runner) and KB (as star and EP) to go overboard in reaching out to fans and at least admitting they made a misstep with the entirety of S4. Back in the day, the old Mars Investigation fansite was invited to set to conduct interviews; maybe do that again. Also someone should get KB some sort of VM fandom-fluent media trainer because I don’t think she has conducted a single interview during her entire stint on the show that didn’t anger fans (it might help if she actually bothered to watch the show).

Map out an endgame

Look, this can’t go on forever. As long as RT keeps leaving every installment open ended with the hopes of maybe getting renewed again five years down the line, the story is going to keep running into the issues the movie and S4 faced with having to shoehorn the characters into nonsensical plot lines to reconcile those endings and deal with actor availability issues. Either plot another 2-3 seasons to wrap the show up with a satisfying conclusion, or map out a greater timeline of Veronica’s life with spots where a mini series or movie here and there could fit in.

[all-by-myself98]

Shared Sorrows

Fandom: Kingsman (Set after TGC)

Prompt: In a world where people have their soulmate's name on their body somewhere, Reader and B don't have each other's name, but fall in love anyway.

Character: Jack Daniels (AKA Agent Whiskey)

   It had started out simple between you and Jack. You met at a bar you began working at. A guy had groped you in a not-so-innocent manner and he kicked his ass and threw him out. You thanked him with a refill of whiskey on the house.

   Then he began coming almost every week around the same time. Sometimes, he was alone, other times he had a few people from work with him.

   You really hadn’t meant to gain such a schoolgirl crush on the older man but you had felt lonely for years and to have a man treat you so kindly and so protectively like your own soulmate used to had triggered old feelings. Feelings of happiness and sadness. Safety and grief.

   A month after you had originally met Jack, you had to take some time off from work because of these feelings surfacing up and forcing you to mourn once again.

   The next week you’re back, you try to avoid his eyes but fail on numerous occasions. When it was finally time for your shift to end, he approaches you.

   “I don’t mean to be so forward,” he starts, “but I was wonderin’ if I could take you out after your shift ends. Maybe for some late dinner?”

   You’re hesitating right now. The sweet girl with the crush wants to know Jack more, but the strong young woman who failed to live a full and prosperous life with her true soulmate tells you no. He probably has his own soulmate waiting somewhere out there.

   “It don’t have to be a date if you don’t want it. Just two friends talkin’.” He assures. “I’m not lookin’ for a date or anything, just to talk. Get to know you.”

   This relaxes the heartbroken woman inside of you. “Okay... I’m off in 5. Meet me out front?” He nods in agreement.

   When you see Jack afterwards leaning on a dark blue truck, you’re still nervous. You know he said it isn’t a date, but you’re still scared shitless that he’ll expect something of you. Maybe him saving the day when he first met you was all a big long-term ploy to get in your pants. Maybe he’s nothing like your sweet Vincent was.

   The place he takes you to is a small diner just off the interstate, open 24/7 and wafting with burgers and fries once you enter. “Hope you don’t mind the place. I just love their bacon burgers.”

   You’re familiar with the place a little bit. Some of your coworkers go here to get food after their late night shifts too. They always try and convince you to join them because they know how much of a sucker you are for soft-serve ice cream and apparently this place has the best homemade selections. Problem is, you never accepted their invites because you don’t go out much since Vincent.

   “I’ve heard of their ice cream. Supposed to be good.” You reply.

   “You ain’t from around here.” He can probably tell due to your lack of a southern accent. Why else would someone drop everything and move to Kentucky? The fried chicken?

   “I’m not. I’m from the New England area.”

   You continue talking on and off through the night. You order your food and Jack screws around with the karaoke for a little bit to find a good song. Once he finally rests on a choice and your food arrives, you talk some more. Just simple things. Favorite food, favorite vacation spot, ideal pet, and so much more. Slowly, you begin to delve more into personal things.

   “Why leave New England for this piss poor place?” It was the question you had been dreading this whole time. Why come here? Why leave home? What’s here that isn’t there? “You don’t gotta answer if you’re not comfortable.”

   You shake your head. “I’m okay... It’s just hard to talk about.”

   He places one of his hands on yours and squeezes gently. He doesn’t want to frighten you away but he want’s to tell you he’s here to talk to and it’s okay. “You take all the time you need.”

   Thinking of Vincent is always difficult to do. You had loved him with all your heart. Hell, his name, now charred and written in ashy gray letters, rested right above your left hipbone. And your name had been on his left pec, rested right above his heart.

   “My husband... My soulmate... His name was Vincent. He passed away two years ago. I just couldn’t live in that place anymore without him.”

   There was silence for a few moments before he squeezes your hand once more. “I’m so sorry... That must have been horrible.”

   “I mean, I really should have been more prepared. Should have expected it more.” You counter, slipping your hand away from him. “He’d been struggling with illnesses his whole life. By the end of it, he couldn’t even walk.”

   He stops you by grabbing your hand back. “You should never have to expect that to happen. Losing someone as important as your soulmate... It’s harsh and powerful and it kills a part of you. You’re no longer whole.”

   You can feel his true and honest empathy. He really knows your pain because he too has felt it. “And your soulmate? Who were they?”

   Jack seems to double back, slips his hand off of you and leans back into the booth. He’s angry and pissed off.

   “If you don’t want to share, that’s okay.” You assure, reaching for his hand to squeeze it in comfort just as he did earlier.

   “No, it’s the least I could do after everythin’ you told me. It just... wasn’t as peaceful.” He takes a deep breath and steels himself. “It was... goddamn, over 20 years ago. Her name was Maria. She was pregnant with our son. But she went out shoppin’ and some druggies robbed the store...” He looks like he wants to say more about it. The way he spoke so venomously about the ‘druggies’. But he takes in another deep breath. “Cops said wrong place, wrong time...”

   “My god...” You almost continue to speak but the waitress comes by.

   “Food treating y’all okay? Were you looking to stay for dessert?” She asks. Her cheery and happy tone seems to be a bit ironic considering the mood of the table before she came by and what you were talking about.

   “Just a dessert menu please, Carol.” Jack mumbles. She leaves as quickly as she arrived, fake smile still plastered to her face.

   You almost continue to talk, tell him you feel horrible for him. He does the talking instead.

   “I almost tried to kill ‘em. Those druggies. Twice. First time, they almost got away with no jail time. I followed ‘em out the courthouse, had a switchblade from my stint in the army... Someone stopped me and took me in, helped me. Second time, those same people stopped me again, gave me a second chance I don’t deserve.”

   You counter his words. “We all deserve a second chance. Every single one of us. And maybe that’s idealist of me but it’s what I believe.”

   Carol the waitress comes back, dessert menu in hand, and places it on the counter, “I’ll come by in 5 to see if you’re ready.”

   She leaves and you two no longer talk about Vincent or Maria for the rest of the dinner. You are all cried out and much too tired to think about it any longer.

   So you go back to talking about small and meaningless stuff. Your dream jobs as a child, favorite movie, anything you can think of.

   After you get your dessert and Jack generously pays for the whole meal (despite your complaints that it wasn’t necessary), you walk in silence back to his truck. It’s 2 AM now. You admire the stars above for a bit before a question pops into your head.

   “Do you think they’re watching us now? Vincent and Maria and your little boy all grown up?”

   He halts his movement, having opened the passenger door for you. He looks up at the sky as well. “I don’t know. And I don’t know if I wanna know.”

   He drives you home instead of back to the bar for your car. You’re too tired at this point to be driving and he knows it. So you hesitantly give him your address and, after about 25 minutes, you’re in front of your house. He puts the truck in park for a moment and turns to face you.

   “May I ask somethin’ risky?” You nod in response. “You think... with everything we have in common... it might be right for me to ask you on a proper date? I can’t think for a second what Maria or Vincent wanted... but I would like to imagine that they would want us to try and move on, find a similar sorta love we had for ‘em...”

   You know Vincent would want you to move on. With his sicknesses, you always talked about it and he always told you the same thing. That he would want you to move on, to not hold back when an opportunity presents itself. And Jack, you know now, is a nice man no matter how much he says he’s not. He’s good and protective and handsome and funny and almost everything you would want in a man.

   You would be happy with Jack. And Vincent would be proud of you. And one could argue you already had your first date just then.

   “You could argue that what we just went to was our first date. You did pay for the whole tab when I told you not to.” You tease to him. He relaxes and lets out a small breathy laugh. Then, you scoot a little bit closer, placing your hand behind his neck. “But we’re missing one thing that we didn’t do on our first date.”

   “And what pray tell was it that we missed?” He asks.

   “This.”

   Then, with all of the courage you can muster, you kiss him. It was only meant to be short, but he places his hands on the sides of your face and reciprocates and it grows longer and breathier. His lips taste like a perfect combination of sweet and sour, and mold against you almost perfectly. His hands and his neck and everything is warm and, when you finally pull apart, he brushes strands of your hair away from your face.

   “You seem to surprise me every day I see you.” Jack whispers.

   “Funnily enough, I’m never usually this confident.”

   “Can I kiss you once more?”

   “Yes please.”

---------------

A/N: #3 of reawakening the writer in me. Now, a soulmate AU with Agent Whiskey of the Statesman. I set this after The Golden Circle because I was sad he died so, instead, I imagine hes sorta being rehabilitated by the Statesman and on a probationary period (of course, because he tried to let all of the drug users die).

As always, some constrictive criticism would be great. I tried to show his southern accent in the dialogue but I don’t know if I did very well.

Anyway, enjoy the rest of your Columbus day, y’all!

[izaswritings]

Title: Faults of the Mind

Synopsis:  Having escaped the perils of the Dark Kingdom, Rapunzel finally returns home—but all is not well in the Kingdom of Corona, and the black rocks are quickly becoming the least of her troubles. Meanwhile, over a thousand miles away, Varian struggles with new powers and his own conscience.

The labyrinth has fallen into rubble. A great evil stirs in the world beyond. The Dark Kingdom may be behind them, but the true journey is just beginning—and neither Rapunzel nor Varian can survive it on their own.

Warnings for: blood, violence, and death (NOT any of main characters), injury, some cursing, references to past character injuries, PTSD symptoms and the lingering effects of trauma. If there’s anything you think I missed, please let me know and I’ll add it on here.

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AO3 version is here.

Arc I: Labyrinths of the Heart can be found here!

Previous chapters are here.

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Chapter III: The Puppet

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As the stranger danced to silence, the Sun opened her mouth and began to sing.

It was a song unlike any other, a melody created on a whim for this lovely woman and her lonely dance. For a single moment the song hung in the wind as the woman twirled upon the seas; for a single moment they were in harmony, and all the world held its breath at the sight.

Then the stranger realized what had happened, and froze upon the raging waters. At last, for the first time, she saw the Sun. Her dance stilled; the song, too, fell silent. In an instant their eyes met.

The Sun reacted first, an apology rising to her lips—but it was too late. The stranger, frightened by her audience and her heart moved by the beautiful song she had so briefly witnessed, was overwhelmed and fled. The Sun reached out and cried for the stranger to stop, but already the woman had vanished away into the dark, gone as if she had never been.

And so it was that the beautiful Sun met the lovely Moon, and chased her away…

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For the second time in under a day, Varian makes his way through the fields back to Port Caul.

It’s early, still, and the whole world reflects it: dew and frost weighing heavy on the long grass of the fields, the sky bright with the pale colors of sunrise. The clouds above, wispy and thin, are lined with a delicate gold; the breeze still carries the heavy chill of the midnight ice. Despite the misty night, the ground is frozen solid from frost. With each step, the iced greenery crunches underneath his worn boots.

Still struggling to wake up, Varian pulls the collar of his coat closer and shivers. The fields outside of Port Caul are endless and sprawling, and in the light of the rising dawn, near breathtaking. The far-off silhouette of the city is gilded by the sunrise, the blue buildings shining soft with a pearly glow in the creeping dawn. Despite the bite of cold and the frosted edges, there is something soft about it all—a winter tempered by coming spring, ice thawed to a chill, something brisk and fresh and clean.

It doesn’t make it any less fucking cold, though.

They must make quite a sight, the two of them, to any strangers who see them: the woman, Yasmin, older and stern, with short dark curls and a confident stride—and a boy, Varian himself, tripping behind her, ragged and worn and trying desperately to keep up.

“How much farther?”

To say Varian is exhausted is a gross understatement. He is bone-cold tired. Numb to the world. A walking dead in the making. His late night has done him no favors, and this long walk back through the twists and turns of Port Caul’s farmlands drains what little remaining energy he has. His mouth is dry and sickly, his head stuffed with cotton, his limbs heavy and shaking with fever chills. The winter sun burns down on the back of his neck, the sunshine bright and as piercing as ice. Before him the wide expanse of the world unfurls at his feet, the fields of the Port Caul countryside near infinite to his eyes. Every time he looks to the horizon, to that distant shadow of the city proper, he feels even more tired than before.

Farther ahead, Yasmin walks with sure strides, making a confident pace through the overgrown paths. Despite her age and small size, she is damnably spry. Varian, still lagging behind despite all his best efforts, squints blankly in the sun and hurries to keep up. It’s ridiculous. He’s barely a head shorter than her, so how does she keep getting so far ahead?

“Hello?” he tries, when she doesn’t answer right away. The exhaustion frays his already thin temper; his fatigue makes him bold. “…Are you ignoring me?” he asks, and frowns as he says it. He’s not sure whether to be annoyed at that or not.

Yasmin, still a few paces ahead, heaves a very pointed and visible sigh.

“We’ve been walking for hours,” Varian points out, refusing to be cowed. He’s tired, she’s a jerk, and he does not care about what she thinks of him. Not at all. Nope. He’ll be as rude and spiteful as he wants to be, damn it. “Seriously, how much farther?”

Yasmin gives another heavy sigh. “Until we reach the city.”

“…Seriously?”

“What, was that not funny? I thought moody teenagers were all about sarcasm.” Yasmin stamps the ground with her foot, crushing stray grasses flat. She doesn’t even bother looking back at him. “We will get there when we get there, boy, now stop asking and start walking. Bah, these roads are awful…”

Varian gives the distant horizon a desperate look. It is so far. “Why couldn’t we take a cart?”

“Because I do not own one, clearly.” Yasmin shakes her head. “Walking is good for you.”

“You sound like Adira.”

“Vexing though she may be at times, she is, unfortunately, also often right.” Yasmin pinches at the brow of her nose. “…We will reach the city in another half-hour or so, if we make good pace. May you cease pestering me now?”

Considering the fact they’ve already been walking for about two hours, Varian thinks he deserves to be put-out by that—but he bites back the rude comment rising on his tongue before it can slip free, and takes a moment to breathe. She’s awful, but he’s better than this—or, well, he’s trying to be—so Varian settles for a dark scowl at her back, instead.

Still. He is so bored with walking. He turns his scowl to the ground and kicks a pebble on the road with all his might, smacking it with all the anger and force he can muster. The pebble rolls three measly times and then gets caught in the grass. It’s barely moved an inch.

Typical.

Varian scowls harder.

He misses Ruddiger. He wishes he’d thought to run up and wake the raccoon before he left, but the rapid exit and Yasmin’s swiftly retreating figure had panicked him, and he hadn’t realized he’d left alone until they were already ten minutes down the road. Now Varian is stuck here with a stranger he doesn’t know and doesn’t like—with no raccoon to keep him company.

The day has only just started, and Varian is already certain it’s going to be a miserable one.

Which sucks, because it’s looking to be a lovely day—not a glimpse of clouds on the horizon, a day so blinding and bright it nearly hurts to look at. The sheer shine of the morning is so intense he almost expects a summer heat to match it, but in contrast the wind blows cold, bitingly numb against his exposed face. The grasses sway and bend in the breeze, the fields awash in dark green and winter blue, frost scalding the pebbled wagon road.

In any other circumstance, probably, the view would be beautiful. But Varian’s head is aching and his eyes are sore from lack of sleep, and so instead of appreciating the sight he rubs his bare hands together and shoves them in his sleeves, and thinks only of how goddamn grateful he is that he didn’t forget his coat, too, along with his raccoon.

“Chin up, boy,” says Yasmin, at his silence. “We will be there before you know it.”

Varian directs his bleary frown to her back.  Easy for her to say. She barely looks bothered by the cold at all—is it that she’s used to it, Varian wonders, or is it that she’s just pretending to be unaffected to annoy him more? He… really wouldn’t put it past her.

Still, though, Varian knows better to speak those thoughts out loud. “Why are we even going to the market?” he asks, instead, curious despite himself. “And why do I have to be there?”

Yasmin doesn’t answer right away. Like Varian, she is dressed for the cold, in a long trench coat buttoned up to her neck and a heavy dress lined with fur; she tucks her hands in her sleeves and takes a moment to fuss over the fabric. “That is a rather layered question. I am not sure where to start. Let us say… Adira has somehow convinced me to help. Doubtless this is not what she meant, but she is paying me to do my job, not to listen to her. My help takes many forms. For Adira, it is information. For you?” She shrugs. “Market.”

“I don’t need help,” Varian snaps.

“Nonsense child. Who on earth taught you that silly lie? Everyone needs help. Do not take it personally—I still do not like you. This is not pity, or whatever your knotted mind has conspired. This is simply what I do. If it helps, you may consider my help as part of my job to you.”

…Varian doesn’t even know where to begin responding to that. “That’s…” He throws up his hands. “That doesn’t make sense! What even is your job?”

He gets another side-eye for that one. Yasmin scowls at him, her eyebrows drawn low and twisted. “…Let me guess. Adira did not mention that either?”

He stares at her. “No.” Obviously.

“Bah, of course she didn’t. Why do I bother?” Yasmin slows a bit, letting Varian catch up, and glances down at him. “I am… I am not sure how to explain this. I suppose I am something of a dealer of information, and of rare goods. I know many things, and can find a great many more things, and for the right prices I can be encouraged to share them.”

Varian frowns at her, mind whirling. “Like, an information broker? Or a spy?”

“Hm. You make it sound so ill-advised. But yes, both, that is about right.”

“…Isn’t that illegal?”

Yasmin blinks at him, slow and deliberate. “Yes,” she says. “But so says the wanted criminal.”

Varian turns red, and for a moment he thinks to argue—it’s not like he actively chose to become a criminal—except, well, maybe, yes he had, but…

He gives up. There’s nothing he can truly say against that, though he thinks he is starting to understand Yasmin a little better now. He doesn’t know much about spies or information dealers, just that they exist, but he imagines they tend to be pretty secretive. And if Varian really is a known wanted criminal to the rest of the world…

He turns his head away, not wanting to follow that train of thought any longer. “Is Ella, too—?”

“No.” Yasmin’s voice is curt and cold, shutting down the question before he can finish. “Ella is… she is not involved in my work, though she knows of it. She is a singer, actually. Perfectly legal.” For the first time, something of a smile touches her lips. “My dear wife can hold quite the tune.”

Well, okay. But something she’s said stands out to him. Varian frowns. “How do you know Adira, then?”

“Boy, for Moon’s sake. You have traveled with her for months. What about that woman makes you think she cares one lick for legality?”

Varian briefly flashes back to the last six months. Jumping carts, breaking into caravans, sneaking into cities guarded by soldiers who weren’t convinced by Adira’s sheer force of authority… yeah, no, stupid question. “Is that how you met her? Breaking the law?”

Yasmin snorts. “Nothing so grand. I met Adira through other circumstances.”

“What other circumstances?”

“Tsk. Question after question with you, isn’t it? Yet rarely any answers in return. This is why I despise scientists.” She rolls back her arm, an absent-minded stretch. “It is none of your business, frankly.”

His head drops. “I was just curious,” Varian mumbles, and at his side, his fists clench. He feels a little shamed. It probably was too rude a question, but—this is more than Adira has ever told him. For all of Yasmin’s prickly answers, they are answers.

Yasmin is quiet for a long moment. Then she mutters something, the words too low for Varian to catch, and raises her voice for him to hear. “We were… Adira and I came from a similar place, you could say. Running from the same thing. I always thought her plans foolish, but… well. What are friends for, if not to encourage foolish ideas?” Yasmin glances away. “Though I am beginning to regret that. I have been too accommodating, I think. But that is how I know her. I find her whatever strange item or legend she needs, and in return she keeps me updated on the comings-and-goings of whatever country she’s tromped through this time.”

“Oh.” Varian’s mind whirls, putting together the slim pieces he’d eavesdropped from Adira’s conversation with Yasmin just last night. Their talk of a kingdom… Adira’s frustration. Yasmin, her voice low, to Adira: The kingdom died twenty years ago for me and Ella, though I see for you the death is recent.

He’d known Adira was from the Dark Kingdom—it wasn’t exactly hard to guess, what with that stupid symbol on her hand and all—but for the first time, Varian looks at Yasmin and tries to imagine her there too. Yasmin, and Ella, and their little house in the fields… he thinks of the labyrinth, and the ruins he and Rapunzel found in the depths, and still cannot fathom it. Even for someone as prickly as Yasmin or Adira, it’s hard to picture anyone once calling such a desolate place home.

Unaware of his thoughts, Yasmin’s voice lowers to a mutter. “Of course, this arrangement works much better when she bothers to stay in touch. A little head’s up, a small warning, hello, Yasmin, sorry for the year-long absence, just letting you know I am not dead, and also I am forever grateful for your friendship and the many favors you do for me—” She cuts herself off and clicks her tongue. “Ah, never mind. But that is how it goes. In the end you are just another odd job she has thrown my way.”

Varian hums, distant, and the conversation drops into silence. He lowers his eyes and watches his feet, step after step after step. It’s easier than looking at the horizon. The sheer distance to the city is just starting to depress him.

“…That reminds me, actually,” Yasmin says, apropos of nothing. “I forgot to ask her, and Adira did not mention it—did she say anything to you about a flute, boy?”

Varian looks up, his face scrunching in confusion. “Um… what?”

“A flute.” Yasmin gestures, miming an object far longer than any instrument has a right to be. “Grand old thing, carved from amber, looks quite pretty in sunlight? Lovely music, curved a bit like a hook, so big it is frankly ridiculous? Loaded with religious importance? Took me months to find and secure? Yes? No?”

Varian stares at her. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he admits.

Yasmin’s lips thin. “I see.”

There is a beat of silence.

“If that woman has left my priceless religious artifact in that goddamn kingdom, I am going to strangle her with her sash,” says Yasmin, thoughtfully, and then she turns back around and marches on down the road without another word.

Varian hurries to catch up. Despite himself, and despite the wariness Yasmin still inspires, he finds his lips almost twitching in a smile, a vague sense of relief. It’s good to know he’s not the only one Adira drives bonkers.

…He’s probably being a bit unfair to her, Varian thinks, with sudden flash of guilt. Adira isn’t that bad. She… she has helped him, in a way. Maybe not the way Varian wanted, or the way he expected, but she has. She’s tried to teach him fighting. She’s kept him clothed and fed and moving in these past six months. He thinks he should maybe thank her, at least for that. As frustrated as he is, Varian is—here. He’s here.

That simple fact means more, now, than it ever did before. After the labyrinth, Varian hadn’t… he hadn’t known what to do. Where to go. What next, or where to now, or even if he wanted that. He’d been free, but he’d been lost, too—and maybe Adira hasn’t given him the direction he wanted, but she has at least gotten him moving.

Varian’s smile fades at this thought. He looks down at his feet, throat suddenly tight. He remembers the way he snapped at Adira, barely a day ago, and squeezes his eyes shut. A headache pulses behind his temple. He—he should apologize, probably. Maybe. He doesn’t think he can, now, but maybe later… maybe if she apologizes first…

His thoughts drift. The wind picks up, a chill striking through him. Varian shivers under the layers of his coat and yawns into his elbow. He feels tired, worn, too aware for the exhaustion dragging at his bones—like the wind itself is all eyes, watching and waiting, boring into the back of his skull.

One step, then another, then again. The wind howls in his ears. The shadows stretch and warp in the sunlight. His heartbeat feels very loud, all of a sudden—like the droning thud of the drums of war, pounding like marching feet against his skull.

All at once, a sudden dread overcomes him. A chill that strikes down to his bones. Each step sends his stomach plummeting. His ears ring. He feels as if ice has been dumped down his back, and his breathing has gone shallow. His heartbeat is rapid-fire, faster than a bird’s.

Don’t go.

He steps toward the city. He moves through the fields. He walks.

Don’t go there.

His mouth is dry. His vision swims. With each step, his heart beats out of tune. Varian looks up in the direction of Port Caul, and thinks, for one blinding moment of clarity: You don’t want to be here.

“Are you alright?”

He startles, near-jumping out of his skin. Yasmin is frowning at him. She stands silhouetted against the sunrise, the shadows cast long and deep across her face. Her brow is furrowed. She is looking down at his right hand.

Varian follows her gaze. His hand is—he’s holding it, he realizes, he’s gripping it tight in a vice, his thumb digging into the soft flesh of his palm as if to burrow beneath the skin. It hurts. It hurts with a dull, solid ache, like pressing on a bruise.

As soon as he realizes this, Varian snaps his hand away. His veins feel tight and cold, stone under his skin. He blinks fast. “W-what?”

“Does your hand hurt?” Yasmin almost looks concerned, in her own irritated way. “This is the second time I have seen you do that. Is that why you cannot sleep?’

“That’s—I—I don’t know.” He hadn’t even realized he was doing it. Varian hunches under the attention, and hides his hand behind his back. But even as he does it, his skin crawls, his right palm itching terribly. He has to fight not to claw at his skin. “How did you—wait, why does it matter if I can’t sleep?”

In the distance, the city looms closer than before—they are practically upon the city gates. The wall towers over him, a cold shadow, and beside them a horse and cart rumbles by through the wrought iron gates. The road, beneath his feet, has turned from soft crushed grass to actual paved stone. Varian’s head spins. How long had he blanked out for?

Yasmin scans him up and down, her brow knotted. “That is why we are here, of course,” she says, at last, looking a little reluctant at the shift in subject. “You said to me this morning you have issues with sleep, and I have little remedies for such in my house… so to the market we go.” Her lips press—but then she seems to let it go, shaking her head with a weary breath. “Well. If not an injury, then what is it? Can you not fall asleep, or is it that you cannot stay asleep?”

Varian scowls at the dirt path and stubbornly does not think of dark hallways and darker rooms, the moonlight streaming through the window. “Why does it matter?”

“I have agreed to help you, but I cannot help if I do not know what is wrong.” Yasmin is scowling, but it is a distant thing, not directed at him. She looks vaguely frustrated. “I do not like you, I have made no secret of it; you dislike me too, and you have made no secret of that, either. This is fine. We do not have to like each other. But I have tried to be honest with you, thus far—so please, do me the favor of being honest with me.”

She is frank, she is annoying, she is a bladed voice and angry words—but she has told him more in one conversation than Adira has in months. And it is this honesty that makes Varian duck his head, but it is this truth that finally makes him admit it: for all that he dislikes her, Varian is terrified of the idea of continuing to face the dark alone.

Still. It is so hard to admit it, to put voice to the fears inside him. His words come out a teeth-clenched whisper. “It’s—it’s just—” He doesn’t know how to say it. “It’s just too dark.”

It’s shameful, almost. Childish, certainly. Varian is afraid of many things, but the dark, oddly, has never been one of them. He has always felt so secure in the science of the world that the monsters of myth had been dismissed as easy as breathing. And he still feels that certainty. He still feels utterly secure in the fact there is nothing in the closet, nothing under the bed. It’s just—

It’s just too dark, now.

It’s just too much.

“I see,” Yasmin says. Her voice is quiet too. Another cart rumbles by them, the creak of the wheels almost deafening in the silence. The murmur of voices and the rasp of the sea breeze drifts in from the city gates. Varian looks away from Yasmin and up at the gate, and shivers in the shadow. The whisper comes back to him again. Turn back. Go away. It’s not safe here.

“I see,” Yasmin repeats, and her voice breaks Varian from the spell. “Well then. Just to be sure—you are an alchemist, yes?”

Varian lifts his head, blinking echoes from his eyes. “U-um, yeah.”

“I do not own any alchemical equipment, but I have enough bobbles to get you by, I think, if you choose your ingredients wisely.” She turns to the gates and Varian follows, reluctant, as she pushes through the iron doors. “Come along, boy. In the end it may do little, but if darkness is your issue… then I recommend building yourself a light.”

.

Eugene leaves the castle that night.

His reasoning is simple: there’s no real reason to delay. Eugene has no desire to draw out this parting any longer than he has to. With his goodbyes to Rapunzel said and her letter weighing heavy in his vest pocket, Eugene returns to his allotted rooms and picks up the travel bags he hadn’t even bothered to unpack. He doesn’t know how long he’ll be gone, but it’s best to be prepared.

That isn’t to say he rushes, oh no—Eugene takes his sweet time. It’s almost like planning a heist, in that way. The devil is always in the details, and Eugene considers details to be the most important step. Missing one crucial item in a theft can be deadly, and in a way, well… this isn’t all that different.

The preparations take him the rest of the day. In the hours following his talk with Rapunzel, Eugene repacks his bags and prepares to leave the castle behind. He chooses new clothes, picks up fresher food, slips in a few items he thinks will serve as a welcome gift for Lance. He finds the daggers he’d stashed away when he first moved in and hides away the finer cloths that would get him mugged five feet out from the castle walls. He has a job to do, after all—and for all that Eugene isn’t the most serious individual, he is most certainly a professional. Either he does this right, or he does this not at all… and doing nothing is no longer an option.

By sunset, he’s all ready to go. Eugene hides his belongings in one of the castle’s many nooks and crannies, goes to bother Maximus in his own silent way of saying goodbye—and, when the daylight has faded and the shadows cover his path, slips inside the guard barracks and goes to find Cassandra.

He finds her in her room, thankfully—he’s not sure he could sneak by her new post in the dungeons without being caught, and he definitely doesn’t want to deal with that kind of drama right now. But his luck is holding true: he’s managed, from the sounds of things, to catch her right before she heads off for her post. Her door is half-open, the lock unlatched, and Eugene knocks on the wood frame with one hand as he toes the door open.

The room is as empty as his was; the evidence of an eight months absence. It’s cleaner than he’s ever seen it, no stray weapons lying about or anything, and her bed is made so well the cover corners look sharp enough to cut. For all that Cassandra served as a palace maid, and took her duties seriously, her own rooms are usually where she throws all tidiness out the window. This, more than the shadows under her eyes, tells Eugene all he needs to know. Apparently Rapunzel isn’t the only one with insomnia today. Cassandra probably hasn’t slept one wink since they got back yesterday morning.  

She looks it, too. He’s caught her in the middle of preparing for her shift, armor half-on and hair an absolute bird nest. She’s always been pale, but today the pallor is almost ghastly, the shadows of her eyes rivaling even Varian’s. There’s a new scab on her lower lip, a wound never quite healed: she’s bit her lip hard enough to bleed.

Cassandra glances over at the open door, helmet in one hand like she’s trying to decide whether it’s worth trying to pry it over her bush of curls. It takes her a moment to realize he’s there, but as soon as she realizes her face twists in a scowl. Her glare is practically automatic, but whatever sting it might have held is dulled by the bloodless pall of her face.

“What do you want, Fitzherbert?”

Bad mood, then. The last name thing is always an indicator. Eugene’s lips thin. He’s not upset. He can’t even blame her. She looks…

She looks how he feels, really. What a mess. “Long day?”

Cassandra gives him a dirty look for that. Eugene winces. “Yeah, okay. Too soon?”

She throws the helmet on her bed, looking about to snap… and then sighs, her shoulders slumping. Her eyes squeeze shut. In the darkening sunset light streaming through her narrow window, the shadows under her eyes seem bright as bruises. “Sorry.”

Eugene snorts and leans back against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s fine. You realize I’ve dealt with your prickly temper before, right?”

Cassandra rolls her eyes. “Oh, ha-ha.” She rubs at her face and turns away, sitting down hard on the bed. “Still, sorry. I’m not… I just…” She shakes her head, her teeth gritting.

Eugene can only imagine. Demoted to prison duty, after once having been the top detail of the future Queen? It’s more than a slap on the wrist—it’s a bona fide royal punishment, and it’s going to give her a bad rep, too. And that would be bad enough, perhaps, but that she’s being punished because of the situation with Varian…?

Yeah. Yeah, no. There’s no good ending to that story.

They haven’t talked about Varian, really. They’ve barely said his name at all these past few months, beyond the whys and hows of his disappearance after the labyrinth. There is an understanding between all three of them—a looming fight that Eugene can almost taste in the air whenever the topic is broached, and all three of them have been ignoring the problem of Varian entirely rather than risk the argument it might spike. So while Eugene can’t say he knows how Cassandra feels about Varian… well.

He has a pretty good guess that it’s nothing good.

He doesn’t blame her; some days, Eugene feels much the same himself. His nightmares have come and gone these past few months, ebbing and rising like a tide, but though most are filled with dark stone and the knife-like smile of a terrible god, some are older still. A campfire, halfway burning. Arrows in firelight. The way Rapunzel fell back, the sound of her skull snapping against the stone, and most awful of all: that brief, terrible moment when he thought she’d never get up again.

He knows Cassandra dreams of much the same.

“It’s a bad situation,” Eugene settles on, finally. “As expected.”

“Being right about it doesn’t make it better, Eugene.”

“Uh, yeah, no. Yep. Bullseye on that.”  He sags his weight against the doorway, heaving a sigh so heavy it makes his body sink with the sound. He rubs the back of his neck. “I mean, by gods, I sure didn’t miss this. Politics! Hah!”

The briefest hint of a smile curls at Cassandra’s mouth, almost reluctant. “Oh? And here I thought you liked the idea of being king.”

“Yeeeeeah, about that. Sneaky.” He points a warning finger at her. King, hah. It’d been Lance who’d finally told him how succession worked in Corona. Rapunzel gets crowned Queen—and Eugene, marrying into the family, would not be a king, but rather a Prince Consort. Which is a fine fancy title in its own right, but still. “When were you going to tell me that isn’t how it works?”

“When it was funny.”

“Oh-hoh! Fuck you.”

That pale smile flickers to a true grin. Eugene leans back against the door again, pleased with his work. “But seriously,” he says, humor fading to sincerity. “Things may seem like a shitshow now, but… It’ll blow over. Eventually.”

The grin fades. Cassandra looks away. “Sure.”

“Still sucks, though.”

She exhales hard, pointedly. “Eugene. Why are you here?”

This time it’s Eugene who looks away. He taps his fingers against his arm, the uneven rhythm of a bar song that’s been stuck in his head since winter began. His lips press in a thin line. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts, then pushes up against the doorway, bracing himself.

Well. No more stalling it, he supposes.

“I’m leaving.”

He senses rather than sees Cassandra go still. “...What?”

“I didn’t come here to get lectured,” he warns her, straightening up, finally meeting her eyes. She looks as furious as he expected. “I already told Blondie. I’m heading out tonight. If you need to get in touch, the Snuggly Duckling is your best bet.” He hesitates, then exhales heavy through his teeth. “Look, I—I get it. I know what you’re going to say. But I’ve been thinking about this for a while. I… I need to do this.”

“We just got back.” Cassandra’s voice is low. “Just got back, and with things as they are— and I can’t even see her— and you’re leaving her alone?”

“I can’t help her here.” Eugene tries to keep the words even, accusation-free, but he can’t quite keep the coldness out of his voice. He knows this already. He knows, and it's already eating at him, and he doesn’t need Cassandra digging in the knife. “I can’t— I won’t sit here and be useless.” Not again, he thinks, but he bites that part off behind his teeth.

Cassandra scowls at the ground. Her expression has turned dark.

Eugene looks away too, hating the knot in his gut. He rubs at his chin and sighs, leaning back heavy against the doorframe. “Besides,” he says, finally, trying to keep his voice light. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that whole ‘no-contact’ clause part of the punishment. This is Rapunzel we’re talking about. I’d bet good money she’ll find a way to break out of that room and into here in about… oh, three days. Tops.”

“She shouldn’t.”

“Well. It’s Rapunzel.”

Cassandra hums at that, tuneless. She still isn’t meeting his eyes.

Eugene holds back another sigh and shakes his head, dipping one hand in his pocket. “...I didn’t just come to say goodbye, either.” He draws Rapunzel’s letter from his vest, holding it out. “For you.”

She goes to take it, but Eugene pulls it back out of reach. “Cass, before you read it—”

She glares at him.

“You don’t have to do this,” Eugene says, undeterred. “Not if you don’t want to. I know how much this job means to you.”

Something in the tone of his voice must get through, because her hand stills. She’s quiet for a long moment.

“…Will it help?”

He’s not sure how to answer that. “It’s something.”

“Then yes.” Cassandra meets his gaze, her expression tense. “I want to help.”

He thins his lips, but hands it over. He’s not sure what to make of the look on her face—the odd pinch to her eyes. Cassandra takes the missive warily, breaking the seal and scanning the page within seconds. Eugene watches her face, trying to put a name to what he sees there.

Cassandra’s expression doesn’t even twitch. After reading, she folds the letter carefully and lays it flat on her lap. With one hand, she rubs the corner of the parchment between her fingers, her eyes dark in thought.

“You understand, don’t you?” Eugene says finally. His voice is quiet. His eyes unwavering. A flash of clarity has struck him. “Standing aside, watching everything happen… I never want to be there again.”

At long last, Cassandra looks at him. She doesn’t move, but in this moment, he can finally read her. In this, he knows for sure. The labyrinth has left its mark on all of them, in its own way—and for the two of them, it has left the same scar. It has united them in the horror of being left behind and helpless.

Cassandra’s eyes drop. The anger has faded from her face—now, she just seems tired. “...I’ll look out for her.”

“She doesn’t need it, I think. But thanks. I hate the idea of leaving her alone.” Eugene straightens, waves one hand in a mocking salute. “Good luck,” he says, gentling into something genuine. “Cass.”

She meets his gaze again. A smile twitches at the corner of her mouth, and this time, it’s almost real. “You too, Eugene.”

Eugene gives a winning smile back and slips out the room without another word—no need to make this sappy, after all. He closes the door soundlessly behind him, and feels something almost like pleased. The conversation didn’t quite go as he wanted—but he thinks it was a success regardless.

He sticks his hands in his pockets and slips back in the comfort of the shadows.

It is child’s play to get back outdoors undetected. He picks up his bag from the hiding spot and slip it over his shoulder, tilting back his head in the night air. He’s got a long walk ahead of him—a long few weeks to go—and he takes one last second for himself, to settle, to be sure. Taking one last moment to breathe.

Oh, gods. Is he really going to do this?

He looks up behind him, one last look at Rapunzel’s tower room. The window is dark, all the lights gone out. But he can still see the silhouette of a figure on the balcony, the flickering shine of golden hair swept up in a breeze.

He lifts his hand, wondering, a quiet wave. He thinks he sees the figure wave back.

He already misses her. But Eugene turns away from the castle regardless. He slips by those castle gate guards without any issue at all, and just like that: there he is, on the road once again.

His heart is tight, but Eugene manages a smile anyway. Rapunzel will be okay. Cassandra, whatever she decides, will be there for her regardless. They have things handled here—and Eugene’s place, for now, is elsewhere.

He’s got work to do.

It takes him an hour to leave the city behind. By the time he reaches the woods it’s gone completely dark outside. The woods are all shadow at this time of dusk, foreboding and eerie, but Eugene palms his dagger and continues on without worry. Even without a sure light, the moon and stars are bright above him—and he’s always been an old hand at sneaking in the dark.

He walks for most of the night, well on to midnight. The time makes no difference, however—even at this hour, he can hear the Snuggly Duckling before he sees it. Laughter, and roaring music, and then distant light through the trees. Eugene shades his eyes against the startling shine and has to physically bite back a grin when he hears the singing. Oh-hoh, he knows that voice.

He rushes to reach the doors before it’s too late, moving fast as the song and music begin to reach its finale. He makes it just in time.

Eugene throws open the door just as Lance finishes a truly impressive solo, and lifts a hand to his ears with no time to spare. “Good gods, men!” he says, as loudly as he can. “I came here to get a drink—but who let a banshee in this place?”

The music stops. Someone’s cup drops and rolls. The Snuggly Duckling falls into a hushed and reverent silence, and Lance falls off the table.

Eugene stares at the stunned room of thugs. The stunned room of thugs stares back.

“...Surprise?”

Lance’s head pops up from the floor. “Eugene!” he shouts, delightedly, and tackles him in a hug.

Like Lance’s word was the stone to break the glass, the whole bar erupts into noise.

“Hey!”

“It’s Fitz!”

“Welcome back!”

“Where the hell have you been, you slippery bastard?”

Lance spins him around, cackling loudly. Eugene yelps, arms suddenly pinned, torn between laughing and hissing at him. “Hey, hey, hey—!”

“You’re back!” Lance drops him on his feet, beaming fit to burst. He looks—he looks good, Eugene realizes, and it makes some secret weight on his heart lift. It’s just been bad news after bad news for so long, that he’d worried… but Lance is here, his smile wide and true, and he looks happier than Eugene has seen him in a long time. He’s dressed in a new outfit, a snazzy black vest with a red cotton undershirt, a new piercing in his left ear. There’s a glow to him, a veil of health that speaks of regular meals and good care. In contrast to the gloom that haunted the castle, Lance’s presence lights up the room. His hand on Eugene’s shoulder is warm. “Long time no see, Eugene.”

“We’ve gone longer,” Eugene says, an automatic answer, but inside, he agrees whole-heartedly. It has been—too long. Far too long. His returning smile is helplessly fond. He is so glad to see Lance. “How are things?”

“Oh, booming,” Lance says, and he says it casual, but there’s a smile on his face that Eugene knows well— that beaming pride, curdled warm, but this time there’s something softer to the edge of it. “It’s, uh—going really well, actually. I meant to say in the letters, but—well, I got the bar!” He gestures to the Snuggly Duckling. “The whole lot of it.”

“Done good work too!” one man yells, and the tavern shakes with the ensuing roar of agreement. Lance laughs again, looking touched. Eugene looks around at the sea of bright and drink-rosy faces, the warm lanternlight and crackling fire of Lance’s Snuggly Duckling, and grins back.

“Lance!” he says, punching his shoulder. “Buddy! That’s wonderful!”

“It’s been a journey,” Lance says, trying for humble, but there’s a brightness to the words, a disbelieving joy that hasn’t quite faded. “I’ll tell you later. What about you, eh? It’s been ages since your last response!”

Eugene’s smile flickers. Lance immediately pauses. “Oh—”

“You’re never going to believe this, Strongbow, old buddy, old pal.” Eugene slings his arm around him, cutting off the inquiry before the rest of the bar can catch onto the shift in mood. “The number of things I saw across the sea, good man, I could fill a book!”

Lance blinks, rapidly, and for a moment his face is terrifyingly blank—and then his eyes go wide in realization. Thank gods. It’s been awhile since they used that code, but the memory of childhood bonding over Flynn Rider books reigns eternal even now.

Lance slings an arm around his shoulders and grips him in a one-armed hug. “Then I, Strongbow, shall most definitely help you write it!” The word-for-word quoted response. Then Lance winks, and the next bit is all him. “After a drink, of course.”

“Of course,” Eugene echoes, wryly, and manages to grin back.

Lance pushes him through the bar, somehow keeping Eugene from the crowd without making it suspicious, laughing and cheering and chattering like it’s a normal Tuesday. Before Eugene even knows what’s happened, he finds himself in a back room of the tavern, drink in hand and Lance sitting across the table, the room as quiet as any rooms in the Snuggly Duckling can get.

“This is as private as I can give you,” Lance says, sitting back in his chair. His smile is bright as ever. His voice, warm as Eugene remembers. But there is a tightness around his eyes, a worry Eugene reads clear as day, and when Lance leans in, he is as serious as he ever gets. “Okay, buddy. Spill. What happened? And how can I help?”

This is why Eugene came here. This is why Eugene needed to leave. Because he’s good. He’s really good. But he’s always been better with someone at his back—and he’s at his best with Lance by his side.

Gods, he’s missed him.

Eugene drinks deep from his flask, sets down the empty cup, and prepares to tell Lance everything.

.

“What do you need?”

The sun is high in the bright blue sky, and the Port Caul market in full unbridled swing. Stalls line the main city road, stretching on from the docks to the shopping district, their owners shouting wares from across the street. Vegetables, cheeses, smoked meats and cloth and flowers and trinkets—everywhere Varian turns, there is something new to see, some new dizzying sight to catch his eye. He’d thought the crowd from yesterday had been intimidating, but this one puts it to shame. The sheer amount of people and goods makes his head spin. This is nothing like the market in Old Corona—this is more like the capital than anything, or even the science fair. The amount of people out and about for a daily market is mind-blowing.

“Child, eyes on me.” Yasmin snaps her fingers in front of his face. Varian looks to her reluctantly, fighting the urge to keep gaping at his surroundings. “What do you need?”

“What?” Varian asks, too dazed to follow her questions. His eyes drift to the market again.

Yasmin frowns down at him. “Keep up, boy. For a light. What do you need?”

Oh. Varian blinks fast, thoughts muddled by the market, his own exhaustion, and the constant dread that is stillbeating away at the edge of his mind. He says the first thing he can think of. “Matches?”

Yasmin stares at him. Varian slowly flushes, scrambling to get his thoughts in order—nope, nothing. He tries again. “…Fire?”

“That was not a trick question. I meant—a more permanent light, a manufactured one. A nightlight. Something to help keep the dark at bay without being too bright to wake you.” Yasmin rubs at her forehead. “What do you need to make something like that?”

“Oh.” Well, that makes much more sense. Varian blinks hard, rubbing at his eyes, trying to get his thoughts in order. He feels like he’s wading in molasses, an exhaustion that drags at his thoughts and eyelids. A permanent light… something he could hold, maybe. Something bright enough to let him know he isn’t in the dark but quiet enough not to keep him awake. A soft glow. Unwavering…

“A vial, maybe?” Varian murmurs. “No, glass, breakable, bad idea. Stone… too opaque. Gem, too expensive—”

“Crystal?”

Varian blinks, startled from his thoughts. Yasmin is frowning again, but not at him—just off to the side, looking lost in thought. “Would that work?”

“I…” His mind whirls, thoughts tangling. “If it could hold something—was hollow inside—I think so? I need a space to put in the materials, and then I gotta seal it up after, so—”

“Yes, yes, let me handle that—I am not completely bereft of supplies. I am sure Ella has a jewelry clasp somewhere. We will figure something out.” Yasmin tilts her head. “What would you need to make the light?”

He lists ingredients in his head, remembers the likely lack of equipment, and shoves aside all but a few. Lists down his fingers. “Let’s see… um, distilled water, definitely. Probably some sodium carbonate, luminol… ammonium carbonate, copper sulfate pentahydrate… maybe some 3 percent hydrogen peroxide, or would just using zinc sulfide work better?” He frowns at his hands. “I should probably test that, the zinc sulfide might be too weak to last, but the other mixture might—”

Varian cuts himself off, his hand dropping. At once he realizes he’s been rambling. He flushes, his confidence faltering. There in the market cheer he feels abruptly out of place, too obvious, too seen. His skin crawls. He swallows hard. “Um. But I… I don’t think I’ll find all that here, it’s—”

“Do not worry,” Yasmin says, surprising him silent. She looks almost bemused by his sudden bit of word vomit. “Port Caul markets sell many things— and things like that for rather cheap. You would be surprised at how many children like to play at alchemy.”

Varian splutters. “It’s not playing—”

Yasmin has already turned away. Her coat flaps at her heels as she strides deeper in the market crowd. “Hurry along, boy. Let us go! I haven’t got all morning.”

Varian yelps and rushes to keep up.

It must be market day, he thinks; the place is busier than it was yesterday, and the crowd is nearly dizzying. People shouting, people selling, laughter high and bright in the frozen winter air. They’ve arrived early enough that the sun’s rising warmth hasn’t thawed the streets yet—the cobble roads are slick with frost and sea-spray salt, the wind brisk against his skin, the breeze as sharp as knives.

Varian tugs up his borrowed coat collar and follows Yasmin best he can, tripping in his too-big boots even with his layered number of socks. In contrast to Varian’s hesitation, Yasmin maneuvers the market like a king in court, eyes sharp and scanning, seeing all the market has to offer and dismissing it just as quickly.

“This way,” she says after a minute, and tugs Varian to the side, near a small stall off the corner. The covered wagon has a table with a velvet cloth, small glittering gems and jewels shining on the dark red fabric. The man minding the stall is tall and round, and when he sees Yasmin approaching he sits up with a smile.

“Yasmin! Been awhile. How’s it been?”

“Lovely, Marin, thank you. Have you any crystals?”

The man hums. “All sorts. What are you looking for?”

Yasmin puts a hand on her hip and turns to Varian. He stares back, blank, then jumps when the man looks at him too. “O-oh. Um.” Their eyes make his skin crawl. Yasmin has already recognized him for what he is. What if this man, too—? “A, a hollow… hollow center. If you have that. And, um… clear would be—be best—”

“Of course.” The man’s interruption is kind, his smile unsuspecting. He leans down and rummages at his feet, the clink of precious stones in the air. “I’ve a few like that. Take your pick.”

Varian surveys the offered collection of crystals, ranging in sizes from small to unwieldy, and finally selects one near the middle—not the cleanest cut, but a nice size, fitting well in his palm. It has a hollowed center like a shallow shot glass, the opening just barely big enough for a finger. Hopefully easy to seal closed, once he’s made the light. “T-this one’s fine.”

“Great. That’ll be five gold crowns, then.”

Varian freezes, color draining from his face. Five gold crowns? He doesn’t even have copper. Oh, gods, he’s forgotten money was a thing that existed again. “I—uh, I—”

“I have it.” Yasmin sets the gold down with a sharp click, the coins stacked in a perfect tower. “Take care of yourself, Marin.” To Varian: “Come along. Next stop.”

“Come back if you need any more!” the shopkeeper calls. “I’ll have a lot more next week, if those trading ships finally make it to harbor!”

“I will think about it!” Yasmin is walking away, but Varian doesn’t move, and after a moment she glances back at him, eyebrows raised. “Hello? What is wrong. Why are you not moving.”

He stares down at the ground, eyes burning. “I didn’t ask you to pay for me.”

Yasmin tilts her head. “I am the one helping you, and this is my idea. I would not make you pay for it. In a roundabout way, I am being paid to help you. There is no loss here.”

“I—”

He can’t find the words, the anger rootless, his frustration smarting. He is sick of feeling helpless, of feeling like a drain; he hasn’t asked to be taken care of, to be treated like a child. But he doesn’t yet know how to put it into words, and all he can do is glower at the ground and seethe.

Yasmin considers him. Something in the hard lines of her face softens.

“…Come here.”

He goes reluctantly, stepping out of earshot from the shopkeeper. Yasmin places a hand on his shoulder, steering him away, and when she speaks, her voice is not softer but somehow gentler. “Listen. I do not know what brought you here, nor do I care. But you are here. And it is clear to me that you need help.” She looks down at him. “Boy, you do not need to like me. I still do not like you. But I am not here to hurt you, or slight you, or whatever it is you think I am doing. My dislike does not mean I cannot do you a kindness.”

Varian doesn’t answer. Yasmin draws her hand away. “If it bothers you so deeply, you can plan to pay me back in your own time. But for now—can you accept this?”

He looks down. The anger, rising, turns ashy on his tongue, cold and empty. “…Okay.”

He sounds tuneless even to himself. In the back of his mind, the dread hums like a lightning strike. Turn back. Go home. It’s not safe here.

He swallows back the anxiety and shuts his eyes tight. He hears Yasmin exhale, soft and tired.

“Chin up, boy,” she says, half-way to gentle. “I am sure you will like this next part. Come along.”

Varian, doubtful, sets his jaw and bravely follows after her.

She leads him further into the market, closer to the docks. The scent of salt and sea fills his nose. The crowd is a little thinner here, easier to navigate, and the sudden breathing room helps unwind some of the tension from his shoulders. He tilts his head in the breeze and breathes deep.

It’s the smell that hits him first. The burning hiss, the sudden bitterness on his tongue like ash—

His eyes snap open. He sees it almost at once.

The small wooden stall. The bright pink banner. The small jars, the neat little labels. The smell in the air, even in this crowded and clustered market place, a sour snap like citric acid, like the tang of metal—

He knows the stall even before he sees the sign. This—this is an alchemy store.

Varian races ahead, pushing past Yasmin and nearly running right into the stall. It has been so, so long since Varian has seen alchemy, even longer since he’s done it properly. The road isn’t appropriate for intensive experiments, and Adira never willing to buy materials, and Varian never quite confident enough to ask for them. After six months of nearly nothing, the sight of the stall is enough to make his eyes prick with tears.

Even the memory of his last alchemy experiment can’t bring down his mood. In the labyrinth, this skill was the one thing that brought Varian some comfort. Some denial of fate, some way to fight. Through alchemy, Varian found a chance to breathe. Through alchemy, Varian defeated Moon’s golem.

And now, this alchemy stall—the sight of those elements, neatly bottled, the equipment, newly shined—it makes his vision blur. Varian’s smile nearly splits his face in half. He puts his hand on the table and leans up, beaming at the shopkeeper, a woman with a heavy afro pulled back in a bun and a no-nonsense alchemical smock. “Is this all yours!?”

“Every bottle of it.” The shopkeeper puts down a vial, a latest experiment of some sort. Her gloves, heavy and dark and made of solid stitched leather, make Varian’s own now-bare hands itch with envy. “Why, you interested?”

“Yes.”

She grins. “Well, then. Nice to see someone who appreciates the art! What are you looking for?”

“Something for a light, if you have got it.” Yasmin walks up from behind him, sounding bemused. “What was it? Zinc sulfate?”

“Sulfide,” Varian corrects, automatic. “Zinc sulfide, and also some distilled water, and I was thinking maybe…”

He lists the ingredients off from memory, counting them off his fingers to be sure he doesn’t forget any. “…and some 3 percent hydrogen peroxide, if you have any?”

“Easy enough.” The woman tugs off her gloves, nodding thoughtfully. “How much of each?”

Varian does quick math in his head—some extra needed if things go wrong, enough to make two batches if things go right—and rattles off the amounts in grams. The shopkeeper hums when he finishes, looking vaguely impressed. “Can do. It’ll be a blue-ish light, in the end—should last you a couple months before you’ll have to remake it.”

Varian abruptly pales. The shopkeeper blinks. “Is something wrong?”

Blue, Varian thinks numbly. Blue light. Right. He hadn’t thought of that. He struggles to answer. “Um—I—that is—”

Yasmin touches at his shoulder. Varian looks up at her, but Yasmin is speaking to the shopkeeper instead when she says, “Is it possible to change the color of the light?”

Something like pride smarts in his chest.

“Of course,” says the shopkeeper. “Easy,” Varian scoffs, pointedly, at the same exact time.

There is a beat of silence. Yasmin rolls her eyes. “Scientists,” she says, disgusted. “Would you need an ingredient for that?”

“Alchemists,” Varian corrects, annoyed, and then blinks as the rest of her words sink in. Oh, right. He turns back to the shopkeeper. “Do you have any pigments?”

“I have all the pigments. Could even mix a few powders, but you’ll have to be exact on the color if so.”

Varian bites his lip, considering. Yasmin looks down at him. “It need not be a difficult discussion,” she says. “The intended use already removes a few options. White, too bright; black, destroys the purpose of having a light at all. Red would be… garish, I think. Sort of bloody. Hmm. What about orange?”

He makes a face, unable to help it. Orange has never been his favorite color, and after the amber… “No.”

“Tsk. Green? Violet?”

Violet is too close to blue; green reminds him of the automatons beneath the castle, and what he did with them. Varian shakes his head.

“…Yellow?”

Golden shine and searing heat, the numbness broken apart by a light that burned as bright as a sun—

Some of his thoughts must show on his face. Yasmin stops herself before Varian can even think to interrupt. “Not yellow, either. Hmph.” She considers, cupping her chin in one hand. “…What about pink?”

Pink. Varian considers it. It’s a pale color, and a soft color, like they wanted. If he makes the glow very quiet it won’t hurt his eyes at all. And pink… there is nothing he associates with the color, no light-based trauma to invite nightmares. Pink is sunrise and sunset, soft flowers in spring fields. It’s a color that reminds him of happy things.

“…Pink would work.”

“Pink it is.”

The shopkeeper nods. “I’ll wrap it up.”

They get the ingredients wrapped in small paper bags, and as Yasmin counts out money for the cost Varian shuffles through the wrapped ingredients with a giddiness he’d almost forgotten. He feels renewed, refreshed, the ever-present exhaustion dulled by a joy that could almost burst out of him.

He tucks the packets away in the satchel and tilts his head into the wind with a soft sigh. His smile is a small thing, barely there—quiet and thin, hidden in the light of the winter sun. The market moves around him, warm and whispering. The noonday sun is melting the frost.

And it is then, in this moment, as the crowd swells silent and the market murmurs soft—that is when the screaming starts.

.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

Cassandra closes her wardrobe hard, hearing the weapons knock around inside. It is three days after their return to Corona, and Cassandra’s patience is nearing its limit. Outside of her window, the setting sun burns gold at their backs, casting a long shadow across Cassandra’s entire room. “Yes, Raps. I already said I was.”

“I know. I just—”

“You worry. I know.” Cassandra takes a breath, holds back a sigh. She’s not annoyed. She’s not. She’s just—

Gods, she wishes Rapunzel could just let it go.

It’s not that she doesn’t appreciate the gesture—to be honest, she’s fully expected this. Of course Rapunzel would come to check in on her, especially after the last few days. Eugene’s skipped out of the castle with a plan he hasn’t even told Cassandra about, Rapunzel has been avoiding her parents best she can, and Cassandra—

Cassandra is right back where she started.

She supposes it could be worse; the king could strip her of the guard title entirely. Being demoted to the dungeons, being forced to avoid Rapunzel… these things aren’t good by any stretch of imagination, but as far as limitations go, they aren’t so bad. Take this, for example—for all of the King’s grandiose orders, here Rapunzel is, only three days later having already discovered a path through the tunnels that leads right to Cassandra’s quarters.

It could be worse, Cassandra thinks, and ignores the way it feels like she’s trying to convince herself. It could be worse.

“I just… I want to be sure.”

Cassandra turns, straightening up in full as she pulls on the last piece of armor, strapping her arm guard in place. Clunky, bronze, degraded, demoted. She misses the golden shine of the armor for Royal Guards. “And I’m telling you exactly what I told Eugene. It’s fine. There’s obviously something wrong, and—and you need my help. And if what you overheard was true…”

It’s the reason for Rapunzel’s visit, after all. Cassandra had woken up to sunset, blearily about to get ready for yet another awful night shift—only to find the resident Princess and future Queen leaning over her face like a fretting hen, eyes bright with a stolen secret.

“I’m almost certain,” Rapunzel says at once. “I know it was Nigel talking, he’s got… a distinctive voice. And he sounded worried.”

According to Rapunzel, just this morning while on her way to meet with her parents for yet another awkward not-quite-conversation, she’d passed by a hall and heard Nigel talking with a messenger. Which isn’t anything unusual—advisors talk with messengers literally all the time—except the contents of this conversation had been a little… stressed. A deal in the making, a big agreement between the King and another party—only whoever and whatever this deal was about, it didn’t seem to be about anything good.

Still, Cassandra is content to play devil’s advocate for this. “The kingdom makes deals all the time, Raps. Compromise, trade, agreements… that’s what running a country is all about.”

Rapunzel isn’t swayed. “Trust me, okay? This wasn’t like the usual. The way they were talking…” She bites her lip. “Cass, it sounded… bad. Almost like they—Corona, my dad—were running out of other options, but also like accepting the deal would be…”

“Like a deal with the Moon?”

“Or Zhan Tiri. Just. Bad.”

“I believe you,” Cassandra says, finally. She places one hand on her sword. “But that’s why, if it’s really as big as you say, we need more information, if anything we do is going to stick. So, if this is what’s needed…”

I want to help, she doesn’t say this time. She’d already said it to Eugene, two days and a night ago, when he stopped by her room and pressed a letter in her hands.

“You don’t have to do this, Cass,” he’d said then, letter in hand but holding back. “I know how much this job means to you.”

“Will it help?”

“It’s something.”

“Then yes,” Cassandra had said, cold and trying hard not to seem desperate, and she’s spent every night after thinking about that letter and what it meant, and the look in Eugene’s eyes when he gave it to her. Like he knew. Like he suspected.

King Frederick had been cold when he’d demoted her, near icy in tone. In contrast, beside her, Cassandra’s father had been spitting mad on her behalf, only just holding his tongue, his face dark with an anger that the King hadn’t even batted an eye at. Cassandra had taken the sentence with her head high and her heart burning. She’d known what this was really about, even then. It’s not about the secrets. It’s not even about Rapunzel’s silence, not really. It’s this—Rapunzel, flinching and quiet and different behind the eyes, the attack Cassandra can’t elaborate on and the prisoner who escaped, Varian vanished into the wilds.

In the eyes of the king, Cassandra has failed. Never mind that Varian got a chance to attack because Rapunzel let him. Never mind it was Rapunzel who let him go. Never mind that—

But even then. Even then, that hadn’t shaken her. But when the King had demoted her, when that golden shine of royal armor was replaced by lesser bronze—Cassandra had stared down at gloved hands, and wondered what the hell she was doing there.

Standing in line, she thinks. Guarding locked doors. She’s traveled across two continents, she’s traversed the ruins of a kingdom long dead, she’s looked a god full in the face and snarled—

And here she is. Back again in the kingdom, with armor that doesn’t fit quite right and a restless burning beneath her skin, the whisper of opportunity lost.

When did I outgrow you? she wonders, absently, picking up her halberd, putting the helmet under her arm. She draws the sword and looks at it, the person staring back. When did I lose this?

But she doesn’t say that. She can’t, not really—she hasn’t the words, and a little bitter voice in her gut says that Rapunzel won’t understand anyway. Besides, Rapunzel has her own issues to deal with. Her own struggles. Cassandra doesn’t want to become another burden—not any more of a burden, at least.

When did I become so weak as to be used against you?

But those are quiet thoughts. Cassandra shoves them away, locked back in the corner of her mind where they belong, and turns to face Rapunzel with both hands on her hips. Rapunzel is sitting quiet on the bed, head bowed, gloved hands folded in her lap, and at the sight something in Cassandra’s chest eases. She crosses over, and kneels down before her. “Hey. Raps.”

Rapunzel looks up. Her eyes are dry, the green of her irises cold and clear. Her mouth is set in a mulish sort of stubborn. That tight knot in Cassandra’s chest eases further, and she manages the barest hint of a smile. “Look,” she says. “I get it. I do. And you’re right. It’s—a lot.” Which is a nice way of saying basically treasonous, but hey. “Look. It’ll work out, okay? I’ll do a scan on the dungeons when I can, get info like you requested—” As per the letter still in her pocket, anyway. “—and yeah, sure, it’s… dangerous.”

“Treason. If you get caught. And my dad—”

“Yeah. But Eugene has the right idea. Don’t tell him I said this, but… look. You can eavesdrop on the nobles. Eugene is doing…whatever he’s doing. And me?” Her lips thin. “I can see what the prisoners say. I can walk around and listen, and see what they know. And maybe it’s dangerous, but if it gets us what we need to know, gets us where need to go…” She trails off, pointedly.

Rapunzel dips her head. “I’m worried,” she admits, quiet. “And you’re right, I don’t know enough. But—Cass, what if you’re right about this, too? What if it’s nothing? What if it’s not worth it? What if we just make things worse?”

“Yeah, okay. Good point. But you’re doing this anyways, right? So… I—I don’t want—” Oh, how to word this. Cassandra blows out a breath through her teeth, hard and hissed. “I can’t just sit here, Raps. I can’t do nothing.” Her hands curl, unbidden. “Don’t shut me out again.”

The set to Rapunzel’s jaw eases, just a bit. She reaches out and squeezes Cassandra’s hand, brief and firm despite how the pressure on her injuries makes her face twitch with an echo of pain. “I won’t,” Rapunzel says, and a pale smile flickers across her face. “I… I did promise, after all.”

“You did,” Cassandra replies, neutral.

“Okay. Okay. I’ll lay off. If you’re sure.”

“Very sure.”

The smile on Rapunzel’s face settles, a little stronger. “Thanks, Cass.”

“It is literally the least I can do,” Cassandra informs her, dryly, and stands up with the creak of new armor. “Now get out of my room before your new guard realizes you're missing, yeah? Elias is skittish, but he’s going to realize you used your hair as an escape route sooner rather than later, and if I have to go guard the sewers we’re all going to suffer.”

Rapunzel’s smile widens. “Right!” she says, and scampers up, heading back for her newfound secret entrance to the tunnels. Seriously, how does she keep finding those things? “I’ll try and visit again soon. There’s this dinner party with my parents, and I think I might be able to ferret out a few details on this mysterious deal. I’ll let you know!” Something in her face gentles. “…Please take care of yourself, Cass.”

“Only if you do.”

Cassandra watches her go, and manages a small wave and a weak smile when Rapunzel looks back. She waits, patiently, until the stone door of the secret entrance latches shut, and then lets her hand falls with a sigh.

For a moment she just stands there, basking in the silence. Her hand goes to her pocket. The missive Rapunzel wrote and Eugene gave her sits heavy by her side.

I’m sorry to ask this of you. I know my father is your King. But I need you, Cass. I need to know if you’re with me. You don’t have to say yes now. You don’t have to answer at all. And I will never, ever be angry if you say no. You’re my best friend, now and forever. But whatever you’re willing to give. Whatever secrets you find willing to share with me…

If the time comes to choose, if circumstances force us to make a stand—will you stand by my side?

Cassandra has never been readier. But still—

For some reason, the knot remains, cold and heavy in her chest.

She marches out of her room to her new guard shift with her chin up and back straight and proud. Some heads turn when they see her pass; some faces creases in sympathy, others tight-lipped. Odd, she thinks, and remembers vividly Eugene’s offhand comment on the castle’s reactions. She thinks again of her father’s face when the King stripped her of rank, the anger he didn’t even try to hide, and her lips thin further. There’s something wrong here after all—she just hopes it’s not the internal battle she’s starting to suspect it might be.

She turns another hall, pushes open the last door. Cold, rank air blows against her face. Her nose wrinkles.

Once, in a different age, the dungeons of Corona had served as part of the castle proper. In the start of Corona’s great history, King Herz der Sonne had walked these halls and eaten in these empty rooms, enjoyed food and rest in the grand circular hall that has become the main prison pit. These stone walls were filled with history and majesty, until an unfortunate winter earthquake fifty years after his reign brought the whole castle tumbling down.

The castle was rebuilt, of course—better this time, and it has withstood every earthquake since for the remaining hundreds of years. But of that first, lonesome castle, only the tunnels and this hall remain—the tunnels locked down for fear of constant collapse, and the rubble of the first castle become one of the worst places in the whole kingdom.

The point is that the dungeons are a place of history—and at the moment, Cassandra feels as if she’s experiencing each one. As she marches through and down the enclosed halls, the cold deepens, the stone growing soft with age and dark with a grime built up over centuries. Voices murmur low and bitter through the grates as she passes, and the stench of rot and mildew and waste is so heavy she almost struggles to breathe. There’s a slick moss crawling stubbornly through the cracks in the mortar, and as she passes down to the last and final floor, the old stone sagging and heavy, the ceilings low and strained under the weight of the years, even the voices fade out. There aren’t many prisoners here. In truth, there’s very little here at all. Something wet and watery drips down the wall. The cells are silent and empty. Cassandra, standing all and alone in a dark corridor, takes a deep breath and regrets it almost at once.

She’s in full guard armor, the bronze polished and shining, her curls forced under the tight helmet. Her gloves are crisp on her hands, the halberd stiff in her palms; her stance is straight and her eyes unwavering from the door. Every few minutes she’s to turn from her post to pace up and down the corridor for a routine check before she returns back to the door at the end of the hall.

It’s a joke of a job. It’s a job for newbies and rookies and guards with their heads too full of pride for sense, and here she is. Stuck here until Rapunzel either breaks her silence—unlikely—or until the King cools his temper, which…

Well.

She’s probably going to be here for a while, she knows, and as she stops before her new post, she closes her eyes, breathing in deep through her teeth.

Gods, she has no idea what she’s doing here. Cassandra is skilled and she knows it. She’s wasted here, and the fact she’s only been posted here as punishment for Rapunzel’s actions only furthers the insult. She’s not—resenting it, really, or at least she’s trying not to. It’s not Rapunzel’s fault. That the King is punishing Cassandra in order to punish Rapunzel… it’s more than insulting. It’s downright infuriating.

Not to mention being replaced by Elias, of all the guards. The boy is… new is almost too kind a term. He’s barely not a trainee, and while he’s not a bad kid, Cassandra suspects that kindness won’t stop him from reporting Rapunzel’s every action to the King.

They’ve been back for only a scant three days, and already, most of Rapunzel’s worries are proving justified. If this is destiny, Cassandra wishes she could punch it into submission or something. First the Dark Kingdom, now this—for gods’ sake, don’t they all deserve a break?

But no, of course not. And so Rapunzel’s confined in the castle and Eugene’s walking on so many eggshells he decided running was the better option, and Cassandra is here: stationed in the deepest, darkest, most boring corridor in the dungeon, waiting for nothing.

She closes her eyes. “Look around,” Rapunzel had said. “Keep your eyes open. Maybe you’ll find something everyone else missed.” But gods, how is Cassandra going to find anything if she’s stuck miles underground for eight straight hours a day? She’d mentioned the idea of wandering around to listen in on the prisoners herself, but in the secret depths of her mind, even she can admit it’s basically a worthless task. Who on earth would spill the beans when guards lurk around every corner?

She wants to help, but this—

It feels terribly like being shunted. All. Over. Again.

Cast aside and left in the dark, something in her whispers, dark and bitter. Cassandra sets her jaw. There isn’t even a guard on duty to take over once her shift ends— there’s nothing here to guard at all. This job is a joke.

She turns hard on her heel, walking away. To hell with it. If she’s stuck down here, she thinks grimly, she can at least explore. As useless as it is, at least those cells aren’t empty.

The air is like ice around her; the winter cold turned something subzero in the freezing hold of the underground stone. Each breath puffs like fog before her. In her armor, the metal is so chilled her fingers flex on impulse to get blood flow going. She turns down the twisting halls, eyes passing blind over the shadowy cells and water-rusted metal, the withered skeletons of the ruins of the ancient castle. She breathes in, breathes out. Nothing appears. Nothing happens.

Nothing’s ever going to happen.

Who is she even kidding? She’s going to be down here for hours, for days, for weeks. She wants to help but she couldn’t even see Rapunzel herself; the princess had to find a way to her instead. Rapunzel may be trapped in her room, but she already knows how to slip free— and Cassandra’s chains are so much tighter. She has so much more to lose.

And if things do go wrong, guess who’s going to suffer for it? Her, probably. Definitely. She loves Rapunzel, gods know she does, but so much of this mess is just—!

Why did she let Varian go? Why didn’t she ask them? Why hasn’t she explained? What little Cassandra knows of the labyrinth is just that—just the little. Just the bare minimum. She’s not asking for a play by play, but if Rapunzel is going to release known criminals, couldn’t she at least give a real reason? She’d said it was because it didn’t feel right, but what had that even meant? Feeling has no place in politics. No place in acting queen, or princess…

Even after everything, she’s still weak.

Cassandra stops mid-step.

She feels struck, stunned still by her own thoughts. Her hand rises to her head. A wave of dizziness overcomes her, shame like a blooming poison in her gut. The cold of the dungeon bites at her skin like a beast.

That’s… that’s a cruel thing to think. Sure, Rapunzel is a little much at times, but she’s been growing too, changing, becoming more and more sure of her place every day. More confident in herself, even if Cassandra doesn’t agree with all her choices. And—and Cassandra knows that, she understands that, so why—?

“…Cassandra? Is that you?”

She jumps, just barely avoiding dropping her halberd. She whips around, breath caught, weapon raised—and the confused face of a guard blinks back, almost bemused.

She stares at him, mouth open in shock—lowers her weapon rapidly, heat climbing in her cheeks. “I— sorry. You snuck up on me.” She pauses, abrupt. “Wait, what are you doing down here?”

The other guard frowns at her. “Cassandra, this is my post. Aren’t you stationed in the lower dungeons?”

“I…” She looks around, rapid, and realizes he’s right—the walls are lighter, the stink stronger. This isn’t her post at the lower dungeons. This is the first sector—the private prison, for top-priority prisoners, serious threats to the kingdom. Once upon a time, Varian had been kept in this sector, only one floor above her. When had she…? “Apologies. I got lost in thought.”

His scowl deepens. “Look, I know the demotion must sting, but that’s no reason to leave your post. What would the Captain say?”

Cassandra flushes, her lips pulling away from her teeth. “Look, I didn’t mean to—”

The guard is glaring.

Abruptly Cassandra remembers herself. She cuts herself off, breathing in deep through her nose. Her fingers clench white-knuckled under her gloves, curled tight and shaking around the halberd. “…No, never mind. You’re right. I apologize. It won’t happen again.”

She turns away hard before he can say anything more, marching off down the stairs. She doesn’t look back. The guard shakes his head and turns away, pulling the door latched behind him, back again at his post.

She leaves the private dungeon behind, and slams the door tight behind her. She walks quick, her stride furious. Her footsteps echo off the walls. Just like that: alone again.

Water drips uneven on the withered stone. The darkness slithers and seeps in the corners. The lanterns flicker. Unknown even to herself, Cassandra shivers once, and hugs her arms tight.

And in the darkness of a cell just out of view, someone else watches her seethe—and smiles.

“Oh, yes,” the prisoner says. Their voice is nothing but a hoarse whisper; their smile bares feral in the lanternlight. “I agree.”

Cassandra opens the final door, the exit to the prison floor. A sharp, foul gust of air howls through. The lantern flickers. For one shining moment, the prisoner’s eyes glint bright and green.

“She’ll make a wonderful disciple.”

.

For a moment, Varian doesn’t understand what he’s hearing.

He stands there, before the market stall, hands cold and heart growing colder; the screams, distant, are indistinct to him. It could be cheering, he thinks. It could be celebration. It could be nothing at all.

Except then Yasmin grabs his arm and yanks him back, and people have started to run, and then all at once he hears a boom like thunder and sees shrapnel fly, and he thinks—cannons—and he realizes.

The harbor is under attack.

A whisper drifts by his ears, paranoia crystalized to reality. The wind hisses like a curse. I warned you, child. Now it is too late.

The ground rocks with the force of the explosives; Varian stumbles sideways and just barely keeps to his feet. He can hear laughter, distantly, in the crowd, faint above all the screaming, mingling with the shrieking steel of sword against sword as the guardsmen of Port Caul rush in. But that doesn’t make sense, he thinks—how could it all happen at once, so soon? Or had these attackers planned this, had they snuck in with the market crowd and waited amongst the people for the attack to begin?

Another blast of cannon fire shakes the stonework, cutting his thoughts short. This time Varian isn’t so lucky—he falls hard on his knees, unable to stand on the shaky ground.

A hand grips his arm, nails digging into his shoulder—Yasmin drags Varian to his feet, supporting him against her. In the alchemy stall, the owner has vanished. Varian lists sideways in her hold. “What—”

“Pirates,” Yasmin hisses, and they both stumble when the ground rocks again. Cracks line the street. “I knew they were getting bold, but this is—!”

The jeering grows louder, closer to them. Yasmin pulls him up to his feet, and this time Varian needs no instruction. The pound of blood in his ears, a looming threat coming ever closer—he knows this feeling, this metallic tang in the air.

The labyrinth has etched this lesson into his bones.

He runs, and Yasmin runs with him. The crowd, once comforting, has turned confining; bodies shifting like a living thing, people on the ground, someone crying. Varian shoves his way through, trying to get away. A piercing scream makes him falter, then push on, but Yasmin turns back, vanishing momentarily in the crowd.

Varian stumbles, stopping too, turning back less because he wants to and more on instinct. Panic coats his tongue. He pushes through the mill of people, searching—and finds Yasmin on the ground, kneeling down to help someone up.

“To your feet!” Yasmin is saying, pulling the poor bystander upright. “Hurry! Get others off the ground! We will all be trampled at this rate.”

“Yasmin—!”

“Boy, what are you standing there for? Go hide!”

“I—” He wants nothing more than to run, but her moment of altruism has sent a cloud of shame through him. She’d stopped at the screams and cries for help. He had not. “I can, I can help—”

“I think not.” Yasmin grabs his arm, pushes him away; the crowd swells and ebbs around them. “Go to the buildings, you are small, hide by the crates—this crowd will kill you if the pirates don’t get there first, now hurry and—”

A shrieking sound rets the air, the awful screech of metal sliding against metal. Yasmin cuts herself off, whipping around; Varian stares over her shoulder, numb and horrified. There is a body in armor fallen to the ground, and red smeared across the cobblestone. Above the body there is a pirate, pale like a fish’s belly and smiling with teeth like tombstones, pulling free a crude sword dripping with blood and gore.

Varian claps a hand over his mouth, bile sour in his throat. The sight of blood makes his head spin. He’s never—he’s never seen someone die before, he realizes. Not like this. Not so brutally. He’s never…

Yasmin grips his arm so tight her hand spasms, hard enough to bruise. The pain grounds him, and Varian pulls his eyes away from the dead guardsman with difficulty, swallowing back the sick. Yasmin tugs him behind her, as if to shield him, and herds him back as she steps away from the scene, moving out of the pirate’s line of sight slowly and silently—

And the money pouch in her pocket, still untied and hanging out from her pocket from when she’d opened it, minutes ago, to pay for Varian’s alchemy ingredients—dips, opens, and spills bright golden coins all across the street in a clatter.

Yasmin freezes, her eyes going wide and horrified. Varian’s breath slams shock-still in his throat.

The pirate’s head snaps up. He stands, sword in hand.

He looks right in their direction.

Yasmin says a foul word in a language Varian doesn’t know, grabs his arm, and turns to run.

Varian scrambles to follow, his heart stuck in his throat. He can hear the pirate behind them, beginning to laugh, cackling with a bright and bloodthirsty sort of glee, drunk on something far worse than wine. “Pretty lady!” the man coos over the screams of the crowd and the cannon fire. “Pretty lady, you look like you might have gold!”

“Fuck,” Varian says, distantly, and then Yasmin shoves him into an alleyway. Crates and barrels and open buckets of produce line the dirty side-street, and despite the lack of people it’s nearly a maze to his eyes. Varian dodges crates and spilled fruit, following Yasmin’s sprint best he can—and he thinks, in that moment, he will make it. He can see the other side, the open street, and he is close, so close—

He bursts out of the shadowy alley into the sunlight—and then the ground tremors with a force more than cannon fire, and sends Varian crashing to his knees.

His vision flips. White bursts like stars behind his eyes. The ground rushes up to meet him and he catches himself badly on the stone, cobble scraping up his hands, the street rocking beneath his palms like a bucking horse. Small cracks break through the rock. He doesn’t understand. This can’t be from cannon fire. This is—this is—an earthquake?

He can’t see Yasmin anymore. His head is spinning. Varian pushes dazedly to his feet, and feels so turned around he falls right back down again. His breaths rasp distant in his ears. His hands are shaking. He gets to one foot and lists hard to the side, stumbling sideways until he falls heavy on the thick glass window of a shopfront.

Varian fumbles blindly for purchase, and his fingers catch on the window frame. He gets one hand on the shopfront wall and pulls shaking to his feet, standing hunched and wheezing in the burning daylight. The glass of the shop window shines cold in the sun. He looks beside him, and the shop window reflects back at him, a distorted image of himself. In his reflection he can see the blood on his face, the shadows under his eyes. The fear and confusion clouding his expression.

And behind him. Behind him—

The man. The pirate. Blood on his coat and a smile like death. He is still laughing. Still standing. It’s as if the earthquake hasn’t touched him at all. His eyes burn green in the windowpanes. His hand is raised, and his sword glints bright in the winter sun.

Varian should run. Varian should fight. He doesn’t, though. He can’t. He feels cold. He feels frozen all the way to his bones, all the way to his navel. Like an icy cord has been pulled taut—like a hand on his neck, holding him in place. A weight in the air that is more than fear… an anticipation that is almost supernatural.

All those dreams. All those sleepless nights, trying in vain to fight the exhaustion and the dark. All those whispers in his ears. The memory of it chokes him. The memory holds him still.

The pirate lifts his blade. In the window, Varian’s reflection shimmers like a ripple effect. For a moment, someone else stands in his place. A woman, terrible in her familiarity, with stone-dark skin and eyes glowing yellow like a moon.

Hello, child.

The pirate swings.

Did you miss me?

His right hand is searing with pain. His veins feel like molten metal. The world flashes white, and the pirate’s laughter, behind him, cuts off into a scream.

And like something from Varian’s deepest nightmares—the black rocks begin to grow.

They come out of nowhere: the dark rocks bursting all at once, a starburst of deadly intent. They spear through the cobblestone like a hot knife through butter, crisscrossing and tearing up and down the street in a deadly wave. Dust bursts up in the air like a fog, the streets turned to rubble and ruin. Through the distant ringing of his ears, Varian can hear the rising screams like a final curse.

In the mirror, the Moon smiles. The icy touch at the back of his neck burns like a brand. His hand spasms with a pain white-hot and bleeding, and Varian drops to his knees.

His vision whites. Exhaustion hits him like a physical blow, the drain so sudden it makes his head spin. He blinks, and then—just like that—she’s gone. It is just him in the mirror, now. Just Varian, staring wide-eyed and horrified at his own reflection, blue eyes gone empty and cold with remembered terror.

“—get up!”

A hand pulls at his shoulder, and Varian fights on instinct, struggling to pull away. His limbs are weak, his body aching—he bites back a sob and tries to throw himself back. He hears someone curse.

“Boy, snap out of it! We need to go!”

At last, familiarity seeps through. That voice. He recognizes it.

“Varian!”

Yasmin.

His eyes clear, and he finally recognizes her. Her grip on his arm is almost bruising in its force. Her eyes are wild. There is blood on her cheek.

“Hurry!”

This time, when she pulls him up, he does not fight her.

Varian stumbles to his feet, wavering back and forth. He feels very far away. He feels like he’s drowning. He’s barely breathing at all.

Yasmin is running. Yasmin is dragging him with her. The satchel thumps heavy against Varian’s side like a promise, or a reminder. His hand hurts, but the pain is fading, needle-like piercing turned to dull aching. He feels cold. He feels so cold. He doesn’t want to know.

He looks behind him anyway.

People are crying. People are still screaming. It rings in his ears like the distant toll of a bell. Smoke and dust cloud in the air and drift soft like a fog onto crumbling streets. People are lying still. People are lying silent. He cannot see the pirate at all.

There are rocks, too. Black rocks torn through the ground like a spiny crown, ripping apart the streets. They are everywhere. They are tearing through the city like they once tore up his home. Needle-like and deadly, and each and every last one of them is pointing right at the sea.

His hands are numb. He feels so cold. In the back of his mind, he can hear laughter on a distant breeze, and for the first time he’s not sure if it’s only a memory, or perhaps something more.

Something worse.

Hello, child.

Varian looks away.

.

.

.

In a grand ship by the eastern coast, Lady Caine watches the distant sprawl of Port Caul go up in smoke.

Her hand is outstretched, reaching—her fingers curled as if to grasp the air itself. Her lips have peeled back from her teeth; her dark scowl cuts into her pretty face. The ship is empty but for her, her crew gone out to battle—armed only with their swords and a spare vessel for cannon fire. She is alone here. She is the only one watching. The only one to see exactly when the battle started… and the only one to see how it ends.

It is only Lady Caine that sees the rocks rise up, black towers hanging heavy over the city skyline. Only Lady Caine that sees her crew fall back to the sea, their numbers gutted, their white shirts turned red from bleeding.

She drags her hand away from the water, and her scowl turns to a snarl. She watches, white-knuckled and furious, as the black rocks rise up over the city. Tens upon tens of deadly spears, that lethal black stone slanted and sure, each and every needle-tip edge pointing right towards Lady Caine in her ship.

“Is that a threat?” she hisses, and turns away from the sight, pacing furious across the deck. “No one said the gods would be involved.”

She pivots on her heel, the wind whipping at her hair. Her eyes fix bright and poisonous on Port Caul. Her muttering darkens. “What happened to the Moon being too weak to make an appearance, anyway? I thought she needed a conduit for that. But that fucking moonstone is gone, and all reports say she’s an avid hater of mortals, so how…?”

She trails off, the words falling short. Her pacing stills. She holds herself tall and stiff in the shine of the winter sun, and her hands clench tight into fists. Her nails cut deep in her palm.

Something shudders across the deck. A shadow, a cloud over the sun. The boat creaks and groans like a rusty hinge. Frost crawls along the side of the boat. The wind whispers. Lady Caine closes her eyes in thought.

“Maybe,” she murmurs, the rage falling slowly to contemplation. “Maybe she did choose a mortal vessel. For some reason. Against all reports of her personality.”

A pause. Lady Caine tilts her head.

“And, say, if the Moon did choose a conduit...”

Her eyes open. She looks at Port Caul with fresh eyes. She traces the path of the black rocks. That deadly slant. That unbreakable sword. Those cruel, uncontrolled towers, and the unerring accuracy of their direction, the blade pointed right at her.

Slowly, surely, Lady Caine starts to smile. She watches as her men flee like cowards, running from the dark rocks like cities from a plague, and laughs under her breath. “Someone who can summon the dark rocks, hm…? Sounds like someone we could use.”

Another pause. She tilts her head. She turns to the shadows, to the empty air beside her, and smiles with all her teeth. In the midday shine, the green of her eyes nearly seems to glow.

“Well?” says Lady Caine. “What do you think?”

[flatsuke]

The Tragedy of Eisuke, or another Eisuke Meta

So I’m back on my bullshit, and I’m going to go on yet another tangent on Eisuke, so please bear with me if I ramble on at times lmao. For the purposes of this meta, I’m going to use screenshots from both main stories, POVs, and substories. Even if the substories happened in AUs, his characterization and personality are still canon. 

Disclaimer: This is all my opinion and in no way am I claiming this is the absolute truth lmao. This is just how I interpret Eisuke and the events in the game. Also, this is going to be a very long post peppered with memes (ty Screenshots of Despair) and game screencaps, so good luck reading through this really long post.

I’ve replayed some of Eisuke’s stories again, and wow, sometimes I feel like I discover facets of him that weren’t obvious to me before. I think I’ve said this many times before, but man....Eisuke’s such a complex character that it’s so fun to dissect him. 

The first thing I want to bring up are the recurring themes present in his characterization: power and utilitarianism. In almost all of his stories, power is explored in different ways — from the most superficial point of view, we see Eisuke exhibit his economic ad social power as a internationally renowned hotel mogul. There’s the power he has as the boss of his company and the leader of the bidders. 

That aside, Eisuke values utilitarianism to a nigh obsessive extent. Every decision he makes is based on how it’d benefit himself and his interests, and his standard for measuring a person is based on how useful they are. Basically, he quantifies everything and everyone.

The interesting thing I wanted to point out was the he didn’t start off that way, rather, he grew into that. There was once a time when he was idealistic and still had faith in people. But that time is long gone. 

(RIP that smile)

I think it’s tragic to see what Eisuke could have been. We see how he was as a kid in the Examination of the Heart Story. In this AU, he never experienced his mother’s death and family’s downfall. He was a kind, caring, and thoughtful child. He went out of his way to visit MC almost every day to take care of her. He even goes to medical school all for the sake of curing MC’s heart disease! I’m inclined to think that if the Kuga family was never separated, he would have grown up to become softer and kinder.

Sadly, the canon timeline has a much more unfortunate turn. Eisuke ended up adopted into the Ichinomiya household at seven years old after his family separated. The seed of self-doubt and insecurity was planted, and it only grew downhill from there. 

He grew up in an environment where all his actions were judged because he wasn’t a real Ichinomiya. He was constantly scrutinized and judged, so he couldn’t afford to trust anyone. The fact that he was never an Ichinomiya became a lifelong insecurity for him. According to Akira, Eisuke was a lonely child.

That lonely child grew up into a cynical and apathetic teenager. Teenage!Eisuke believed that since his path was set for him, he didn’t have to try hard to do anything. So he slacked off in school, only bothering to do the bare minimum of everything. He never thought about the consequences of his actions, either; he picked fights with pretty much everyone who pissed him off and he spoke his mind, not caring about what would happen to him or to anyone around him. He was never held accountable for anything, so why did he have to bother? Let everyone shit on him like they always did since nothing could bad could happen to him. 

This all changed when Frank, the headmaster’s son, framed Eisuke for starting a fire in one of the buildings at their boarding school. Here, Eisuke starts to realize that his complacency towards everything is biting him in the ass. The seed of insecurity in him morphed into a seed that hated himself for being weak and powerless This is where Eisuke’s fixation on power comes from. 

It only becomes worse when Luke takes the fall in Eisuke’s place. Here, Eisuke truly understands that his lack of power doesn’t only affect himself, but also the others around him. What’s sad is that Luke willingly took the heat for Eisuke out of  affection; he expected nothing in return from Eisuke because Luke viewed it as an act of friendship. However, Eisuke doesn’t think like that — he sees it as transactional. Eisuke becomes downright obsessed with paying Luke back for everything. In fact, it becomes a core facet of his personality.

He views debt as a sign of weakness. He even sees his relationship with Akira as transactional; Akira took him in raised him, so he felt like he had to pay Akira back. Eisuke felt like everything he owned had to be earned. He studied business and economics because that would benefit the company the most. Hell, his entire motivation for making the Ichinomiya Group the huge conglomerate it is today was because he wanted to prove to everyone that he deserved his place because he worked for it. 

On that subject, Eisuke always feels like he has to prove himself. He does everything he can to make himself useful so people can’t tear him down for being a liability. This is why he views everything with a utilitarian lens; if he isn’t useful, then he’s worthless. I was reading his Bidding on Eisuke Story and these lines really got the point across:

In this AU, MC is the owner of the Tres Spades and Eisuke a nameless nobody. She rescues Eisuke from the black market auctions by bidding on him. MC tells him he’s free to go. But the first thing he does after that? He offers himself as payment. The story doesn’t go into detail about his past, but it’s implied he was used mainly for sex. He didn’t have anything to offer her aside from his body, and he didn’t want to be seen as useless. So the most logical course of action in his head was to offer sex to her. In the process, he effectively dehumanized himself just to pay back what he perceived as a debt.

It’s easy to see him as arrogant, and ostensibly, he is. But I really think he has a crippling sense of self-worth because he bases it on how powerful and useful he thinks he should be. In essence, he has an inferiority superiority complex; he acts haughty and prideful, but that’s only because he’s afraid of being replaced, rejected, and abandoned. 

(Nothing screams Eisuke more than Oh No! by Marina and the Diamonds lmao.)

I’m not sure if he actually even loves himself, to be honest. Sure, he’s confident on the outside, and he believes his merit and abilities got him to where he is today ...but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s happy with himself. His self-esteem is so fragile because he always quantifies everything he does. If he isn’t perfect, then he’s not worth it. This is why he always pushes himself to the extreme (and I daresay this is why he overcompensates with MC when it comes to sex, giving gifts, etc.).

Luke even says so himself:

The sad part is he probably isn’t even aware of it. He’s probably one of the lesser self-aware bidders, if not the least. He knows that his lot in life wasn’t the best, but he doesn’t realize how this affected his emotional state. He is by far, the least emotionally mature among the bidders because he literally cannot process his feelings properly. His Main Story POV gives us a really good example:

On a base level, he’s aware of what jealousy is and what it entails, but he’s so repulsed by the idea that he can feel jealousy that he vehemently denies it. After all, why should he be jealous of the others if MC likes him the best? At least.....that’s what he tries to tell himself anyway. Again, he doesn’t realize how insecure he really is.

If he isn’t repressing or denying his feelings, then he’s turning to sex as a coping mechanism. If I has to list every scene where Eisuke has sex with MC to fend off his anxiety, this post would be too long lmao. In Eisuke’s mind, dealing with feelings scares him so much that he’d rather bury them or distract himself. Still, that doesn’t mean his feelings go away, no matter much he wants them to.

(It’s a cold day in hell if Eisuke isn’t actively repressing his emotions.)

With all this considered, Eisuke definitely knows he isn’t easy to love. Hell, I think he expected to get through life without anyone ever loving him. Meeting MC was a literal miracle because she is the One Person who could love him unconditionally. Loving him takes a lot of understanding and empathy, and he knows he’s really fucking lucky he has MC in his life. I’m honestly not surprised at how possessive and protective he is over her. Deep down, I think he’s insecure that MC might leave him one day, so he tries his best to keep her satisfied (especially physically) so she doesn’t have any reason to go (again, this is a manifestation of his utilitarianism).

Even though he still sometimes feels like he has to prove his power and usefulness to her, he’s slowly (and I say very, very slowly) getting comfortable with the idea that maybe, he can let his guard down around her. Intuitively, he knows she won’t think he’s weak for being open.....but that seed of self-doubt in him hasn’t completely gone away yet. 

I think it’ll be a long time till we can see him completely open up to her, but part of what makes his story so interesting is the slow process he goes through to reach emotional maturity. He’s not quite there yet, but he’s trying, and I think that deserves some credit.

In conclusion,

He needs a goddamn hug