#I don’t want to dismiss fish but I do not think they possess knowledge in a self aware sense

[ego-sum-arbor]

Fish would create such fascinating forms of geometry if they could, I’m sure of it

[ataraxiaspainting]

Animal Cannibal.

Yan Dottore x F Reader.

Synopsis: Violent individuals were frequently drawn to you, including your dear friend Willow, who shares your affinity for this destructive behavior. Your stalker, too, possesses a similar infatuation with you. The bond between the three of you lies in the intertwined emotions of violence and love.

Warnings: Yandere themes, violence/gore, stalking, cannibalism, minor character death, implied future kidnapping, manipulation, mentions of not SFW, and non-consensual human experimentation. 

Word Count: 2.2k.

Ten Songs Like This Piece:

Goo Goo Muck by The Cramps

Killer Queen by Queen

Psycho Killer - 2005 Remaster by Talking Heads

I Want To Break Free by Queen

Tip Toe Thru’ the Tulips with Me by Tiny Tim

Exploration by Bruno Coulais 

Take on Me by a-ha

You Are My Sunshine by Charles McDonald

Everybody Loves Somebody by Dean Martin

Dream A Little Dream Of Me - Single Version by Ella Fitgerald (feat. Louis Armstrong)

“But love shouldn’t cost an arm and a leg!” – Possibly in Michigan (1983)

*~*~*~*

i. “My own experiments have given me a deep understanding of the true nature of suffering… and I’m keen to share it with a willing guinea pig, hm?”

You found a strange man outside of your house.

He was taller than you–with hair the color of mint that covered his eyes, his beard long and poorly taken care of with split ends and some leaves and small sticks stuck to the thicker parts of it.

He waved at you when he saw you approaching. He did not scare you, not one bit.

He did not blend into his surroundings well because of how unique his appearance was. He wore an open black waistcoat with some of its buttons hanging on by a loose thread and nothing underneath. His pants were torn from the knee down. Grossly, you smelled him before you even saw him.

“Hello, sir,” You say, stepping a bit closer carefully, skillfully, being sure to not make a sound to startle or agitate him. You have become well-acquainted with unfamiliar gentlemen lurking around your residence as daylight fades, after all. “It’s getting late, isn’t it? Do you have a place to stay? There is an inn nearby I think if you don’t.” For better or for worse, stealth is something you are quite intimate with. “Sir? Are you alright? Sir?” The man did not respond, simply looking past you like you were not there.

He looked on into the brightwood trees, the wild, overgrown bushes dotted with purple Sumeru roses, and the rising, circular moon. You have a sudden flash of inspiration; since you have no weapon on you, you could bite him and claw at him if he tried anything. Your eyes go downcast, to his tattered, dirty leather shoes, as you dismiss the idea. 

“Excuse me? Do you need something? Sir?”

“I don't,” The man finally said, his voice raspy. “What about you? Do you live somewhere?”

“Here, I live here.” You could not hear what he mumbled as a response because of how quiet he was. “I live here. This is my home. You are outside my door and I can’t get in. Please, if you don’t need assistance, take a few steps back from it.”

Instead of looking at him, you look at your door. That is when you saw it; a hairpin lodged into your lock.

The man took it out and ran into the forest.

Despite the slight dents on your front door's lock, your house remained in good condition. Its aged appearance stood in stark contrast to the lush greenery that thrived just a few meters away. The wood showed signs of decay, with splits and a distinct scent of dampness and decomposing fish. Attached to the house was a collection of neglected Sumeru rose bushes, stunted and infested with flies. A rockery filled the space with an abundance of rocks, while a fairy ring composed of squishy brown toadstools emitted a dreadful odor when mistakenly stepped upon.

ii. “There is a sickness inside of me. I feel it eating away at me, eroding my mind and body. But I do not care. If I have to suffer for knowledge, I gladly will.”

The well outside your house was, for lack of a better word, still decrepit. But still, it seems like the man did not do anything to it. On the first day you moved in, all alone, the old couple that lived a hundred or so meters away made a point of telling you how dangerous the well was, and they warned you to be sure you kept away from it. 

You found it as soon as you stepped onto the property, it was in front of your house after all, smelling strongly of damp, dirty water, behind a clump of trees—a low brick circle almost hidden in the high grass. There were nests of drain flies that from afar looked like crushed pebbles. It made you step back a bit in complete disgust before you turned in the opposite direction to put your things down.

Like most Sumeru forests, there were plenty of types of animals. There were crystalflies that were sometimes the only light source you had, frogs that sometimes crept up your legs as you walked in tall, wet blades of grass and nearly made you scream every time and lizards that always somehow found a way inside and slithered across your floors.

There was also an orange cat, who sat on walls and tree stumps and watched you while meowing loudly but slipped away hissing if ever you went over to scare it off.

You spent the first two weeks after you moved in making adjustments to the rather old house. You hardly ate or slept, you just worked. There were days when you did not change clothes or drink water even, being so focused on your work that you hardly noticed anything else around you.

“This is my favorite!” exclaimed Willow, pointing at the Padisarah Pudding that was blocked off by a wall of glass.

“How much mora is it?” You asked, taking out your wallet. “I'll buy it for you. I am buying some Samosas here anyway, so it is no trouble. If you want, I can buy you some too, I recommend getting the potato and pea one.”

“No,” Willow answered, shaking her head while chuckling. “I'm fine. I have to use up some old vegetables and meat anyway at home before they go bad or my parents are going to kill me for real.” 

“Alright, be sure to check the ingredients beforehand for any dirt or mold,” you said. “‘I do not want you getting sick.”

You stood by one of the bakery’s windows, observing the rain pouring down. This rain wasn't the type you could venture out into; it was the other kind, cascading from the sky and creating splashes upon impact. This rain was serious, and its current agenda was transforming the streets into a murky, soggy mixture.

There was nothing to do here other than talk to Willow and wait for your food. Not that that was a bad thing in your book.

You had met through a mutual stalker, to put it simply, and now are inseparable. Even though that man is currently rotting in a prison cell, the past still influenced both of your actions. You just thank Lesser Lord Kusanali for granting you good fortune. With every new stalker, Willow seemed to be connected to them somehow, making you two even closer than before. You bond over your shared reverence of violence and love.

So, you start talking.

You start talking with a tone akin to someone making small talk over the weather, but instead of dark clouds or how bright the sun is, you talk about the man you saw yesterday. Willow listens, nodding a bit from time to time while still looking both outside the window and to the glass wall where the desserts were placed for the viewership of the customers. From the way she smiles with every word you say, you know you have piqued her interest yet again.

“Interesting.” She finally says, her back turned to you as she looks out to the rainstorm.

iii. “I wondered, why does a man who has done nothing think he deserves everything? That is what this experiment is about.”

“Hello?” You say, opening your door. “You're back.”

“Yes,” The man answered, playing with the buttons on his torn clothing. “Only for you, beloved.”

“Should I be honored?” You asked. “Who are you? What are you?”

“Your prince, what else?”

“Who or what else are you?”

“Someone utterly in love with you, someone you love too.”

“How do you know that?”

"My mouth,” The man answers, leaning in closer to you with his tongue out. “Look—look at it. The better to eat you with, my dear. It hungers for you. I just know you are the one to finally satisfy it. It is in a wolf's nature to feed, after all.”

“I see.” You look down as he kisses you, showing no resistance. He has holes in his shoes. His big toes are sticking out like sore thumbs. You suppose that they are, in a way.

“You have two choices. One, I will eat you now; or two, I will cut your arms and legs off one by one and eat them in front of you slowly as you cry on the floor covered in filth.”

You considered this carefully as you thought of an answer, preparing to ask him why.

So, you do, because he does not stop you and you want to know, don't you? He does not stop you.

He says for love.

You ask again.

He once again says it is for love. You say that love isn’t something given as part of an exchange or contract, that what he is asking for is bitter and dry.

He simply laughs. “For love.”

“But do you love me?"

“You smell so good, like the finest rose in all of Sumeru, all of Teyvat, even all of Celestia.”

Struggling would be useless. “Have there been others?” You ask.

"You must be the seventh," he remarked, leaving you to grapple with this realization. Escape became an impossible feat as he denied you any chance to flee. 

As if responding to his words, the door creaked open, followed by a gunshot.

iv. “I could have simply sliced her apart the moment I saw her and threw her to my patients, but I could not waste someone as fascinating as her. She is a treasure trove of knowledge, and it is rather rare to find someone as interesting as her, my assistant.”

The man fell to the floor grasping his shot through chest. Willow helped you up. Life quickly faded from the man's once concealed eyes, his red eyes.

“The plan worked,” Willow said. “Good job. He won't see you anymore. We make a good team I think.”

You agree.

“You should boil some water.” She said.

You then shrugged. “I'm getting tired of soup.” You responded. “I want sauce or something to go with the Samosas.”

Willow did not say anything for a moment.

It was dark outside now, with the rain still falling from the sky and making tiny splatters on the soil, making it hard to see out the window.

Perhaps making soup for dinner was not a bad idea after all. Days like this called for comfort. “Fine,” You say, and Willow smiles. “I’ll start prepping ingredients.”

“I’ll run to my home and get the leftovers I talked about.” She is already putting back on her coat before you can rebut.

You sighed as you heard the door close. It was time to get to work, you suppose.

“Come out, my friend.” You take the meat cleaver out from the kitchen drawer where you put the rest of your knives, the said cleaver still stained with blood from the month before. “You are unsightly if I am being perfectly honest with you.” You mutter, shaking your head.

…

Dinner went off without any problems. It was a lovely feast. However, heating the Samosas without breaking them was kind of difficult for you because you only had one small pan and one large pot.

Something creaks in the distance.

Creeeeeeeeak. The floorboards. You and Willow are too busy talking to notice. The sound came from your bedroom. A man with a mustache the color of rotting mint that covered his mouth and chin, his filthy brown hair long and dirty, and even some animal fur being laid about everywhere on his scalp.

He sneaks out your bedroom window.

His shadow was hardly seen by either of you because of how fast he ran.

He was like a spider. The comparison was sort of funny because he knew how much you hated them.

He has to eventually make his way to Port Ormos to catch his boat back to Snezhnaya. 

But that can wait for later. You are so much better than business and any other projects he is currently doing or has discarded. 

All he can think about is you. He thinks of what to tell the current him, of how many stalkers you and your friend have murdered in retribution for their harassment.

Would he be delighted?

Would he be angered?

There is no way to know for sure. After all, whenever someone tries to talk to him they have to tread the line between being too nice and being too rude unless they want to find themselves on the other side of the operations.

There is just one more thing he needs to check before he goes. Just one. It will only take a minute. It will be quick.

He steps on the old well’s edge and looks down into the murky water.

He sees one of the clones’ skulls floating on the surface, its disintegrating bone covered in flies fighting each other for the tiniest scraps of fat. 

They buzzed and buzzed until he could not take it anymore and threw a large rock, breaking the cranium and scaring away the flying insects, though there is no doubt that maggots are being born where the eyes and tongue used to be.

You and Willow throw the bones down the well. Just what he thought.

Good.

v. “My work is the purest form of art there is. It requires painstaking detail and absolute perfection, all in the spirit of scientific advancement and understanding. As an example, the first part of this experiment in particular is a success.”

[wristpockets]

Can I throw some prompts at you? All fluffy but with potential for Deep Emotional Talks™ if that's what you're after. Anyway: 1. Essek and jester trying to cook/ bake for the first time (two rich kids who have never been in a kitchen while food has been made) lots of potential for comedy but also ways to explore the differences and similarities in their childhoods?? 2. Caleb and Essek teaching each other dances from their homelands, (I feel like Essek probably had to learn formal dances in his youth and absolutely despised them until he realized that dancing with someone you actually like can be fun) Anyhow, happy writing!

Thanks for the suggestions! Going with the first one!

(If anyone else has any fic prompts/ideas/requests feel free to send them my way!)

This kind of got away from me 😅 Ended up a lot longer than expected. Not going to spend too much time proofreading or editing bc this was supposed to be fun. Anyway

Essek is leaning over the railing on the Nein Heroez, a glass of wine in his hand. He can hear the party going on behind him - the rest of the Nein get together every month for dinner - but he needed to get away for a moment. He watches the moonlight reflect off the waves as he swirls the wine in his glass.

He doesn't notice Jester until she's right next to him.

"What's wrong, Essek?" she asks, her voice laden with sincerity and sympathy.

He sighs, takes a long sip of his wine, and says, "I feel inadequate."

"Oh no Essek," Jester says. She moves closer, until she can bump her hip against his. "You're so powerful. And!" She lowers her voice conspiratorially, "I saw the way you floated in Cognouza. You were faster than Caleb, which I think means you're even smarter than he is."

Essek actually smiles at that. Lets out a little laugh. "You're not wrong. But I'm not concerned with my power or intelligence."

"Then how do you think you're inadequate? In what way? Is it-" Jester cuts herself off, looking over at him while wiggling her eyebrows.

"No," he says quickly, his ears heating up. "Everyone else is so..." He looks for the word and comes up blank. "Caleb and I see Beauregard and Yasha for dinner quite often. Yasha will have freshly baked bread, or even cake. Beauregard works all day, and Yasha stays home and cooks."

"I think she's happy though," Jester says.

"I think so too," Essek says quickly. "Caleb works all day too, and I stay home and do nothing." He lets out a little laugh. "I cannot believe this is my problem. Feeling bad that I cannot cook dinner while my - while Caleb is working."

Jester's eyes light up. "Okay," she says. "Okay okay. For our next get together, we're making dessert. Me and you."

Beauregard and Yasha are hosting the next meetup. Essek had collected Jester, Fjord and Kingsley early that morning, to give Jester and Essek time to make dessert.

They sent Caleb and Fjord out of the house and set to work in Caleb's kitchen.

But when Essek takes the third batch of cupcakes out of the oven - burned on the outside, somehow raw inside - he's ready to give up.

"I don't understand what I'm doing wrong," Essek says quietly. He floats there, uselessly, staring at another failed attempt at a fairly simple baked good. "Is this how you normally make them?"

"Hmm?" Jester says, looking over at him. She dips her finger into the frosting she'd been working on. "I've never made cupcakes before."

Essek turns toward her. "What? You've never-"

"Nope," Jester says, matter-of-factly. She puts the icing-covered finger in her mouth, tasting the frosting, before scrunching up her nose. "This is awful."

Essek deflates a little. "So we are currently lacking both edible cupcakes and edible icing."

Even Jester's smile falls. "I'm sorry, Essek."

"It's not your fault," Essek says. "We still have some ingredients - what do you know how to make? What could we make quickly that's simpler?"

Jester looks down at the floor. "I don't know."

"Anything," Essek pleads. "Anything you've baked successfully-"

"I've never baked anything," Jester admits quietly.

"Oh," Essek says.

"Yeah."

Jester turns so her back is to the counter, then slides down, sitting on the floor. "I know how you feel. I feel like I should know how to do this."

Essek floats over, then sits down next to her. He can't bear the look on her face. "Two powerful adventurers, brought low by mere cupcakes," he jokes.

"I wanted to do this," Jester says, still quiet. "I wanted to bake something for everyone, something delicious! Something everyone would eat and say, 'oh Jester, your baking is so delicious,' and then maybe I'm not just the girl who draws dicks on things."

"You're a lot more than that," Essek tries.

Jester nods. "I know. I just feel bad."

"I feel that way too," Essek says. "All this power and knowledge and ability - for what? What good is it doing me here, now? And I know it's not an either-or thing. Caleb cooks. Even Beauregard does sometimes. I've never so much as fried an egg."

"Neither have I," Jester admits. "When I lived at home..."

"I understand," Essek says, and he knows he does.

"It's just embarrassing," Jester says.

"Yes," Essek agrees.

They sit like that for a moment, until they hear the front door open.

"Essek? Jester?" Caleb calls from the entryway. "Am I allowed in the kitchen yet?"

"Not yet!" Jester yells. "Almost done! Fifteen minutes!"

Essek looks at her in shock, and she just shrugs her shoulders.

"I do not possess the arcane ability to create cupcakes," Essek says blankly. "And I am unsure of how else we might make a dessert in that time."

"I panicked," Jester says apologetically. "Maybe some of the cupcakes aren't so bad-"

"They are," Essek says as Jester leans over batch number two, tearing off a piece of cupcake and trying it cautiously. After a few bites she scrunches her nose, then spits it out into the garbage.

"It looked good," Jester pouts. "I can't believe cupcakes would lie to me."

Something connects and Essek can feel his eyes widen. "I have an idea."

Several hours later, Jester and Essek are ready to present their cupcakes to the rest of the Nein. At the very least, they look nice - frosting is apparently close enough to painting for Jester to have some skill at it.

"These look delicious," Caleb says, smiling up at Essek. The compliment in front of their friends makes Essek's cheeks heat up, and he's grateful his complexion doesn't let it show.

"I might need to get some pointers from you," Yasha says as she carefully peels off the cupcake wrapper. "I wish I could frost like this."

"Don't eat that!" Beau shouts, quickly leaning over to slap it out of her hand.

Everyone stops to stare at Beauregard, Yasha's mouth still open, the cupcake discarded on the floor.

"What's wrong, Beauregard?" Essek asks nervously.

"They've been tampered with," she says. She picks up Yasha's dinner plate. "These plates are enchanted. They change colour if any of the food on it is fucked with. A few crumbs fell off of it." She points to a few speckles of bright purple on the plate. "I watched the plate react to the crumbs."

"Tampered with?" Fjord asks. "Tampered how?"

"I don't fucking know, man," Beau says. "It doesn't like, tell me."

"Um," Essek says carefully. "Would a magical alteration to the dish set off that reaction?"

"I should fucking hope so," Beau says, "since that's the whole point."

"In that case," Essek says, shooting Jester a worried look, "then yes, they were tampered with. But they will not harm you."

"Essek," Caleb says, looking at him worriedly.

"It's just prestidigitation," Essek says hurriedly. "We used it to flavour the cupcakes and the frosting." He takes a bite of his own cupcake. "See? They're safe."

"But why?" Veth asks. "Surely it can't be any worse than that fish stew Fjord made us all eat last time."

Essek looks at Jester again, who looks resigned. He waves his hand, dismissing the spell. "See for yourself."

Caleb is the first one that takes Essek up on that, tearing off a piece with his fingers and tasting it. Essek can see Caleb trying very hard to keep his expression neutral. He eventually - with some difficulty - swallows the bite of cupcake. "Ja," he says, eventually. "It's not that bad." He offers Essek a warm smile.

"Well that's obviously a lie," Veth says, pushing her plate a few inches away from her.

"Sorry guys," Jester says. She's looking down at the table and looks absolutely lost. "We just wanted to make something nice."

"Have either of you ever baked anything, ever?" Veth asks, picking up a tiny piece of the cupcake and trying it. "This is awful. I love you Jessie, but who taught you to bake?"

Jester looks too crestfallen to answer. "Both of us are, ah, new to this," Essek admits instead.

"Maybe cooking lessons are in order," Fjord says. "I used to cook on the ship, back when I was getting started. I could show you a few things, Jester."

Jester nods, still looking down at the table.

"And I could teach you," Caleb says to Essek.

"That would be appreciated," Essek says.

"Okay," Jester says. She sighs, then looks up at everyone. Forces a smile. "Okay. Me and Essek are going to learn how to cook, and then we'll make something for next time."

"Maybe not cupcakes," Beau says.

"Maybe nothing for anyone who complains about my baking again," Jester retorts.

"There are some desserts from Rosohna I'd like to recreate, if possible," Essek says. "If I can find a recipe."

"That sounds nice," Caduceus says.

"I am not much for sweets, but I do like some of the ones in Rosohna," he continues. "They're, ah, made with cinnamon. I don't think they do that here in the Empire."

"They don't!" Jester almost yells, smiling. "I know! It's crazy!"

[concealeddarkness13]

WHG 15 Imposter Syndrome Part 8

This is during the first day of the simulation! Tagging: @sparkles-and-hens, @knmartinshouldbewriting (also, thanks for RJ!), @maple-writes, @pen-of-roses (also, thanks for Reine), @thoughts-of-nora (also thanks for Syl!), and @ratracechronicler!

Before I stepped onto the podium that would raise me into the arena, I held tightly to the collapsible hat Shine had given me. It had my necklace in there too, so my most valued possessions would be going with me. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. This was where it would all come together.

Churi probably suspected my secret, now. And this would probably be the last exposition dump I’d have to give. Captain Reeves found me as a baby on a small lifeboat at sea, and I had the necklace with me. She didn’t really understand or care why until I started showing magic at five years old. I was able to use the magic that the Shades gave to people, but I had been born with it, and my magic was weaker than the magic of the people who had been given it. I could glow, but I couldn’t float, and I could crystallize liquids around me, but in a much smaller radius.

Captain Reeves contacted Cahira for information, and Cahira did some digging before she figured out that I had been born of one of the people who had been given the magic. She had been able to hide her pregnancy until she had me, and then the Shades figured out and tasked the Peacekeepers with getting rid of me. The necklace I had had with me was probably a crystallized heart my mother had given me. Her name was Doria Shasten, and Captain Reeves had pointed her out to me, so I knew what she looked like. I had given up ever meeting her, though, because I would never get close enough without the Shades discovering me.

And since Churi probably suspected my secret, I definitely couldn’t show my magic unless it was an emergency and I would die if I didn’t. I would keep water with me once I found it so I would have a backup if needed. This would be difficult, but if I could get out without using my magic, that would be better.

The door to the podium opened, and I sucked in a breath and pocketed my token. It was time. I would get as many tributes out as possible, or I would die trying.

The podium rose into an arena that looked alien. It was a forest, and there were trees with either gold or silver leaves, vines that were visibly growing, and flowers that interchanged between being a flower and fire or ice every few minutes. Who in the world could think this stuff up?

I barely even registered the countdown until it ended and the other tributes around me either ran toward the cornucopia or away from it. I had half a mind to run away until I saw some tributes squabbling over supplies, and one of them was Syl.

And the other one, Sean Beckett, had a knife. Shit. I sprinted toward them, accidentally scaring another tribute as I ran past them, and just as Sean moved to stab with his knife, I tackled Syl to the ground.

Sean frowned at us and ran off, still clutching Syl’s supplies, and when I turned to them, my blood ran cold. Blood stained their clothes, and I looked all over to find the wound.

I relaxed when my eyes landed on their right arm, where a nice, deep gash was. Right over their tracker…

I jumped as three cannon shots went off, and then I looked back at them with a smile, tearing my sleeve so I could make a makeshift bandage. “Sorry about that. I wanted to make sure Sean didn’t make a lethal stab.”

“Thanks. Didn’t want to be taken out at the first part of the Games.”

I laughed to cover up my slight panic. “That would have sucked!” I leaned over to examine the wound. It wasn’t too deep, but there was something shiny in there. I held up the torn makeshift bandage. “May I check out that wound?”

They moved their arm closer, wincing slightly. “I would say it’s not that bad, but I don’t think you’d believe me.” They chuckled.

“At least it’s not in a vital area.” I looked it over and gently poked at the wound until I found the shiny something. The tracker. “Brace yourself.” I pulled it out and grinned. It was destroyed, which was probably the reason that the cannon went off. I held it up to them. “Lucky break, right? They don’t know you’re still alive. One of those cannons was probably for you.”

“It’s like I faked my own death.” They grinned back. “They don’t know I’m alive…so now what?”

“You can stick with me. I’m planning on meeting with Reine soon, since she also has a plan to escape. The Gamemakers won’t be able to bother you because they don’t know you’re alive, and I’ll try to destroy as many cameras as possible so they can’t see that you’re still alive.” I wrapped up their wound. “I’m not the most knowledgeable about wound care, but the most important thing is to stop the bleeding.”

“Alright.” Syl hummed. “Too bad for them, I’m ambidextrous. Disabling my right arm doesn’t change anything.” They grinned.

We started walking, and I looked over at them. I didn’t know much about them, except that they wanted to screw with the Capitol. “So, what did you do before you were forced into becoming a tribute?”

“Oh, you know. The normal stuff. Learned how to sail and fish and whatnot.” They waved their hand dismissively. “What about you?”

I smiled. “Pirate.” I held up a finger before they could say anything as something glinted in the sun on a flower. I jogged over, snatched the camera, and smashed it against the tree. Wow. The bark was really strong. Could be used as a weapon. I shook my head. “They’re not even trying.” I turned back to them. “So, how did you like the sea? Catch any good fish?”

That just made them annoyed. Why? “Do we have to go through the small talk? I always find it annoying, to be honest.” Suuuure. They glanced around, quickly crushing another camera. “Do you know of any other tributes that are going to help? Other than the ones you’ve already told me about, obviously.”

“RJ, from District 5. Hopefully, Atwater and Volt from District 11. That’s all I know of for now, but I’m hoping for more.” I eyed Syl. Maybe prod a little more? “We’ll have to figure out how to signal Reine, and I saw her grab some fishing bait. Maybe we need to catch a fish, and we’ll find her?” I was totally not being serious, but Syl didn’t have to know that.

They smiled, gaze passing over me before looking ahead. “I think I’ve heard their names before. They have decent-to-good training scores.”

That had been too obvious. They hadn’t taken the bait, so I made a face at them behind their back. “Yeah. They should hopefully hold their own before we find them. I think Reine went that way, so we could try to find her?” I pointed to the left.

They paused, glancing to the left as well and tensing, as if they were listening and watching for something. They nodded after a bit. “Alright. Let’s go.”

After a while of walking, we both froze at the sound of a fight. We just exchanged a glance, and we split up to check to see where that was coming from.

And after just a few minutes of looking, I found RJ sprawled on the ground, bleeding from a wound on her right arm. Dang. Almost exactly like the one on Syl’s. But it was bleeding worse. I cursed under my breath and ran over, tearing off more fabric from my other sleeve. “Shit! Don’t you die on me!”

“I’m fine,” she whispered. She didn’t sound fine. “But I could use that escape about now.” She tried to move, but winced. “I think I broke a rib.”

Shit. I didn’t know anything about ribs. I delicately took the broken tracker out of RJ’s arm and started wrapping the wound. “Sorry, I don’t know anything about broken ribs. And that escape won’t be happening right away. We need to meet up with Reine, who’s also working on the escape, and as soon as we can, we’ll get as many tributes out as we can. I’m sorry.”

She didn’t sound happy about that. “How long are we talking here?”

Well, crap. I didn’t even know. “Not more than a few days.” Hopefully. “The plan needs to be finalized, and we need to find the tributes we contacted.” I bit my lip as I offered a hand to help RJ up.

She took my hand and tried to stand on her own, but she winced and sat back down. “Okay. Fine. But you will be able to get a message out, right? Eventually?”

I nodded and helped RJ stand and walk. We needed to find Syl so we could find Reine. “Reine is supposed to have people sending her messages about the plan, and my crew will be sending me daily parachutes about their progress as well. I should know when they’re ready.”

“Could you send something to my sister? If I don’t – I want her to know I tried. Tried to change things.”

I grimaced. That was what she had meant. “I don’t have two-way contact with my crew, but Reine probably does with her crew. When we find her, we can talk about it.” I paused. I was screwing everything up. The first two I had found and recruited had gotten hurt, which would make it harder for the escape. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to keep you from getting hurt.”

“I’m the one that scared that tribute. I wasn’t going for the kill – I just thought – I was hungry. And scared. So, so scared. I think I killed someone earlier.”

I nodded. “It’s these Games. They screw with your mind. But I’ll make sure you get out. I promise it.”

She chuckled. “Promises don’t last in the games. You can try your best, but if something happens – don’t blame yourself. Blame them. The Capitol, the Gamemakers, every asshole who makes this happen. It’s their fault, and theirs alone.”

Easier said than done. I was already beating myself up for not helping more. I just made a face and didn’t say anything. Anyway, we had found Syl, and now we needed to find Reine.

*

We walked for a little while longer, avoiding the fire and ice flowers. But we finally found her. She had been searching for something, or someone.

I couldn’t stop the smile that slipped on my lips as I walked up to Reine. “I had enough time to recruit two people while I searched for you!”

She was breathing heavily as she smiled back. “Sorry, I overheard a group wanting to ‘hunt’ others, and, well, was doing my best to throw them off anyone’s paths.” She grimaced. “Not sure if it was enough, though, I heard the cannons.”

I grinned. She was awesome! “Thanks! Two of the cannons are my tributes because their trackers were destroyed. Seems that’s an effective way to make the Capitol think we’ve died.”

She touched the spot where her own tracker was and looked around. “That’s useful information. Good job. Still, can’t have a large group of us suddenly dropping dead, that might raise suspicions.”

She probably would have figured that out herself soon enough. “We can do a few each day. It won’t look so suspicious.” I paused. RJ wanted to get a message to her sister. “Are you able to get in touch with your escape crew?”

She nodded. “I can leave a message for Allie and,” she winced. “Abyss I hope it doesn’t come to that, but yes. Unless the Capitol has someone very old or very curious I suppose, they won’t be able to understand. No parachutes will mean we’re still good to go, otherwise…well I’ll see what’s sent. You?”

“They’re supposed to send me a parachute with a vague message, which will tell me that everything’s going smoothly. Is there any way you can get a message out for one of RJ’s family?”

“Depends on what’s being said but, shouldn’t be too much of a problem.” She leaned against a tree, still breathing heavily and muttering to herself. “We’ll need to knock out a few of the cameras ourselves though, but leave a few more obvious ones for messages and the show. Some of the places are easy enough to make accidental I’ve seen. And still need a weak spot, but I think if we get closer to the edge…this’ll work.”

Shit. I wasn’t able to plan nearly as well as Reine. She was thinking of everything. I wrung my hands. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Recruit, cameras, and stay alive are the most important.” She hesitated before holding out her hand. “Here, let me show you a symbol. Write this in view of a camera and one of mine will know something’s happening, or you need help in some form. Or at the very least, I will hopefully find it and know. It’ll work the other way around too.” She wrote it out in the palm of my hand, and I made sure to memorize it. Hopefully, I wouldn’t need it.

I nodded. “Recruiting, I can do. And it’s pretty fun to smash cameras. I don’t know if I can guarantee staying alive, though.” I winked to make light of the statement, even as Churi flashed in my mind.

She smiled. “I know, it’s been so long since I’ve had people actually trying to kill me that I almost forgot the rush from it. I’d say I’d try it more often, but somehow that doesn’t seem right. We’ll get through this, Pirate. Speaking of, I might just have to see your ship and crew, it’s been far too long for me.”

I smiled. A tempting offer. “You’re welcome any time. Thank you.”

I took a shuddering breath after I took a step back to let the others talk to Reine. If something happened, it wouldn’t be because of her. She knew what she was doing. So, I couldn’t mess it up either.

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Five Times Spencer Doesn’t Meet Sam, and One Time He Does

Part 6: 2007 (two days later)

Sam Winchester x Spencer Reid

Word Count: ~1480 this chapter

Warnings: Vague implications of torture, a threatening needle, and a spot o’ violence. One side character death as seen in canon.   

A/N: What if Spencer got to be happy for once AU! It’s Revelations, except with more flirting and less drug addiction.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5

Everything hurts. Spencer’s head is throbbing, and his wrists are chafed raw, and there’s a stabbing pain radiating up his leg… and he still doesn’t want whatever Tobias has in that syringe, no matter how much he claims it’ll help. 

“Please,” Spencer protests, and he tries to wriggle away. The needle glints in the low light; he tries not to think about the multitude of pathogens that could be clinging to that tiny spike of metal.

The door slams open. 

Tobias’s hand jerks violently as he flinches. For one horrifying moment Spencer’s convinced it must’ve pierced the skin, and he’s waiting for his nerves to register the pain, but the syringe skitters harmlessly across the floor. 

Two shots ring out, and Hankel stumbles backward. 

Spencer shouts, trying to figure out where he was hit, but… Spencer must be seeing things, his brain pushed to the limit by dehydration or shock, because instead of  falling down, Hankel is smoking. He’s shouting and hissing and smoking like he’s been burned, cringing away, cowering.

There are two men advancing, shotguns cocked, and they’re shouting words that don’t make any sense. For a moment Spencer thinks it’s auditory hallucinations, part of his delirium, but then he realizes it’s Latin. 

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus—”

“You think you can stop the Lord’s will?” Hankel roars, and it’s the father talking now, drawing his gun, surging to his feet and storming forward. 

Everything is moving jerky and slow, one frame at a time, like Spencer’s seeing it through an old slide projector.

Hankel pulls the trigger. The empty chamber clicks uselessly. 

“—omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio—”

One of the men is grabbing Hankel, sending the gun to the floor with a clatter and wrapping him with a length of chain that pins his arms to his sides. Hankel howls as he wrestles against the man’s hold, clawing at the chain, and Spencer would swear it’s burning him somehow. 

“—omnis congregatio et secta diabolica—” 

The other man is at Spencer’s side, sawing at the bonds on his wrists, but Spencer can’t stop staring at Hankel. 

There’s smoke pouring from his mouth: a long coal-black column of it that twists away and streams into the floor, leaving nothing but a charred patch on the wood to mark where it disappeared. 

Hankel drops like a rag doll. 

The man drops the chain and lets out a relieved sigh before kneeling down, checking for a pulse. 

“This one’s fine,” he announces, getting to his feet. “Maybe it was just the stink that knocked him out, this place smells like a mermaid’s asshole.” 

“I know you,” comes a deep voice from Spencer’s side. The last of the bonds fall away and Spencer turns, blinking dazedly for a second before he recognizes the guy from the bar. It was less than two days ago, but it feels like another lifetime. 

“Am I hallucinating you?” Spencer croaks, stretching his hands, trying to get some feeling back in his fingers. His tongue feels like sandpaper.

The guy laughs. “No. I’m Sam. This is Dean.” 

Tobias sits bolt upright suddenly, pale and wide-eyed. 

“What did you do?” he wheezes. “Where did Raphael go?” 

“Raphael?” 

“He was an angel. My father said he was an angel.”  

Dean snorts. “Yeah, and I’m the fuckin’ Pope.” 

“You were possessed by a demon,” Sam explains, a little more gently. 

“No,” Tobias insists. “Not me, my father. He — he said they were punishing the sinners. Doing the Lord’s work.” 

“Hate to break it to you, kid, but the Lord’s got fuck-all to do with this,” Dean says gruffly. He turns and looks around for his shotgun. 

“Rock salt,” Sam explains, at Spencer’s bewildered look. 

Which… doesn’t actually clarify anything? Spencer has questions. 

“You’re gonna regret that, boy.” 

It’s Charles Hankel’s booming voice. Before any of them can react, he’s tackling Dean, knocking him off his feet and pinning him down. He strikes Dean across the jaw with skull-rattling force. 

Dean just gapes at him for a split-second, flabbergasted. Spencer realizes that they didn’t know about the father or the psychotic break. Then Dean’s fighting back, cursing and struggling as Hankel snarls. Sam dives for the shotgun, but this time the scattered hail of rock salt doesn’t seem to have any effect. 

Sam and Dean are both shouting over the sound of the scuffle: 

“Are you sure—”

“The exorcism didn’t—”

“—holy water!” 

“—silver?” 

“He’s—” Spencer starts, but his voice comes out shredded and cracked, and he can’t make himself heard. 

Sam pulls out a flask with a cross on it and splashes water on Hankel, which (obviously, Spencer thinks) only makes him angrier. 

“What the hell is this guy?” Sam hisses. 

“You think holy water has any effect on a servant of God?” Hankel roars. He backhands Dean across the jaw with a brutal crack, and the impact leaves him stunned and motionless. Hankel pulls a knife from his belt before standing to turn on Sam. 

Spencer can barely gather the energy to drag himself out of the chair. He stumbles on uncooperative legs, staggering a couple steps before collapsing to the floor and grabbing Hankel’s gun. 

Sam and Hankel are across the room, now, wrestling for control of the knife, and they’re too close together. Spencer wouldn’t be able to make that shot even under ideal circumstances, and right now his hands are trembling alarmingly. 

One bullet. 

“Sam,” Spencer says hoarsely, as loud as he can manage, and somehow Sam hears. He glances over and reacts instantaneously, twisting out of Hankel’s grip, dropping to the floor and rolling away. 

Spencer squeezes the trigger. Hankel falls. 

For a moment there’s a stunned pause in the little shack. Nothing but Sam and Spencer’s labored breathing breaks the silence. 

Sam kicks the knife out of Hankel’s reach before rushing to check on Dean, but Hankel’s not struggling; he’s just lying there, clutching the bloodstain that’s spreading slowly across his chest. Spencer limps over and looks down at him. 

“You killed him,” Tobias says, his voice thin and tremulous.

He almost looks relieved. Something in Spencer’s ribcage twists sharply. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. 

Tobias’s eyes are already glassy and unseeing. He’s gone, and so is his father. 

Spencer, somehow, is still here. He’s shivering and lightheaded and weak with hunger, but he’s alive. He crouches and gently closes Tobias’s eyes, and then he stands up and turns his back on the body. 

“Can someone please tell me what the fuck just happened?” Dean groans, as Sam helps him to his feet. 

“You might be concussed,” Spencer points out, but Dean scoffs and waves a dismissive hand. 

“Minor head trauma, cool, must be a day that ends in Y,” he grumbles, heading for the door. “Not what I meant.” 

“Split personality — wait. What did— how did you— why—” Spencer stutters. “My team, I need—”

“First things first,” Sam says firmly. “Water, food, fresh air… c’mon, you can call your team and then I’ll explain everything.” 

Spencer limps after him, blinking as he emerges into the slanting late afternoon sunlight. It’s a bright, clear day, and the air smells like dirt and grass and green growing things. He stops for a second and sags against the rough wood door frame, hauling in a lungful of air. He feels so light he might float away. 

Everything still hurts, and once the shock wears off Spencer’s going to have some nasty memories to process, but… he’s lucky. God, he’s lucky. It could’ve been so much worse. Right now, all Spencer can feel is a fierce, dizzying joy at the knowledge that he’s alive. 

“Hey, wait,” Dean says, wheeling around and pointing an accusing finger at Spencer. “You showed up at that — the fuckin’ redneck torture house. Last year. Remember, Sammy?” Sam looks skeptical for a moment before his eyes go wide, and Dean continues with a smirk: “You wouldn’t shut up about his lock picking skills. Or his face.” 

Sam scowls. Dean gives him a shit-eating grin and lopes off toward a shiny black muscle car. They must be brothers, Spencer realizes. 

“You look different,” Sam mumbles, pink-cheeked. 

“I think I was too busy freaking out about spiderwebs to get a good look at you guys,” Spencer replies, wrinkling his nose at the memory. “Huh.” 

“Um… here, you can call whoever you need to call. Sorry about him. I didn’t — sorry if I made you uncomfortable, the other night, I thought—” He breaks off, shaking his head, and hands Spencer his phone. 

There’s a reckless feeling bubbling up in Spencer’s chest, obliterating his usual lack of confidence, in spite of the fact that he’s covered in blood and smells like burned fish guts. Maybe he’s delirious after all. 

“After I call my team, I’m going to put my number in here,” Spencer says, and a grin spreads slowly over Sam’s face. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. I think I owe you a drink.” 

.

.

Fin.

Series masterpost here! 

.

@hoboal87​ @bkworm4life4​

[flowercrown-bucky]

Anything can piss you off, you just have to try hard enough.

rrFandom: 1970s!Loki Multi-Chapter

Pairing: Loki x ConArtist!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, drinking, drug references, later death, later smut, crime, loki and the reader are con artists….. It’s a wild one y’all, hold onto yo’ seats..

Word Count: Lots

Chapter One | Chapter Two

[Something Wicked This Way Comes - Chapter Three]

 Loki’s life on Asgard has become vapid; uninspiring. He’s got the taste for a little danger. During a trip to earth, he finds just the danger he’s looking for.A partner in crime - in every imaginable sense. 

Author’s Note: The boy with the thorn in his side is absolutely Loki’s anthem. Also Loki is a soft sweet baby and if you disagree you can absolutely fuck off,

TAGLIST IS OPEN - EITHER COMMENT OR MESSAGE ME TO BE ADDED

The boy with the thorn in his side

Behind the hatred there lies

A murderous desire for love

How can they look into my eyes

And still they don't believe me?

How can they hear me say those words

Still they don't believe me?

And if they don't believe me now

Will they ever believe me?

--

Loki was rather beginning to like Earth.

Specifically, this little corner. He’d been to Spain before, during the time of an inquisition, and was generally less than impressed. So, Castellon was a pleasant surprise. 

After the interesting experience with Roger Slater, you’d mutually agreed to get away from Monaco, sharpish. 

It hadn’t bothered Loki so much as he thought it was weird, but it bothered you more than you were letting on. You never said it in as many words, but your behaviour changed. 

The unusual encounter had initially been dismissed by you both, left without so much as another word. But after two days of your head snapping round every time you heard footsteps behind you and sitting bolt upright every time he shifted at night, he knew it was bothering you, so you decided another destination was for the best. You hung around for a few days to avoid suspicion, before leaving the hotel you had been in. A little under forty euros later, you were tucked into your seats on the overnight train to Montpellier. 

You’d settled a little more once you were in a different country, but it left Loki wondering what exactly the strange man had whispered in your ear that had you tip-toeing on your nerves in that way. He’d even considered entering your mind again, but the one time he’d decided to give it a crack had not gone so well. As soon as his hand came within five centimetres of your sleeping form, your own had reached out and grabbed his wrist, your eyes flying open. 

He watched you now as you sat across from him, stabbing a mushroom with your fork and swiping it through the sauce on your plate. A few strands of your hair fluttered in the gentle breeze, the evening sun warming your complexion. You looked softer in the warm light, less harsh somehow, as if someone had taken an eraser to your edges. 

Just the night before, you’d successfully seduced and robbed a man who happened to be in possession of diamonds of a karat higher than you could count and in greater quantities than you could fit into your pockets. You’d been so pleased with your conquest that the worry you’d carried on your face for days had slipped, spinning circle after victorious circle across the plaza’s stone labyrinth. 

Your good mood had continued through to the morning. In the two months or so he had known you, every single day you had vanished at roughly nine o’clock, for about an hour and a half. What you did in that time, he had no idea.

This morning, however, you had led him through the city centre, along bleached pedestrian streets and through winding alley ways to a tiny shop just off the street, with a small orange sign barely visible through the grubby glass and a mouthwateringly savoury smell wafting out the door and down the street. 

You’d greeted the owner with surprising geniality, quietly asking for a cortado - he would later discover this was pretty much the full extent of your Spanish - and something he didn’t quite catch. You accepted your coffee and a small paper bag, with a quiet muchisimas gracias. 

Blinking the bright morning light out of his eyes, he’d unfolded the brown bag, reaching inside and feeling around for the contents. It was soft and slightly springy to the touch, and drawing it out into the light revealed it to be a small cake, golden brown in colour and wrapped in a white casing. 

“Breakfast.” Was all you’d said as he’d eyed it curiously. He was pleasantly surprised to discover - after a first tentative bite - that it was sweet and buttery, the fluffy sponge melting in his mouth, leaving his mouth empty but for the remaining traces of sugar and lemon on the tip of his tongue. You’d laughed as he all but inhaled the remaining cake, the most genuinely happy laugh he’d heard from you since you’d met. 

He considered this as he watched you chew. 

--

Loki was staring at you. Really quite intently. He was looking at you as if you’d kicked his very favourite puppy as you swallowed your mouthful. You glanced down at his plate, noticing it was still mostly full, his cutlery disregarded atop his napkin. 

Your Spanish was not wonderful, but you were familiar enough with some of the more common dishes to have a vague idea of the menu’s contents, enough so to give you freedom of choice, safe in the knowledge of what you’d ordered. Loki, however, favoured the ‘point-and-hope’ technique. 

You looked more closely at the contents of his plate. Perhaps he didn’t like fish. 

You thought momentarily back to your trip to the market. Being in a town with a seaport, the seafood was excellent, and you’d wanted Loki to try fresh mussels. 

You almost laughed at the memory of his disgusted response. Perhaps it was the fish. 

Your own - fishless - dish seemed a little more Loki friendly, so you scooped up a forkful of beans and sauce, holding it out towards him. 

He looked at you with complete bewilderment. 

“Try a bit.” You waved the fork in your hand. “You don’t seem keen on yours.” 

“No, it’s fine.” He dismissed you. “The food is good.”

“Then what’s with the staring?” You raised an eyebrow at him. “Is there something on my face?” 

“No, no.” He replied. “Just. Thinking.” 

“About what?” You asked, returning your fork to your plate, instead reaching for your wine glass. 

“You.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Me. Life.” 

“Do go on.” You took a sip, savouring the taste as the bubbles slipped down your throat. 

“I was thinking about my mother.” He admitted. “How much she would like it here.” 

“What’s she like?” You asked. “Your mother.” 

“She’s the most wonderful woman in the universe.” He smiled wistfully. “The kindest, the wisest, the cleverest.” 

“So why did you leave?” You continued, intrigued by the sudden nostalgia in his eyes. He had told you virtually nothing about himself or his past, always dismissing it as a matter for another time. 

“Truthfully?” He bit his lip. “I left because I was bored.” 

You leaned back in your chair, mulling this new information over in your mind. 

“When will you go back?” It was a question that had been plaguing you for a week or so. Would he just leave in the night if the mood took him? He had every right to, you knew, but a part of you wished he wouldn’t. You had come to enjoy his presence, to almost cherish his company. For the first time in a long while, you were not alone, and it felt good. Loki irritated you beyond belief - although it hadn’t taken you long to realise that this was fully intentional - and he was just about as stubborn as you were. You bickered constantly, but he had warmed a little part of your heart and you knew you would miss your companion greatly if he decided to sever your paths. 

“Perhaps never.” The look on his face told you he knew exactly why you were asking. “Perhaps tomorrow. I shall decide as the mood takes me.” 

Satisfied that this was the closest to an answer you were ever going to pry from Loki, you lifted your fork to your mouth. As you chewed, you decided to switch up your line of questioning. 

“Tell me more about your mother.” You lifted your arm to rest the weight of your head on your knuckles. “Or your brother. Your childhood home. Your first pet. Anything.”  “Do I sense an ulterior motive?” His left eyebrow quirked bemusedly. 

“I have at least eighteen ulterior motives, at all times.” You could not help the smile that came across your face. “But I do struggle to envision you as a child. Or anything other than the unsufferable prick I know you to be, really. Throw me a bone, would you?” 

“So, do you spend a lot of time thinking about me?” He rocked forwards onto his elbows, his eyes glittering with mischief. 

“I should’ve killed you when we first met.” You drawled. 

Loki laughed. A rich, full bodied noise rumbling through his chest and echoing through the warm evening air, his head tipped back as if it simply could not support the weight of his mirth. 

“Alright.” His laughter subsided, reduced to a smile. “What do you wish to know?” 

-- 

Your sudden interest in Loki’s life had taken him back a little. You had never seemed one for nostalgia, so a sudden fondness for trivial reminiscing about whimsical exploits and innocent mishaps seemed out of character. He wondered what your play was. 

He glanced up at you, at your earnest expression. If you were attempting to extract information from him for personal gain, you were hiding it well. 

“Anything.” You replied. “Everything.”

He paused for a moment, thinking over what you’d said, sifting through his memories, carefully considering his next move. 

He told you stories of sitting in the apple orchard as a boy. He told you stories of playing in lakes, stories of tumbles with his brother, lunches with his mother. He told tales of climbing trees that seemed to stretch higher than the sky and of gazing at stars that seemed to stretch on beyond the edge of the universe. He told you of friends, of past loves, of heartbreaks. 

You hung on his every word as he spoke, your face enthralled. He felt as though he could talk forever just to see the wonder on your face as he told you all the stories a mischievous blue eyed boy could possibly seek to hold. 

“What about pets?” You asked, twirling a lock of your hair around one finger. “Did you ever have one, you know, as a kid?” 

A breath hitched in his throat. He blinked once, not entirely sure how to respond. 

As a teenager, he had indeed had a pet. Well, not a pet, exactly. A stray, a ward, of sorts. A horse. 

He’d been reading in his chambers one day when a servant informed him that the Allfather had summoned him. Assuming himself to be in trouble - as he often was - he had hurried to the throne room. Instead of being reprimanded, however, his father had led him into the palace grounds, saying he had something for him. 

In the stables, there had been a foal. 

No more than a few months old, it stood in the stall, dripping wet and braying pitifully. 

“It has become estranged from its mother.” Odin explained. “Alone, it is not long for this world. It needs love and care if it is to survive.” 

He looked up at his father with confused eyes. 

“With a steady hand, it will grow to be strong and nimble.” He continued. “With the right guidance, he will become a fine companion for a warrior. I believe that hand could be yours, my boy.” 

He looked from his father, to the calf, and back to his father again. Dumbfounded, he felt was the appropriate word. This timid, trembling little creature, a cavalry steed? It was almost laughable. 

“His name is Gustav, for he shall indeed become your staff.” His father followed his line of vision. “A loyal steed is both the most formidable weapon and strongest friend a king could hope to possess. Treat him with love and kindess and he will teach you more than you thought possible in return.” 

And he did. Initially, the foal did not respond well to him. He would not stand near him, would barely look at him, would not even eat whilst he was present. It seemed almost as if it would never grow to trust him, but he tired through, and eventually the horse grew to eat from his hand. It would allow him to brush its mane without kicking out at him, and when Gustav grew strong enough to carry Loki’s weight, he broke him himself - despite the stable master’s constant offers of assistance - leading him all the way to saddling, until finally, he was ready to ride. 

Every day, Loki turned him out, even when the ground was hard and the frost had fallen. Riding soon became his favourite thing, and the sight of the dark prince taking off into the night atop an equally dark stallion became commonplace. Victorious in battle and at peace within the elements, they were nothing short of unstoppable. 

Loki’s carefully built world came crashing down on him when Gustav was shot in the leg. Whilst the wound appeared superficial, it soon got infected and started to poison his blood. He grew weaker with each passing day, and nothing Loki could do would help him.

When Odin told him that Gustav was to be put down, it broke his heart, but never had he expected to be the one delivering the death blow. 

“You must learn to make sacrifices if you are to ever be a strong ruler.” He had told him. “You must cast aside matters of the heart in aid of the greater good.” 

He stroked Gustav’s mane gently, kneeling down in his stall beside where he lay in the dirt. His dark head bent, resting his head on the stallion’s dark nose in a final goodbye. He had practised the spell he had created to end Gustav’s life, intending it to be painless, but he could not have prepared himself for the loss he felt as the life drained from his eyes. 

“It is done.” Was all he’d said as he turned to face his father, unable to make sense of anything he was feeling. 

“You did well, my son.” Odin nodded at him, granting him permission to leave. Thor and Frigga stood a few feet away from the stall, but for once, he did not find their presence comforting. His brother held out a reassuring hand towards him, but he brushed it off as he strode past, head held high. 

He did not turn at any point as he walked back to his chambers, for fear that if he did he would return to Gustav’s lifeless body and weep to the heavens. 

Only once he had returned to his chambers and dismissed the servants that were waiting for his arrival did he allow himself to cry. 

Curled in a ball on the cold stone floor, his long legs drawn into his chest, knees tucked under his chin, Loki, Crown Prince of Asgard, God of Mischief and Lies, wept. 

He wept for the loss of a truly innocent soul, wept for the loss of his truest friend. He wept for the truest, most unconditional love he had ever known, the likes of which he thought he might never know again. 

It was like this that Frigga found him, noiselessly sobbing on the floor, staring into the fireplace with a blank expression on his face.

He glanced up at her as she entered, his face stained with tears, green eyes bloodshot and red rimmed, his bottom lip trembling, a few stray locks of dark hair splaying across his face. 

“Mother.” He croaked, the dying embers of the fire illuminating his face. She hurried over to him, crouching next to his trembling form and throwing her arms around him. He sobbed harder at the feeling of her soft hair against his face, breathing in the sweet smell of her perfume. 

“Oh, my sweet boy.” She murmured, cradling him to her chest. “I am so sorry it had to end this way.” 

She stroked her hand over his hair, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of his head as she rocked him back and forth. 

“Your heart is too pure for this cruel world, my sweet, precious boy.” She whispered to him. “ You feel such pain now, my darling, but this storm shall pass and the sun will shine on you once again.” 

Loki wept in his mother’s arms all through the night. When the sun rose, they both departed his chambers to tend to their duties. Eyebrows were raised and hushed rumours spread of the dark prince’s icy heart finally melting, but life went on. 

Loki never spoke of Gustav again, but every time he passed by his stall, his father’s words echoed in his mind. 

You must cast aside matters of the heart in aid of the greater good. 

He would never forget those words as long as he lived. 

“Loki?” Your voice snapped him back to the present. “You good? You spaced out for a minute there.” 

“I’m fine.” He replied. “Yes, I did have a pet once.” 

You looked at him curiously, but decided not to pursue it. 

“Anyway, I told you about me. It’s your turn.” He leaned back in his seat. “I have my own questions.” 

“Ask away.” If you were concerned about what he might ask, your face didn’t show it. 

“Where do you go every morning?” He began. It had been pressing on his mind for some time. 

You choked back a laugh. 

“Is that all?” You scoffed. “If you must know, I go to get coffee and go for a walk. Does that satisfy you?” 

His posture slumped a little in disappointment. He had been hoping for something a little more... Clandestine. 

“Why do you sleep with a gun under your pillow?” He pressed. “What are you so afraid of?” 

Your face hardened almost as soon as the words left his mouth, and he wished he could snatch them back out of the air and swallow them back up. The silence that hung over the table was almost unbearable, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he stared at you. Your expressions were a mask, but he knew you were carefully considering your next words. 

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” You crossed your arms over your chest. 

Loki remained silent. He had crossed a line, and you both knew it. 

--

The walk back to the hotel room was silent and awkward. Loki rubbed at the sleeve of his blue shirt awkwardly, glancing around him. The street was quiet, save for a few other pedestrians, and dark, save for a handful of intermittently placed streetlights. 

You were a few steps ahead of him, your arms crossed at the elbow. You hadn’t spoken since you’d left the restaurant, and he wasn’t really sure what to say. The easygoing nature you had adopted during the day was gone, and you were suspiciously glancing around you. What you were looking for, Loki could not hazard to guess. 

You stopped suddenly, turning to stare behind him, at something in the distance. He opened his mouth to ask if you were okay, when he noticed your bottom lip trembling slightly. 

Whatever you had just seen, had frightened you. 

He reached over to you, rubbing your shoulder with one hand, the other lifting your chin gently. You lifted your gaze to meet his as he rubbed your cheek with his thumb. 

“Are you alright, little mortal?” His voice was low as to not be overheard. “You look startled.” 

“Let’s just go back to the hotel.” You whispered. 

He nodded in response, slinging one arm over your shoulder. Picking up your pace as much as you could without appearing suspicious, you hurried back to the hotel. You were visibly unnerved, although you tried to hide it. 

Back in your room, you perched on the end of the bed, your shoes clutched in one hand. You rubbed at your nose absentmindedly with the back of your knuckle. 

He called your name but you didn’t seem to hear him. 

“Tell me.” He dropped to his knees in front of you. “What is going on?” 

You wouldn’t look him in the eyes.

“Whatever is happening,” He continued. “I need to know. What did you see?” 

You closed your eyes before inhaling deeply. 

“I think I’m being trailed.” You whispered, flicking your gaze down to meet his. “Someone, maybe a few people, I don’t know, have been following me. Have been for a few days now.”  “Trailed?” His brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?” 

“The first time I noticed was in Zaragoza.” You ran a hand through your hair nervously. “There was a man stood behind us when we checked in, just stood there, watching. Then I kept seeing him in the lobby, just milling around, like he was waiting for something. Then I didn’t see him again, and I just assumed I was being paranoid.” 

Loki said nothing. 

“Then when we were in a restaurant one night, I noticed someone else a few tables away, just staring. He had sunglasses on, so I don’t know if it was the same man, but I’ve been seeing people everywhere. Just watching. Watching, and waiting.” 

“Watching for what?” He asked. “Waiting for what?” 

“I don’t know.” You shook your head. 

“But why?” He continued. “Why would someone be following you?” 

You lifted your hands to your face, hiding from his view. 

“Why would someone want to go to such lengths, travel such distance?” His voice dropped. “Who would want to trail you across a country?” 

Your silence spoke volumes. 

“Do you know who is following you?” He looked up at you. “If you know what is going on, you have to tell me.” 

You rose from the bed, turning your back to him. 

“I’m tired.” You said. “I think I’m going to go to bed.”

“If we are in danger, and there is something you are not telling me-” His voice raised, his temper flaring. 

“Goodnight, Loki.” You snapped, rolling under the cover. 

He sighed in frustration, climbing onto the bed himself. He lay there, in the dark, for some time, considering your words. Was someone tailing you? Had there been things he missed? Just how had he missed it? His mind spun with a million unanswered questions. 

The longer he considered it, sifting through his own memories of the previous three weeks, the deeper the realisation sunk. You had been right, you were being followed. 

To the unsuspecting mind, it was easy to miss. No average person would pick up on it, but the signs were there. 

People walking a few paces behind you for a kilometre or so before turning off and fading into the distance. The same faces appearing behind you in queues at the supermercado for days on end. Men in dark clothes sitting a little too close at lunch or bumping into you in the street. 

If you weren’t expecting it, it would be easy to miss. Unnoticeable, in fact. 

But that was what Loki found most troubling. You were expecting it. 

He was more certain than he’d ever been that you were hiding something. Something big. 

Being the God of Lies, hiding things and deceiving people was not new to him, nor did it entirely bother him. But whatever your secret was, he was certain it had something to do with the two of you being trailed. It was too much of a coincidence for him to overlook. 

Whoever it was scared you witless, and that frightened him more than anything. 

--

TAGLIST:  @chxrryycola @the-middle-oldest-child​ @possessedjoker@amour-delicate @marvelouslyme96 @the-emo-asgardian @lokilvrr

[theleagueof13]

Rewriting the Entirety of SGE: The School Years

All of this is solely up to my own preference. Yes, some parts may be messy because I am inexperienced. I don’t even know what a plot is. Here we go.

I didn’t have any major problem with Book 1 until Agatha’s Glow Up, so we’re starting there.

Canon: Agatha realizes she was beautiful all along and literally two minutes later Tedros falls in love with her.

However, I think it would’ve been so much more impactful if she simply changed her perspective on her “ugliness” from a negative light to an objective standpoint.

We already know that Agatha is badass, so I think she should view herself that way. Insecurity is nothing if she amounts her features to the raw human ability that they possess. Her frame is tall and skinny because she’s athletic, her big eyes serve her the purpose of seeing. Agatha may not be pretty, but every bone in her body was made so that she could eat, breathe, laugh, fight, do parkour around School for Evil.

It’s obvious that Ever Girls only care about their appearance because they want to impress boys (in School for Girls, they are shown as letting themselves go). Agatha is characterized as having no interest in boys, and therefore she doesn’t need to be pretty in the first place. Now, I know that princesses need a prince in order to have their fairytale, but Agatha already thinks that’s bullshit -- why not go against it?

Also, this is extremely minor, but I'd rather have Agatha have some kind of deformity, like a cleft lip or crooked spine. It would really sell the idea that she was different. As a kid, even if Soman screamed in my face that Agatha was canonically ugly, I couldn’t imagine how she could be if the features she was described with were SO normal. Of course, her deformity remains throughout the book, because that is Not Cool if it’s magically removed.  

I’ve said this before in my I Don’t Really Like Agatha post, and I’ll say it again. She is ungrateful for the opportunity she could have at School for Good. I’d literally kill to be there, I’d sit through every mind-numbing, subtly sexist class about smiling and posture just so I could practice magic, and I’m sure a lot of people think the same.

[edited: didn’t mean to sound so callous, it’s only an opinion]

Agatha isn’t even using this to expand her power. She uses her wish a total of 2 times in this book, and it’s not like she didn’t have time to use it. It’s disappointing.

So, imagine that Agatha just GRINDS in her school-work. Sure, she fails the challenges related to Strategic Blushing and Matching Outfits, but everything else she excels. At first she just didn’t want to be turned into a plant, she was only studying to survive. Now, it’s more than that.

Agatha is introduced as having a fondness for villains, and it’s apparent that beauty is irrelevant in their success stories. Although she is hurt when Sophie alludes to how she’d “fit in” with the immature, trigger-happy Nevers, she can apply those values of dismissing outer appearances while still being Good. It’s not as if Agatha is greedy or deceitful. She saves the Wish Fish, forgives Sophie countless times, and doesn’t do anything outright vicious. There’s no reason to question that she’s NOT a Never. She can be ugly and an Ever at the same time, wasn’t that the original message?

Hypothetically, she gains more knowledge and strength in spells and potions and such, and just like Sophie, even if everyone doubted her, she could rise through the ranks. There’s no point in worrying about your looks when you’re the most powerful girl in school. (Did I make Agatha too close to Evil? Maybe. But she doesn’t need to push people down to bring herself up, she’s just a natural like that.)

Also, if she needs a boy to ask her out to the Snow Ball, she 100% hates that. She could just talk to Dovey, are they really gonna fail the baddest bitch there?

No. They’re not.

Okay, here’s the biggest part that everyone will hate me for. No Tagatha. At least, not until TLEA.

When Agatha comes out of the Groom Room having just kickstarted her self-esteem and everyone’s drooling, Tedros is attracted to her instantly. I guess that’s fine. Reasonable. But consider this:

Agatha doesn’t love Tedros back.

When Tedros asks her out at the Circus of Talents, she declines. Because if she really knew her own worth, she wouldn’t say yes before making friends with him first. That’s only fair. Actually, I’d say a part of insecurity is settling for any guy who gives you attention (aka Tedros). Y'all are gonna hit me with the damning “We accept the love we think we deserve”.

EVEN IF SHE BELIEVES SHE DESERVES HIM NOW, IT DOESN’T MEAN SHE’LL JUMP AT THE CHANCE TO DATE HIM. THAT’S MESSED UP.

Okay, I know Sophie threw her bitch fit because Agatha was being a hypocrite and dating Tedros. So, tweak that and have Sophie throw a bitch fit simply because Tedros asked Agatha out in the first place. That still makes sense with her entitled selfish personality.

In the stupid war of Evers and Nevers, (which was like, strange considering they’re kids but they’ll have a similar conflict for the next two years), Tedros and Agatha are not together. You could throw in a bit of “Tedros wants to prove to Agatha he’s a hero” but for god’s sakes we are NOT putting in that little chauvinistic “how dare a princess question me”. That one line gave me a bad feeling about Tedros — foreshadowing for AWWP? And it’s crazy that Soman wrote that, along with his lack of brain cells. Are you trying to make readers bully him in memes and instagram group chats? Not from personal experience.

Oh, and this is more of a complaint. But, why did Soman make Sophie bald, pockmarked, and toothless in her transformation of embracing Evil? I thought this was about breaking stereotypes.

The Evil stigma that’s drilled in their heads about being pretty and in general taking care of yourself, is completely inane to me. I can’t believe that Sophie’s “trickery” of Tedros was so revolutionary. None of the Nevers, in 200 years, thought of that?

Instead of her beauty regressing, I’d actually want it to be heightened. It’s what set her apart from the Nevers the moment she walked in. It should be the icing on top of the cake. When Sophie is at her peak of power, she’s a princess. Who could kill you.

If you’re worried about reducing women to be pretty objects or seductresses, stop. It’s okay. Sophie has other powers like summoning ravens, wasps, locusts, bats, using her singing voice for torture, and she is skilled in curses and death traps. In short, the Hot Evil Lady trope works for her. (I think. Someone correct me.)

At the end of SGE, Agatha chooses Sophie over Tedros. Needless to say, Tedros feels betrayed. If you wanted to make him an idiot, with anger issues, daddy issues, and an inferiority complex, this is the easiest way out. He’s under the misguided impression that Agatha belongs with him simply because 1. He loves her. 2. He’s the prince of Camelot, damnit. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?

Not to mention that his father pressured him not to make the same mistake. And Tedros thinks that School for Good is his pool of suitors since Arthur married his classmate Guinevere? There is no line of logic in this man at all, did you miss the part where Guinevere cheats and runs away? Maybe Ever Girls isn’t the only place you should look! There are thousands of other girls in the Woods and you intend to find your soulmate at 14?? Goddamn. 

In conclusion, Tedros’ hurt feelings continue to AWWP. Easy.

And if y’all gonna come for me about how Tedros is easily swayed by looks (he’s convinced that Sophie and Agatha are in the wrong schools for half the book) I’d want to make him a bit smarter. I know that’s impossible.

In canon, Tedros turns on Sophie because her true colors showed, and her witchy phase gives him that confirmation bias. He goes feral with testosterone and heroism, as we know.

I’d like him to understand that just because his solely physical attraction to Sophie grew when she’s evil and pretty, it doesn’t mean that she’s not any less dangerous. If Tedros, of all people, learns the difference between appearances vs reality, it would really drive the point home.

All right. You’re still here?

Here’s some extra headcanons you could add in here and here.

In the meantime I’ll think of more.

If there were any hard-hitting themes I was supposed to include, please tell me, I usually gloss over them while reading. 

But anyway, thanks for reading this far.

[whitecatindisguise]

Ok, so here goes. How about a lil mashup? (TTS would be modern, to match the other fandoms) Imagine what would happen if Varian travelled to San Fransokyo for some kind of science expo and meets Hiro and Baymax there. There is a robbery at the Expo and Player asks them for help (he already knows Hiro) as it's V.I.L.E.'s doing but Carmen's on another mission somewhere else. I know it's a bit chaotic but I tried to explain idea as good as I could

Okay, took me a while. It might be different from what you imagined, but that's what you get when you ask your sister dearest to write you a story lmao.

------

“Alchemist to Zero. What’s your status?” The communicator in Hiro’s helmet sounded and the boy rolled his eyes.

“I see the target. They are entering the building. Can’t see the cargo, tho.” He replied. “And what’s with the codenames?”

“Because I think it’s unfair only Player gets to have one.” The person on the other side replied and Hiro rolled his eyes again. So childish.

“Because I have to stay anonymous.” Another voice cut in. “And remember this is only for one job. Normally I’d send Red, but she has her hands full in Seul already.”

“Yeah, yeah.” The previous voice dismissed and Hiro could hear the sizzling of acid. “Anyway, I’m in. Let’s get my stuff back and go already. I have an Expo to win.”

“In your dreams, Va- Alchemist.” Hiro corrected himself quickly. No matter what he said about codenames, he didn’t want to risk anyone hearing their real names. “The prize is mine.”

“You wish!” The other replied and Hiro chuckled.

“Guys, work now, bicker later.” Player called with an exasperated huff. “Besides, if I was there, none of you would even stand a chance.”

Hiro decided to leave it at that, opting to focus on the mission instead. He still had no idea why someone would steal Varian’s chemicals, but it was always better safe than sorry.

The Expo was an international science event, when the scientist from all around the globe met in one place to show their latest inventions and fight for the main prize, the title of Scientist of the Year. What was amazing about the Expo, it allowed both adults and teenagers like him, or Varian, compete alongside.

You never know where the genius is hiding, was the Expo’s motto. He and Varian met on the event few years ago, and became quick friends, despite being rivals in the contest.

Varian didn’t live in San Fransokyo. The boy was German and was extremely intelligent. He spoke several languages, English, French and Italian being only few of them, except for his native German. He was into chemistry the most, but also had a knack for engineering.

They often spoke online, comparing their latest inventions, sharing stories and giving advice to one another.

Player, on the other hand, was a mystery. Hiro never saw the guy, but from what he’d learned, he was only a year or two older than himself, and extremely intelligent too. He was a talented hacker who lived in Ontario, Canada, and preferred to stay at home.

He contacted Hiro on the day of the Expo (how he got his phone number, he had no clue) and told him about the upcoming heist happening at the Expo. Apparently, some group called V.I.L.E. was planning to steal some very dangerous chemicals during the event.

Player explained he’d normally didn’t bother uninvolved people, but the chemicals are supposed to be extremely dangerous in wrong hands, and his usual team was busy somewhere else.

A short talk with Honey Lemon confirmed Player’s info, so Hiro decided to help the boy, if only to stop the criminals from doing something really bad. So, imagine his surprise, when the stolen chemicals turned out to belong to Varian.

The German scientist absolutely refused to let Hiro go after the thieves alone, claiming his knowledge of what exactly the chemicals were and how to best contain them will only help him. Player agreed shortly after and Hiro gave the boy a spare communicator, so they can all communicate with no trouble.

Hiro’s scaled down from the building across the street, where he was positioned, and approached the abandoned warehouse the criminals went in. He pushed himself against the wall, stealing a glance through one of the windows.

There were only two people inside, a blonde woman in a tight suit and mask covering her face, and a man dressed like a mime. Quick conversation with Player revealed their names to be Tigress and Mime Bomb respectively.

The woman held out a hand with a suitcase. A quick glance told Hiro it contained the stolen chemicals, as he noticed the moon emblem on the front, which was the symbol Varian used to mark his property.

Hiro peeked out some more, and noticed the said boy crouching behind one of the crates in the warehouse, observing the two. Varian’s hands twitched and Hiro knew they didn’t have much time.

“Don’t do anything stupid, V.” He whispered into the communicator, which only earned him an annoyed huff. God, this was terrible idea to bring him along.

Varian was extremely possessive over his things. Sure, he let people see them, but if you try to even touch them without his consent...

“Va-Alchemist!” He called out more urgently, hoping to stop the boy from doing anything reckless.

Varian had literally no experience with criminals. Hiro met and fought with his fare share, but the German boy was a complete rookie. If he doesn’t do anything now it’s-

Just then it seemed like Varian’s patience finally reached his limit. He jumped from behind the crates with a battle cry, brandishing some colourful balls in each hand, strangely similar-looking to the ones used by Honey Lemon.

“Crap! Player, I’m going in!” Hiro called out and pushed away from the wall, running to the door.

He heard shouts and some explosions from the inside. He pulled the door open and hoped for the best, bursting inside. His eyes felt on the scene in front of him and stopped, dumbfounded.

“Zero, what’s going on there?” Player called out in his ear, but the boy was too shocked to reply. “Hiro!”

“You... just access my helmet camera and see for yourself.” Hiro sounded tired.

He heard fast typing and then a gasp of surprise, which told him Player finally had a visual. And what visual was that.

Mime Bomb was sprawled out on the floor, stuck in some pink goo, looking confused at the ordeal. Tigress was on the other side of the room, stuck to the wall with the same kind of substance, snarling and shouting in anger at someone crouching on the floor.

That someone was Varian, who frantically worked to open the suitcase, his hands trembling in fear. Finally, the lock clicked open and the boy let out a sigh of relief.

“Nothing is broken. Thank the Sun.” He breathed out and closed the suitcase. He picked it up and stood up, staring at the woman glued to the wall. “What were you thinking, throwing it like that?! Don’t you know if any of those broke it would be a disaster?! We could all die!”

“I wouldn’t have to throw it, if you didn’t attack us!” Tigress snarled back angrily and tried to pull herself free. “Who even are you?”

“I’m the one who made those chemicals, you dumbass!” Varian shouted back, not even noticing Hiro standing in the now-open door. “If you steal something, at least learn what to NOT DO with it!”

“Is Varian just... lecturing her?” Player asked. Hiro could almost see his wide-open eyes threatening to fall out of the eye sockets.

“Yup.” He confirmed, staring blankly at the scene.

“Is he normal?” The Canadian sounded shocked. Hiro shrugged.

“Is any of us?” He replied and earned a sigh and a snort in return. “Are the police coming?”

“Oh, yeah. I gave them an anonymous tip few minutes ago, They should be here soon.” Player finally seemed to shook himself awake. “Better leave before they arrive.”

“Sure. Hey, Alchemist!” He called out, sparing the trapped woman another tirade of insults.

Varian turned around and smiled.

“Hey, Zero. Got my stuff!” He raised the hand with the suitcase and waved with the other. “Easy-peasy.”

“Good, ‘cause the police is going to be here soon.” Hiro could already hear the sirens coming closer. “We gotta go.”

“Oh, right!” Without further stalling, Varian ran up to him and they left the two criminals still stuck by the peculiar goo.

They were already several blocks away, when Player finally deemed it safe enough to stop running.

“By the way.” Hiro turned to panting Varian, who rose his head in question. “What’s with the goo?”

“Oh, that?” Varian grinned, showing his bunny teeth and pulled out a pink ball from his pocket. “It’s my own invention. Sticks to everything it touches. I actually came up with it as a more humane way to get rid of the pests back in Old Corona. But it works just as well at stopping idiots from doing more harm than they already did.”

“Nice.” Hiro nodded. “How long does it take to dissolve?”

“Few hours. That is, unless you have a dissolver at hand, which I have right here.” Varian fished out another ball, this time green and cackled. “Serves them right for stealing from me.”

“Remind me to never get on your bad side.” Hiro laughed and shook his head at his friend. “Are we clear to go back to the Expo now, Player?”

“Sure thing. Thanks for the help, guys.” Player replied.

“Oh yeah! Go Team Genius!” Varian laughed and raised a fist in the air.

“We really have to talk about those codenames.” Hiro let out a tired sigh and Player laughed in his ear.

[loyalflutist]

How Lovely Would it be For This Moment to Last Forever (F!Byleth x Edelgard)

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Archive Warning: Major Character Death Category: F/F Relationship: F!Byleth x Edelgard Summary:  "How lovely would it be for this moment to last forever?" Edelgard has said this phrase twice in her life. Both times they were to her professor, Byleth. What significance could this saying have on their life?

A/N: Got too excited about the game and how you could date Edelgard as the female Byleth, so I ended up writing this yesterday. Some things may be inaccurate since I haven’t played the game obviously and it hasn’t dropped yet. Hope you enjoy it as much as I do writing it!

--

After the last class was over, many students from all three houses scrambled out of the room. The Black Eagles were not immune to its effect either. Their chatters, their laughter, and their stature brightened. They can finally leave! Then again, not only was it a Friday, but today’s lessons felt as if it dragged on forever.

A lengthy lecture on advanced tactical commands and the importance of teamwork were more than enough to drone anyone to sleep despite Byleth’s best effort. It was a dry topic. Extremely dry. Even Byleth herself wouldn’t want to teach it to her students! She had paused several times during the lesson to stifle a yawn! Alas, she and the other professors had built the core curriculum. She could not avoid her responsibilities.

At least the hard part is over. Now all that was left is to tidy up the shared classroom, gather the worksheets that she ordered the students to leave on the teacher’s desk, and trudge back to her office. From there, Byleth would be able to grade some of their assignments and prepare herself for an eventual staff meeting on tomorrow’s practical exercise on the field with the other professors. That doesn’t even include any students hanging behind that might need elaboration on any concept they have or haven’t learned… or any professors and staffs that need assistance. Not to mention Byleth needs to find a gift for Edelgard since it is her birthday today…

A bead of sweat ran down the side of her face as her shoulders slumped. There was so much to do. Last time she checked, being a mercenary was supposed to be harder than a professor! She was so used to being part of a group and following her father’s orders. Now she has a bunch of children and young adults to guide and pass her knowledge. Had it not been a special power that she possessed, Byleth wouldn’t have had her application as a potential instructor rejected. She would outright be banned from nearing the institution!

Byleth snagged one of the two erasers and proceeded to remove the chalky text on the blackboard. If there was anything that she got out of this experience, it was the fact that she was able to meet with new people.

“How lovely would it be for this moment to last forever.”

The eraser pressing against the blackboard paused mid-sentence. Byleth glanced over her shoulders. Edelgard had a textbook and notebook in one hand, and another hand resting on her hip. One of the three well-known nobles in the academy, she naturally exerts a sense of royalty far above Byleth. Though dignified and talented, it was rare for the noble to drop ambiguous remarks. The older female returned her attention to tidying as she questioned,

“Is there something troubling you, Edelgard?”

Edelgard’s eyes lowered, her breath caught in her throat. There was a pregnant pause. Eventually, she faintly smiled and approached the blue-haired.

“Just thinking about the future, professor.” The student rested her supplies on the desk’s surface. Using both palms of her hands, she somewhat sat on the edge of the wooden furniture as she observed her instructor. “We live in a time of peace. Dimitri, Claude, and I are training to become future leaders for our nation, but we are still young and inexperienced.”

“Inexperienced? Don’t downgrade your skills,” Byleth chuckled. “You’re anything but inexperienced, especially in live combat.”

The white-haired couldn’t resist a grin and brushed stray locks of white hair over her shoulder, her body temperature increased.

“I retract my earlier statement then.”

“Good.”

Although Byleth did not push the conversation further, she was curious about the earlier lamentation from Edelgard. Unlike a certain professor who did not know basic common courtesies in socialization with students, she held her tongue and waited for another response. It paid off as Edelgard’s grin faltered. The young lady redirected her gaze at the older female. She opened her mouth, but nothing delivered. She clamped her jaw shut. Her eyes wandered. Then, Edelgard tried again once her eyes found themselves landing on Byleth again.

“Byleth.” Byleth slowed her motion. It was uncommon for any students to call their professor by their first name. Most students who dared to informally call their professors by their names were playful in nature. For Edelgard, she had only done so when all jokes are off the table. “How long do you think this moment will last?”

“That’s hard to say.”

A single moment can’t last forever for sure unless one had the ability to freeze time. It’s a rather morbid question to ask. No matter the circumstances, there is always a sorrowful answer that accompanies such curiosity. Even Byleth finds it disheartening. A faint hum escaped from the ex-mercenary’s throat. That seems to have perked Edelgard’s ears.

“Edelgard,” Byleth lowered the eraser. She turned around to properly face the noble. As her student pushed herself away from the furniture, the instructor walked up to the shorter female and extended a hand outward. “Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?”

Special treatments were given to certain students. Dorothea and Ferdinand were ones she invites to private tea parties for casual socialization. She too invited Edelgard multiple times for tea. But for dinner? Could it be fashioned the same way as lunch at the cafeteria? The young noble gave a slight tilt of her head.

“Are you joining us for tonight then?”

Byleth shook her head.

“I would like to invite you to have a private dinner with me at my office.”

Private dinner? Now THAT is something Edelgard hasn’t seen before. Wait, could this be something that she’s always fantasized? Her stomach fluttered at the idea. Is this…

“…a date?”

Oh GOD, she had just blurted it out. The short female’s knees felt weak at the horror. The reaction? Her instructor had blinked. The noble could not help but catch the outreached hand stiffen. Edelgard had forced every fiber of her being to keep her facial muscles from showing signs of disappointment.

Perhaps her teacher had thought differently. Maybe she should have dismissed the reply and deny it anything more than a jest. Though they had spent plenty of time together, it would be a blunt lie to say that the young adult is not starting to develop an innocent crush towards Byleth. She tried to shoo it away and think of it as nothing more than a nuisance. It only serves as a nuisance the more she resisted instead.

Every single time a male student tried to flirt with Byleth, it evoked irritation in the normally stoic female. Every single time she found herself complimented by Byleth, her body would become still, pupils dilated, and cheeks flushed. Every single time Byleth would enter the room, her conversation with her classmates would trail off and she would lose complete interest in their interactions. Every single time Byleth asked a personal question, Edelgard’s voice unintentionally cracked if taken off guard. Every single time she was alone with Byleth, she would ask subtle questions about her mentor.

When did she start to develop this complicated emotional attachment towards her professor? It couldn’t have been the first time they’ve met. Byleth may have saved Edelgard’s life from a bandit slicing her apart with an axe, but Byleth, to gently put it, was extremely inexperienced when it came to teaching methods. Edelgard and many of her comrades were unimpressed with their new teacher’s instructions—or rather, lack of one. The first month was a complete nightmare. Had it not been for Byleth’s position as a professor, Edelgard would have used her noble status to boot Byleth back to her old mercenary life!

But over time, Edelgard saw how hard of a worker Byleth truly is. She was the only professor to work overtime for her students. She was the only professor that lent a hand with students from other houses. She was the only professor to take excruciating time to plan and make sure every single student comes out alive from the battlefield. Byleth was the only one who took time out of her life to get to truly know her students, especially Edelgard.

She could never forget the time when she wrongfully blamed Byleth for the emotional anguish she received from the empire. It was one of the weakest moments she had ever shown to the public. The young lady stormed out during a private examination. She never came back to complete it. Byleth had every right to snap back at Edelgard. She had every right to punish Edelgard for her misdemeanor. She had every right to expel Edelgard. Instead, Byleth spent the entire WEEK alleviating the noble of her pain. The examination was rescheduled. They also went fishing, shopping, and had a tea party together. Sure, Byleth neglected the other students, but the instructor’s eyes were only on Edelgard.

“I’m always here for you, Edelgard.”

Byleth is the definition of perfection. Thus, that led to the current inner calamity of falling for her professor. It didn’t help that same-sex relationships were uncommon these days. Should word travel that Edelgard likes women, her empire would turn their backs against her in less than a second! That’s an even more depressing thought! Right now, this is simply a hopeless, one-sided feeling Edelgard suffers silently from.

In spite of the noble's angst, Byleth isn’t that oblivious to her students. Having spent time with them for months, she knows them all too well. Thankfully, her reaction was genuine, though more from shock than from disgust. The green-haired decided to reach out and grab Edelgard’s somewhat-moist hand rather than wait around. This action startled the Adrestian Empire noble.

“B-Byleth?”

A small smirk from the older female. Soon, she leaned down to plant a kiss on the back of Edelgard’s held hand. A fitting scene between a noble and a commoner.

“If you would like to think of this as a date, I don’t mind. I’m sure we have plenty to talk about over dinner. Besides…” Byleth straightened her posture and squeezed Edelgard’s hand. The formal composure the teacher always wore washed away with her contrasting witty attitude. “You’re turning 18 today, am I right?”

“That’s… right…”

If there’s something Edelgard wants to do, it’s to calmly part from her professor for a minute, walk to the nearest cliff, and holler about how stupid she is. How could she have forgotten her birthday?! Her comrades and rivals showered her with small gifts and warm wishes, but they were all over by the early morning. A party had been held at midnight with the Black Eagles to commemorate another year in her life. The students enjoyed fine cake and desserts throughout the night. Once classes were in session the next morning, she automatically had turned off all thoughts about luxury and leisure associated with her personalized holiday. What she had forgotten was whether Byleth had celebrated the special occasion with her or not.

Her face burned up from Byleth remembering the occasion. Though in all honesty, this would buy her some time to plan and give the gift to Edelgard. No shame in delaying the delivery, right? On the other hand, this would also provide additional insight into Edelgard’s feelings towards her. Though Byleth never went out of her way to formulate any romantic feelings towards her colleagues and students, she never really thought too hard about what the students would think of her. Whether Edelgard’s feelings towards her was nothing more than a young adult’s lust or desire to become a significant pair is up for speculations. She had just turned 18, after all. The dinner tonight should clear up any misconceptions they may hold.

“The day is long, Edelgard,” Byleth finally released her hold on the noble. A weary twinkle shone as she circled her index finger in the air. “School may be over, but I still have much to do. Let’s meet at my office tonight, okay?”

Edelgard began to play with her hair as Byleth gathered her belongings, the temperature beneath her cheeks having spiked.

“Okay.”

The plan had been set. Now the two can only wait for tonight—and prayers be sent to Byleth as a glance on the nearby wooden clock alarmed her of an upcoming staff meeting. Smoke trailed right behind her heels as she fumbled out of the classroom and into the hallway. Once the ex-mercenary left the area, Edelgard could not help but cover her mouth and whispered, “She’s so cute” under her breath.

A date. She was actually invited on a date with Byleth! It might just be an excuse to celebrate her birthday, but it’s still a date, right? A private one-on-one dinner with her teacher! What should she wear for the occasion? Her school’s uniform outfit? Or maybe something a bit fancier? There is that red dress she’s always hidden in her closet for an exceptional event. What else should she prepare? Wait—it’s her birthday, so is there really anything for her to prepare? Maybe her usual “thank you” speech she gives to those that wished her well for the new year? No… it has to be special. But she doesn’t have to say or do anything, right? Just show up to Byleth’s office and enjoy each other’s company—Though why the heck did Byleth choose her office?

So many questions swimming around in her head and Edelgard feels as though her skull might crack! From the distant, a small number of her classmates all peered from the hallway and into the classroom. The sight of their upcoming lord clutching her head as though she were frustrated is a sight to behold!

“So, she’s definitely got the hots for the teach, huh,” Ferdinand smirked. “Looks like I got a little competition going on with the professor…”

“Ferdinand! Is that all you got in that thick skull of yours?” Dorothea harshly whispered back. “Just because you’re her rival doesn’t mean you should butt into their budding relationship!”

“Lady Edelgard is… in love with another woman… let alone that of our professor…?” Hubert grasped ahold of his own head, his eyes wide and jaw slacked. “I… don’t know what to say…”

“Aren’t you supposed to be her undying loyal servant to her, Hubert?” Petra raised an eyebrow. “Besides, don’t you think you shouldn’t make it so obvious since it’ll hurt her reputation?”

They mumbled amongst themselves, but they made quick haste from the hallway as soon as Edelgard decided to leave the room. Of course, the upcoming lord’s mind is far too occupied with tonight’s reservation. She’s only got one shot at this and anything short of excellence is a failure to her.

“Let’s hope I make it in time tonight—Wait, the professor didn’t mention what time I should be meeting with her!”

Ugh, maybe she should just head over to the office once the sunsets. If there’s anything she would like to change in Byleth, it’s the fact that Byleth can be disorganized.

Spoiler alert: it was actually Byleth who was late to the untimed dinner date. Not only did she earn a scolding from her superior and father earlier that day in the staff meeting, but she also earned herself an earful from the well-kempt and dressed Edelgard.

-----------------

[ TIME SKIP ]

Ever since they’ve graduated, many things had happened and Byleth had not seen Edelgard since then. Although it was natural for a teacher to miss her student, it was another matter to miss your significant other. From the day they had a private dinner together during the last hours of Edelgard’s birthday, the once-young noble poured out her feelings for the others. It was less elegant and more like torrential rain. Regardless, Byleth had played along in hopes of helping Edelgard sort through her emotions. It might just be youth chewing at their lust and desire for others.

Time told them otherwise, especially for Byleth. Edelgard’s feelings had grown even stronger, and it even sparked something in the instructor. Not that their relationship was that unknown in the first place with the Black Eagles. Hubert did his best to shield the two from the public, but word travels fast in the house. Almost everyone knew about it! The two were in a fleeting, but also scandalous relationship. Pain have accompanied them and that is evident by the countless headbutts they’ve had against one another. It was almost a daily occurrence that they were so different from each other!

That did not mean it wasn’t also filled with passion and good memories sprinkled in between though. They were experts in battle and filled in the gaps for each other. Outside of the academy’s ground, they held hands and treated each other with great respect. Obviously, they were far more discrete on school ground to prevent unnecessary attention. A quick peck on the cheek and flirtatious phrases sweetly whispered into each other’s ears were exchanged. Then, on rare nights, they showered each other in love. Sometimes, they gently embraced each other. Other times, they ravaged like beasts in heat.

Did they regret it? Absolutely not. Byleth had always reminded Edelgard of her bravery in starting their relationship. If the student hadn’t done so, then they wouldn’t be like they are now. They would have never gotten together. Byleth might have been in a relationship, if any, with someone else other than Edelgard. Edelgard would have been left with a bitter feeling of unrequited crush—or unrequited love towards her professor.

But all good things must come to an end. Graduation came and Edelgard had to return to her empire. It was an already pre-determined decision in part with her nation. Their last interaction was at Byleth’s office. They had their last tea together and reminisce the previous years.

“I will return here someday, my teacher,” Edelgard intertwined her fingers with Byleth’s, her eyes longing for more time. “Promise me that you won’t forget me.”

Byleth leaned in to press her lips against Edelgard’s. The ex-mercenary’s eyes twinkled as she murmured, “I promise. I’ll be waiting for you.”

They eventually saw each other. At the age of 25, Edelgard met with her professor once again.

“How lovely would it be for this moment to last forever.”

Those were the same words Edelgard had spoken of back when she was a student. Now, she said them as a true lord.

She guides her people to victory and easily wage skirmishes without blinking an eye. The confident and proud female shines brighter than ever in the face of conflict. Yet she was not as noble as she originally envisioned. Her nation facing off against her old rivals, Dimitri and Claude, in a bloody war painted their once-pure, pristine goals and accomplishments for a better future into a complex mess. Each one of the three wanted nothing more than to uphold their ideologies. Unlike their young selves who would bicker and eventually fall into a compromise, none dare give up their aggressive persuasions. It’s either do or die. One ideology must dominant others.

Those earlier words were tainted with sorrow and irony towards her professor. Dimitri’s spear tip protruded through Byleth’s chest. Countless arrows from Claude’s precise aim riddled Byleth’s back. A fine axe marked with Edelgard’s crest dug itself into Byleth’s side. Their professor, who had once instructed them in the Officer’s Academy, stood between the three warriors. All three of their expressions twisted in pure horror at the sight of their signature weapons skewering, puncturing, and digging into the very person they’ve respected.

She had dropped her sword. Bloodstains sport her dark academic attire. Broken bones are to be expected from the damages she’s received. Her vision became spotty, blackness threatening to overshadow her consciousness. The pain was unbearable. Yet she stood before her three graduated students. Byleth did not fall. She even reached for the axe and tore it off of her own body! The entire battlefield was blanketed with silence, save it for the low rumbling of the distant thunders from the dark cloud overhead.

A shaky exhale. Crimson red trickled from both corners of her lips as she stumbled forward from her wounds. First, Byleth approached the lord from the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus. Dimitri, with his rugged attire and cruel exterior, reverted to his younger self in the presence of his teacher. His mouth dried as he began to gasp for air. The fearsome mentor that stood against all odds had done so once again. He couldn’t even take a step backward once Byleth closed their distance.

“Dimitri, you must remember to stand by your conviction.”

The now-shorter female out of the three extended her hand. Dimitri nearly slapped it away. It reminded him of the very hand that took his eye away. He managed to resist the temptation as the somewhat warm palm rested on his cheek. Byleth gave a weak smile.

“I always knew… you’ve been a good boy.”

Compliments. Ah—When was the last time he had heard of praises? When he brutally slaughtered his enemies in the name of his ideology? Or was it when he tortured war prisoners who refused to betray their nation? Maybe it was that one time he refused to die when he lost his eye?

Tears began to secrete from his exposed lacrimal gland. Dimitri tried to blink them away. More tears sprouted and were shed. He lowered his head, leaving Byleth’s hand hanging, and felt his chest heave. His knees gave way until his hands pressed against the earthly soil. A loud outcry came from him as he clawed at the grasses.

“Teach--! I—I’m so sorry!”

If she had the energy, Byleth would have bopped him on the head for being such a crybaby. Instead, she whispered, “I forgive you.”

Then, the instructor agonizingly shifted her focus onto the lord of the Leicester Alliance. Unlike Dimitri, Claude had taken a couple of steps backward. He shook his head like a terrified child. His leg muscles had tightened, ready to pounce out of the field. Claude didn’t want to do anything with his old mentor. He didn’t want to face Byleth. That didn’t stop Byleth from coming towards him, of course. She had to pause after the second step, the weight of the pinned weapons affecting her speed and balance. The shadows underneath her eyes darkened as she coughed up blood, its metallic substance dripped down onto the moist patch of grasses.

She raised her head and, surprisingly, cracked a forced grin. She may have not been at close proximity to physically touch Claude, but she left it at that. His constant shaking of the head, his lips pursed from holding back a scream or cry, and white-knuckled grip on his bow… The poor lord looked like he could have a mental breakdown if she got any closer.

“Claude, you must remember to be true to yourself.”

“…”

He wasn’t responding much. It was a typical reply from Claude whenever someone hit the mark. Byleth could not help but allow a soft chuckle.

“I’m sure Dimitri… and Edelgard would appreciate your hidden wisdom.”

“…Teach...”

All he could do was call by her title. Just like Dimitri, Byleth was someone dear to him. Even though she taught for the Black Eagles, she had always been by his side when it matters. She was the only one who saw through him. He squeezed his eyes shut and lowered his head. By this time, droplets of rain began to fall upon the land. The soldiers in the background glanced up at the sky as another thunder rumbled. That didn’t stop Byleth from reaching out to the last of the trio.

“Edelgard…”

This one was the toughest for Byleth. She hardly got a step in before her knees gave in. Edelgard caught her teacher just in the nick of time with a single swoop of her arms. The now-taller female gently flipped her professor upright, laying in her grasp. If Byleth could make her usual witty remark right about now, she would tease about how princely the grown woman became. It was replaced with another cough. The blood continued to leak from her mouth as she struggled to speak.

“You must remember… to allow change to happen.”

A pause. Afterward, she croaked.

“Edel… You’ve grown so much.”

Byleth fought to raise her bruised hand up. The light behind her lens dimmed with a morbid comment.

“Where did you go, Edel?”

Edelgard immediately took ahold of the weak hand and pressed it against her own face. She stifled her cries, the floodgates unable to hold back the tears rolling down her cheeks. The lord nestled on the growing cold part of her professor.

“I’m right here, Byleth.”

Her instructor blinked. She lost the ability to search for her alumni. The darkness shrouded her vision, the gods granting her the ability to partially hear and feel in her final moment. Then, the corner of her lips pulled upward.

“You came back.”

Edelgard bit the bottom of her lip. She knew what her teacher would say next. If anything, the best thing she can do is simply mourn. The young woman buried her face into Byleth’s uninjured shoulder and sobbed. As seconds ticked by, the other two lords knew that her time was expiring. Their tears shared the same reason as their old rival’s. Dimitri tore a chunk of grass from the soil as another strangled outcry came from his direction. Claude smacked his knuckles against his own forehead, concealing one eye as he whimpered. Byleth blinked one last time and exhaled.

“I… have always loved you. Please… don’t fight anymore, Edel.”

Whether her students followed through with her advice is up for debate. However, Byleth knew for sure that she accomplished her job as a teacher. If anything, she’s taught them all she could, especially to the very person she loves, Edelgard. In the background, Sothis watched the entire scene unfold. She shook her head and turned her back towards the four warriors.

“You chose not to reverse time, didn’t you, Byleth? I wonder if that’s for the best…”

[sayingthesamethings]

Magic Shop (Part 2)

Pairing: Poly!BTS x Witch!Fem!Reader

Summary: Underneath the concrete and pavement, between the towering buildings, Seoul is thrumming with magic. Too much magic. It’s become a hot spot for magical beings seeking to feed off of such intense energy. BTS is unaware of such dangers until they come across a witch trying to manage the mischief of other magical creatures while creating her own trouble.

Warnings: Slight possessive themes (if you squint really fucking hard)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

The next time Namjoon saw (Name) was when he was into a local cafe management had managed to rent out for the day to shoot. He was very confused when he walked in and saw her sitting quietly at a two top in the back of the shop. She looked so comfortable in her cardigan while sipping from a mug that said "(Star Sign)" in bold, black print.

Of course, her pet weasel was sound asleep on the table next to her thick leather bound book.

Namjoon cast a quick glance at the preoccupied staff before he abandoned the comfort of his boyfriends, who grew confused as they watched him leave, to cautiously approach (Name). She was so distracted, reading something in her strange book, that she failed to notice Namjoon standing close to her. He cleared his throat, startling the woman.

"Oh, sorry!" He flinched as she coughed from her drink spilling down her throat and down the wrong pipe. Regaining her composure, she wiped at her mouth with a napkin before looking up at the male towering over her.

"Hello, Namjoon," she greeted with a soft smile as she closed her book with a notable thud. She folded her adorned hands on the table and tilted her head to the side. "How have you been?" she asked. Namjoon awkwardly shuffled and flashed a small grin.

"Good. We actually just got back from our tour," he announced. (Name)'s eyes lit up.

She gasped, "Oh wow. Has it really been three months since I've seen you?"

Namjoon rubbed at the back of his neck and corrected, "Since you helped me, yeah." Something seemed to occur to (Name).

"Oh that," she passively acknowledged. She set her mug down and had a more serious expression. "Do you happen to have my ring?"

At the mention of the ring, Namjoon swallowed stiffly.

Ever since he had taken off the accessory, he had been feeling off. He was able to push past the hollow feeling in his chest during fan meets and concerts, but there was a chill that haunted at night and kept him awake. There were several occasions where he had to assure his boyfriends that nothing was bothering him, and that he would be okay.

Namjoon slowly dug into the pocket of his overcoat to fish out the ring he had wrapped in the cloth he used to clean his glasses. He shook the fabric and allowed the ring to fall into his open palm.

For a moment, he was lost staring at the round cut ruby cradled in the delicate curves of the silver band. Inside, the engravings managed to capture his attention.

non solum non ambulabit

Namjoon considered himself fluent in English, and he was knowledgeable enough to know that the phrase was most definitely not in English.

It took him a moment to pull himself out of his trance so that he could hold the ring out for (Name) to take.

Little did he know, (Name) was watching him the whole time.

She observed his reaction closely before reaching out to push his hand away. Namjoon's intense gaze snapped up to meet her tender stare.

Before Namjoon could question her actions, (Name) shook her head and stated, "Actually, I want you to keep it." She retracted her hand and said, "I really was planning on taking it back, but consider it a gift."

Namjoon had to admit that he liked the idea of keeping the ring. Though, there was a nagging in the back of his head that he voiced aloud.

"What do you want in return?" he inquired warily. (Name) looked genuinely shocked for a moment before laughing loudly, which caught everyone's attention.

"Even though this is the second time we're meeting, you know me very well, Namjoon," she teased while resting her cheek on her palm. Her lips slipped into a mischievous grin, and she admitted, "There are a few things."

Namjoon decided to bite. "Like?"

(Name) hummed playfully in a way that amused Namjoon as well as put him on edge.

“Let’s start with introducing me to the others. They look really scared of me right now,” she noted with a faint nod towards the rest of the idols waiting by the staff who had gone back to setting up the lighting and cameras. Namjoon nodded and stuffed his hands into his pockets. Though, he didn’t immediately make a move to walk over.

“Should they be scared?” he asked as he looked over to his boyfriends talking among themselves.

(Name)’s smile morphed into a thin smirk.

“You’re smarter than you make yourself out to be,” she commented as she carelessly grabbed her mug and swirled the contents inside. "No, not with you by their side." There was no trace of dishonesty in her voice.

Namjoon cast her a curious glance, but when he received no response, he decided to walk back over to his group with a calmer demeanor than before.

"Who is that, Joon?" Yoongi asked with a passive stare towards (Name), who waved politely at the group of men.

“Ah, that’s (Name). I met her a few days before we went on tour,” he explained as he motioned for the others to follow him as he once again approached the table where (Name) sat patiently.

Jin raised a brow, “Oh? You mean when you went out and said that you didn’t cause any trouble?” A blush erupted across Namjoon’s cheeks that further heated up when (Name) giggled. Her laugh had the other men staring at her, slack-jawed.

“I promise, Namjoon wasn’t the one causing trouble that day,” (Name) declared. With another small wave, she introduced herself. “Nice to meet you all. My name’s (Name) (Last Name), but you can all call me (Name).”

“Wow!” Taehyung blurted as he stepped closer before, without hesitation, held (Name)’s hand close to him to observe her abundance of rings. “They’re so pretty!”

The woman smiled and replied, “Why, thank you! I’m glad you like them.” She trailed off, not knowing the idol’s name.

“Oh, I’m Taehyung!” His usual boxy shone brightly.

Though she was a little surprised by his unabashed eye contact, (Name) nodded and said, “I’m glad you like them, Taehyung." Just as Taehyung was about to ask where she had gotten them, Jin cleared his throat.

He said, “If you don’t mind me asking, (Name)-ssi, why are you here? I thought manager-nim rented the space out.”

“Ah, just (Name) is fine,” she corrected before taking a sip from her mug. “My friend and I actually co-own this shop. She typically works on the paperwork and financial stuff at home while I manage it,” she explained. With a sigh, her smile faded a bit. “She was actually the one supposed to watch over your filming session today, but her cat got sick.”

Jimin chimed in, “Does that mean you know how to make coffee?”

“Huh?” (Name) shook her head with a dismissive wave of her hand. “No, no. Coffee is her thing. I like to use the space when we’re closed or empty like this,” she said.

“Boys, we’re ready to start!” the director called. Suga walked away without a second thought.

(Name) stood and brushed off her jeans. “Jaewon,” she called, waking up her weasel. He calmly got up from where he was basking in the sunlight peeking through the windows and hopped a considerable distance into (Name)’s arms. The members who didn’t know about the weasel, being the majority of them, watched in shock as the large animal crawled up the woman’s arm to rest across her shoulders.

“(Last Name)-ssi, we have a few questions if you don’t mind,” the staff announced. She nodded with a small, polite smile.

“Of course, I’ll be right there.” (Name) nodded at the idols and said, “I’ll talk to you all when I can. Let me know if you need anything.” She left the group of men to go speak with the staff.

The idols followed right after and got into their positions in front of the cameras. They posed and interacted with the coffee shop tableware and magical-like props. Meanwhile, most of the members would continue to talk with (Name) when they were on a short break, save for Yoongi and Jungkook.

“Where did you get your jewelry from, (Nickname)?” he inquired as he continued to admire the intricate designs of (Name)’s rings and necklaces.

Glancing over her jewelry, (Name) answered, “I actually made almost all of my jewelry.” Jimin and Taehyung gaped at her and leaned even closer. “The ones I didn’t make were made by my mother.”

While Jimin and Taehyung listened in awe, Jungkook sat nearby and found himself staring down Jaewon, (Name)’s weasel companion, resting on his owner’s shoulders.

“Do you think you could make me one, (Nickname)?” Jimin pleaded while tugging cutely on (Name)’s cardigan sleeve.

With wide eyes, (Name) asked, “You want me to make you a ring?” Jimin nodded.

“I want a necklace!” Taehyung raised his hand and chimed in. “But one that’s even prettier that Namjoon-hyung’s.” At that, (Name) laughed wholeheartedly. Once again, she had all the men’s attention on her, even the few that were across the shop filming.

“Well, maybe I’ll make them for you in the future. Right now, it looks like you’re needed elsewhere.” She was referring to the staff calling their names and motioning for the maknae line to join their hyungs at the coffee table.

(Name) also took that as her cue to move to the back room to refill her drink. Standing up with her book, she nodded at the three young idols before walking away, feeling their heated stares on her back.

As she reach the back of the small shop, she glanced over her shoulder to double check that everyone was preoccupied with the shoot. (Name) hummed an old tune from her childhood as she walked further into the small backroom where she kept her equipment and supplies.

Odd-colored plants hung from their vines across the ceiling and basked in the colored light coming through the stained windows. Papers were scattered beneath emptied vials and medicine bowls with leftover traces of unnatural mixtures.

Jaewon hopped off of (Name)’s shoulders to trek skillfully around the counter. The purple, leather bound book floated out of her hand and followed her around as she gathered multiple ingredients from around her work space. With a flick of her wrist, the pages began to turn until she held a hand up.

Her eyes trained on the page, (Name) placed dried herbs into one of her medicine bowls and allowed the grinding stick to mix them into a paste. (Name)’s brows furrowed as she focused entirely on her reading. Once the grinder came to a slow stop, she tore her eyes away from the information on the page before her to swipe a bit of the paste onto her finger to taste.

Smacking her lips, (Name) mumbled, “Needs more drooping sea leaves.” Noticing she didn’t have any on the table in front of her, she huffed at the inconvenience. 

Luckily, she had a few plants growing by the door.

(Name), knowing this, began humming happily again. With a small flourish, she spun towards the door, but froze in place.

There, in the doorway, stood the seven members of BTS. Seven variations of shock and confusion were frozen beneath her unamused stare. Eyes traveled between the floating book, the medicine bowl grinding herbs by itself, and the odd plants growing around the room.

Yoongi seemed to recover the fastest, for his confusion quickly morphed into his usual, narrow stare before he turned to leave the back room.

(Name) sighed.

Lazily, she lifted a hand in the direction of the seven men. A force pulled all of their bodies forward, further into the room. They stumbled in, and (Name) closed her hand into a fist the same time the door slammed shut behind the recovering idols.

Their heads went from the door to (Name), standing on the other end of the narrow room in an unnervingly calm manner.

(Name) took a deep breath and relaxed her hand, flexing her fingers. Once her arm rest by her side again, she took that as her opportunity to speak with a chilling smile.

“Thanks for reminding me to close the door.”

[mittensmorgul]

Hi Everybody! Y’all probably know by now that I’ve been obsessively listening to @season14podcast since it started (hooray for the updated weekly posting schedule! I haven’t listened to the new episode that dropped this morning yet because I’m still obsessing over the previous episode, which is the point of this post, actually, so maybe I should can the parenthetical and just get on with it! RIGHTO!)

OKAY! So the previous episode was about 2.06, No Exit. And I have feelings about this episode, specifically regarding Dean’s surface-level misogyny and his repeated dismissal of Jo’s ability as a hunter. PARTICULARLY the fact that when he eventually clarified that he didn’t have trouble with women hunting, but amateurs. Because honestly I don’t think this was about Jo at all. This was about Dean (and to a lesser extent Sam), and how he was raised.

In the early seasons of the show, I think this was partly an attempt to show just how isolating from “normal society” the hunting life is. Even after Sam and Dean make a sort of home base out of Bobby’s house. Even after they discover the roadhouse and make some connections with other hunters. They’re all still (all hunters, that is) still relatively secretive and isolationist.

This is a theme that will be addressed over and over again, in their dealings with a lot of other hunters. Remember this was Gordon Walker’s line when they first met him, that he hunts alone, and Sam and Dean should get out of town. And it will come up again in 4.04 with Travis the “rougarou specialist,” who called Sam and Dean in for help hunting the thing he supposedly specialized in his whole life. And while we will see hunters contacting each other for information, or to give others the heads up about events on the spooky side of the street, they largely DO work alone-- or at best as a regular team like Sam and Dean do (and like Ellen and Jo will by s5, and like Bobby and Rufus were implied to have done for years). But Jo was raised in this strange liminal space between hunting and the real world, where even hunters like Rufus were known to show their faces on occasion. It wasn’t really being raised in the life (like we’ve been shown that Sam and Dean were), but it also wasn’t being raised “normal” either.

And the mention of Bobby and Rufus, just thinking back to Bobby’s Hunter Origin Story is yet another example of why amateurs don’t hunt. His wife had been possessed by a demon, and not having any idea how the supernatural worked and being directly threatened by that demon, Bobby killed her before Rufus arrived to help actually get rid of the demon possessing her. Think about what we know of demons-- they leave the host or are exorcised, and if the body is unharmed, the person will live. Bobby’s complete lack of experience, of knowing a simple exorcism, drove him to kill his own wife. Can you even imagine? The guilt of it all literally haunted him. See 3.10, 5.14, and 7.10 for just how much it haunted him.

The thing is, once people have been on ONE hunt, which we typically think of as Hunter Origin Stories, they already HAVE experience surviving that hunt. They might feel compelled to continue hunting, but they also know first-hand the terror, the danger, and that anything can and will go wrong.

EVERY Hunter Origin Story we’ve heard is like this.

EXCEPT Jo’s.

I know this post is all over the place, but I swear it has a point. I’m gonna skip WAY ahead in canon for a minute, because Dabb era is STILL focusing on this. 14.16 involved a conversation DIRECTLY ADDRESSING THIS.

Dean: Knowing about monsters and fighting 'em are two different things. Sheriff Romero: So you make that choice for everybody? Imagine telling them. Imagine the lives you could save. Sam: No. No. It doesn't work like that. People die. Even when they know how to fight, people still die.

Because Sheriff Romero had grown up listening to the warnings, knowing there was something dangerous and evil in the woods, and yet he still didn’t believe it himself. Even knowing the weapon he would need to kill the thing, he brought a shotgun into the woods instead. Even being trained in combat, even knowing the whole story, he still was unprepared to face the monster until he had this fact pointed out to him by Sam and Dean.

There’s other stories. Jody’s, Donna’s, Claire’s, basically pick a character and think about their first brush with the supernatural and understand what inexperience got them. So I wanted this pointed out that this is definitely a recurring theme in the show. No one’s introduction to hunting goes smoothly. You can be armed to the teeth and combat trained (think of the soldiers Abaddon recruited in 9.02, or the soldiers who unwittingly brought khan worms back from a tour of duty). Police, military, even mercenaries are just completely unprepared in the face of something they’re not ready for.

It also works the other way around. You can study the lore, talk to hunters, and understand all of hunting in theory, but until you’re face to face with a monster trying to kill you, you have no idea how you might react to it.

Even the Men of Letters was effectively founded on this exact concept, you know? from 8.12:

DEAN: Okay, enough with the decoder talk. How about you tell us what this whole “Men of Letters” business is, or you're on your own. HENRY: It's none of your concern. DEAN: Why, because we're hunters? What do you have against us? HENRY: Aside from the unthinking, unwashed, shoot-first-and-don't-bother-to-ask-questions-later part, not much, really. SAM: You know what? Wait a second. We're also John's children. HENRY: You're more than that, actually. My father and his father before him were both Men of Letters, as John and you two should have been. We're preceptors, beholders, chroniclers of all that which man does not understand. We share our findings with a few trusted hunters – the very elite. They do the rest. DEAN: So you're like Yodas to our Jedis. [HENRY looks uncomprehending.] Never mind. You'll get there.

And then reinforced when we met Magnus in 9.16:

MAGNUS: Hunters? Wow! Hunters. With the key to the kingdom! The boys must be spinning in their graves. Damn snobs. Bunch of librarians, if you ask me. Although I was always fond of Henry. I was his mentor, you know? Yeah, till the squares gave me the boot. Yeah. 'Course, he came here to visit me, in secret. Called out to me, same as you did. Oh, yes. Quite the wild hair, your grandfather was.

and:

MAGNUS: Things never change, do they? I kept telling the boys over and over again -- I would say, "we could stop all this. We could rid the world of monsters once and for all if we just put our minds to it", but, "oh, no," they said. "No, no, no. It's not our place. We're here to study. We're here to catalog""

and then he went on to express the sentiment “all hunters are morons.”

So yes, this goes both ways, and it’s ingrained in the show’s language. Remember, for all their knowledge, for all their experience and their storehouse of supernatural weapons, they were still entirely wiped out by Abaddon in one fell swoop. Even after generations of training and the accumulation of knowledge, even THEY were entirely unprepared.

So... I don’t really think this is a comment on Jo specifically, or on her character. It was discussed in the podcast whether this sort of “taking her down a peg” was really necessary for her character development, and I’d argue that yes, it was. Because for all intents and purposes, in the context of this hunt, Jo is functioning as an avatar for the viewer. For all of us who’ve been watching the show and “learning to hunt by proxy.” Because isn’t that what her entire life has been?

She may never have actually gone on a hunt (she was little when her father died, and she had her mother to stay home with and have a relatively normal life compared to Sam and Dean), but she’s been tangentially exposed to the life since she was born, too. Her experience is in a context several degrees removed from actually facing the monsters. And as such, no amount of research, no amount of theoretical training, could have prepared her for actually going on a hunt.

Listening to a bunch of hunters’ fish tales (in 12.06 Dean even mentions having heard of Asa Fox at the Roadhouse, through the legend that he’d killed five wendigos in one night, and yet didn’t believe it could be true) is not a foundation for actually being equipped and prepared to go on a hunt ALONE. Because for all his blather (and yeah, the writing could’ve been handled better on this point), I really think that this is what Dean was trying to say. Not that “you can’t hunt because you’ve never been on a hunt before,” but you can’t just jump into a hunt alone without some sort of master/apprentice situation. Because it was implied that even JOHN didn’t begin hunting alone-- he was sort-of apprenticed to a lot of people, but specifically to Daniel Elkins in 1.20.

John knew enough to find the letter Elkins addressed specifically to him after his death, despite their previous falling out:

SAM: Wait, you came all the way out here for this Elkins guy? JOHN: Yeah. He was... he was a good man. He taught me a hell of a lot about hunting. SAM: Well you never mentioned him to us. JOHN: We had a... we had kind of a falling out. I hadn't seen him in years. (gesturing to the envelope) I should look at that. (He opens it) 'If you're reading this, I'm already dead'... that son of a bitch.

Because NOBODY just picks up after the sort of events John experienced in 1983 and just... goes off hunting without HELP.

Which is what Jo was trying to do in 2.06.

Which is what Dean specifically objected to.

NOT the fact she was there with them, but that she’d taken off from what Dean thought of as a comfortable and secure life of safety, deliberately lying to Ellen about where she was going and what she was doing, where she could’ve literally died if Sam and Dean had not shown up there, too. And I mean, she had to know they would make their way out to Philly to take on the hunt, and I kinda think she wanted to show them up by having handled the hunt before they ever arrived, you know? Or at the very least wanted to prove her competence, to prove she wasn’t afraid, to prove she could do the job, too, after having literally been raised surrounded by the competent bravado that most hunters adopt when they gather together for drinking and information swapping.

I also think this was literally an episode to demonstrate to her the reality of hunting removed from the relative safe-haven of the Roadhouse. This was deliberately to show her what was at stake if she chose to go hunting on her own, and give her something concrete to balance it against in her mind. She could still choose to go off hunting, but now she knows the reality of that experience, and not the barroom fish stories version. I hate to use this term for it, but there’d always been a certain glamour about it for her, and nothing wipes the polish off like getting buried alive by a murderous ghost, you know?

But she DID learn something from this experience. Bravado has NO place in hunting. Sam and Dean wouldn’t have marched into a ghost’s lair and thrown themselves in its face. Well, maybe they would, but they would have an actual plan. Usually. Hopefully. I mean, even their plans frequently go out the window, and even they get things wrong more often than most people would be comfortable with, you know?

And I know most of this isn’t something that could be addressed in the podcast, because hooBOY this is basically one big spoiler, and we wouldn’t want to spoil Jess on what’s to come. :’D But I had to write something out about this. I mean, definitely, the writer of this episode could’ve definitely taken a bit more coaching on characterization and not implied Dean was a misogynist jerkwad, but I’m willing to overlook that mostly because of ^^ everything else the series has ever said on how most hunters begin their hunting careers. So while the attempt came off a bit ham-handed, it’s still basically conveying the same message the rest of the series does.

One last thing before I close this out. It’s also a direct comparison between Jo’s relatively comfortable and stable upbringing, even exposed to tragedy and the supernatural from a young age, and the sort of upbringing that Sam and Dean had on the road with John. Sure, we can assume Bill Harvelle may have begun training Jo in basic weapons and maybe told her the sorts of stories we learned Mary experienced in her own family as a child (bedtime stories about The Colt? yeah... hunter families are wild), but it wasn’t the isolation and immersion in hunting Dean (especially, and Sam to a lesser extent since Dean shielded him for A LOT for a VERY LONG TIME) experienced in being trained to hunt from the time he could remember. Nothing drives that point home quite like watching 12-year-old Dean’s “failure” in 1.18, you know? THAT is the comparison point for hunting as a novice. Dean HAS experienced that failure. He KNOWS what is at stake. And he has known the risk since he was old enough to hold a shotgun.

Jo only learned it in this episode. All the research, all the planning in the world, all the bravado and confidence in the world couldn’t have saved her here. But now she knows.

One last thing about all those hunter origin stories I mentioned above. For Dean, no matter how prepared anyone thinks they are, no matter how much of “a freak” (to use Jo’s word here) they may feel like, no matter how averse they are to putting it behind them and trying to live a normal life, there’s something about the experience of hunting that Dean would’ve absolutely saved Jo from having to suffer through if he could’ve. Almost every hunter we’ve met on the show is broken in a way that Jo hadn’t been before this experience, and in ways that people who haven’t survived a brush with the supernatural can’t even begin to understand. This has also been an ongoing plot point on the show. Hunters don’t retire, they either die young and tragic or else live long enough to end up like Bobby and Rufus, or worst case, like Martin Creaser. There’s no happy at the end of the road, at least not in Dean’s experience. (and hopefully Dabb era will finally write them out beyond that dark curtain)/

This was never about proving that Jo was incompetent, or that she didn’t have what it takes to be a hunter. I thought it was quite the opposite, showing her the truth of it in a way that wasn’t recklessly catastrophic for her. Hey, at least she survived to live her life, whatever she chooses to do with it going forward.

(and I’m oddly thinking about her lines in 7.04 now, after a flashback to 2.06 earlier in the episode:

DEAN: He was right, you know – that dick judge, about me. JO: No, he wasn't. DEAN: You were a kid. JO: Not true. DEAN: You and Sam. I just – you know, hunters are never kids. I never was. I didn't even stop to think about it. JO: It's not your fault. It wasn't on you. DEAN: No, but I didn't want to do it alone. Who does? No, the right thing would have been to send your ass back home to your mom. JO: Like to have seen you try.

and that’s the difference a better writing effort from someone who has a much better handle on Dean’s character can make, because this is essentially the same sentiment, only refined over the years through reflection and yeah, through personal growth, too)

(and again, not forgiving the writer here because yeeeeeesh he could’ve done all this without making Dean look like a jerk, but “jerk” is kinda Dean’s default when people’s lives are on the line-- particularly people he cares about) 

[nimiumcaelo]

“Indeed, Miss?” -- Chapter 5

Chapter summary: Bingo is heartbroken. She, Bertie, Barmy, and Rosalyn go see a film together.

Chapter 5: Cheering the Single Cherry

We were not long within Miss Wooster’s club before Miss Little arrived, wailing for her demon lover. Her countenance, usually quite rosy-cheeked and jubilant, was now clouded over with the woe, as Miss Wooster had said, of the single cherry. She glanced aimlessly about at the rooms and as she walked throughout, conversations died and expressions soured as if Miss Little were in possession of a type of aerosol poison.

She ended her stagger with a collapse onto an armchair across from Miss Wooster and Miss Fotheringay-Phipps. Attempting a weak simper, she opened the conversation with a forlorn, “What-ho, Bertie – Barmy.”

Miss Wooster, tongue curled about her lip in concentration, tossed a card into a particularly difficult hat, then looked up and cast a sympathetic glance at her woebegone friend.

“What-ho, Bingo! I say, tough luck about old Mac, eh?”

Miss Little heaved a sigh reminiscent of a cold wind across a cemetery. “Yes, I suppose it is. I have seen love die, Bertie, never to live again.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that, old thing! Where’s that old fish in the ocean spirit?”

“My cousin just got back from a fishing trip,” Miss Fotheringay-Phipps put in.

Miss Little let her eyes roll towards Heaven. “What does it matter if there’s other fish when the only fish I want won’t let me catch him?” she murmured.

“Well,” reasoned Miss Wooster. “You can’t say he’s the only one you want. Fate might have it up her sleeve to send a large, juicy catch just positively racing towards your hook in the near future.”

“But Mac was a slim thing with legs like beanpoles!”

“Details, details!” Miss Wooster dismissed with a wave of her hand. “I never said Fate couldn’t send you a shrimp, as well.”

Miss Little sunk further into her armchair and covered her face with her forearm, uttering a moan.

Miss Fotheringay-Phipps reached forward and patted Miss Little upon the knee. “Cheer up, Bingo! Why don’t you go catch a picture and have some fun? There’s a new John Barrymore film out and I know how much you love him!”

“Corking idea, Barmy!” Miss Wooster cried. “Let’s trickle ‘round there right now! We can get some ice-cream later, too, Bingo – as a special treat! – and perhaps later we can go dancing!”

Miss Little removed her arm from her face and smiled again, with more strength this time. “Oh, you two are darlings,” she said. “Thank you so much. That sounds lovely. There’s nothing like an attractive fellow to take my mind off things.”

“Words to live by,” said Miss Wooster, grinning.

The threesome then stood and made for the door, I following in their tracks at a mild distance. Once we were out once more on the pavement, the three separated slightly with Miss Wooster and Miss Little in the front and I and Miss Fotheringay-Phipps taking up the rear. As the theatre was not far from Miss Wooster’s club, we walked and the few minutes spent thus were filled with conversation.

“I’ve always said Scots are rough!” said Miss Fotheringay-Phipps. “And I’ll say it again. Scots are rough!”

Miss Little sighed wistfully. “But Mac was such a sweetheart! Whenever his sheep dog would come after me, he’d always hold her back and whisper sweet nonsense…”

“To you?”

“No, to the dog. But it was the thought that counted!”

Miss Wooster clasped her hands behind her back. “I say, Bingo, let’s put aside dreamy Scotland chaps and sheep dogs for now. I’ve just got back from my Aunt Dahlia’s humble abode and I dare say you haven’t yet heard what trouble has befallen the last of the Wooster clan!”

“You’ve got trouble?” Miss Little gawked bluntly, seeming ruffled at the transition of the spotlight from herself to Miss Wooster. “What trouble? Have you got engaged again?”

“Oh-ho-ho, have I only just avoided it – like Daniel scooped right out of the lion’s jaws!”

Miss Fotheringay-Phipps giggled. “Oh, it’s a stymie, Bingo!”

“What happened?”

“My Aunts Agatha and Dahlia have hatched a plan to get me into a veil and white dress,” Miss Wooster declared. “But the only way I’m still allowed to be in the same room as another member of the human race under the age of fifty is if I’m chaperoned – which makes about as much bally sense as dousing out a chap’s fire and asking him to make tea, but anyway – that’s why Rosalyn, ever the paragon of usefulness and intellect, is following me around like Mary’s lamb. And until my Aunts let this matter pass from their minds like water over a duck’s back, I shall be stuck with an extra appendage,” Miss Wooster paused, glancing at me, “I hope you don’t mind me calling you an appendage, Rosalyn.”

“Not at all, miss,” I said.

Miss Little gawked for several more minutes. “But why would you be chaperoned around girls?”

“That’s exactly what I thought!” Miss Wooster continued. “They think I’m too bohemian and that it’s interfering with my marriage prospects.” The latter two words were uttered with profound distaste, as of someone biting into a cake only to find it boot-oil flavored.

“That’s rich!” Miss Little grumbled. “And you’ve always been around the reasonable sort of bohemian, too!”

“Exactly!” Miss Fotheringay-Phipps agreed.

“Well, thank you, but Aunts will be Aunts, I suppose. I shall have to play Job for a fortnight, but that’s not so bad. Hardly like being married off, eh?” She chuckled lightly.

We turned into the theatre and Miss Wooster, after several light protestations from her friends, paid for our tickets: I was surprised and a small amount disconcerted to see they were not general admission. The ladies made their way towards their seats and I, following, found myself atop a velvet cushion sharing an armrest with Miss Wooster. I was only able to reconcile this with my sense of propriety by remembering that this was the only way I’d truly be able to chaperone her in a dark theatre; yet still my conscience rankled.

The movie was not anything outrageously interesting, though it did have a fair plot. It followed the story of a nobleman studying for priesthood who abandons his vocation in order to court a beautiful young lady. Miss Little seemed to enjoy it; her dreamy sighs and choked sobs when the couple shared a glance or held hands carried throughout the darkened room. Miss Wooster, I thought, would be no less enthralled; yet I found her, more often than not, turning towards me rather than the screen. Not that she spoke in the theatre – Miss Wooster was not in the habit of bothering her fellow movie-goer to quite that extent – rather, she would glance at me with a humorous glitter in her eye or would send me a soft smile accompanying the swell of the music. I found very soon that the movie could not hold my attention completely.

It held no interest whatsoever when, startlingly, I felt a soft elbow pressing against my sleeve. I had kept my arms close to myself in order to avoid unnecessary contact with Miss Wooster. It seemed that she, however, had no such qualms on the point and was actually leaning towards me. I made a small attempt to shift away, though, being seated next to a rather portly gentleman on my other side, I found that a trifle difficult. Miss Wooster, for once, kept her eyes on the screen.

The picture ended and the lights went up before I could do anything potentially dangerous or embarrassing. Miss Fotheringay-Phipps was dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief and the apples had returned to Miss Little’s cheeks as she chattered about the film. Miss Wooster laughed and responded indulgently to Miss Little���s declarations of undying love for Mr. Barrymore, suggesting that she write him a letter if she was so goofy over him.

“Oh, do you think I could?” mused Miss Little as we exited the theatre amidst a crush of other bodies. I felt a small amount of irritation at the knowledge that, currently, Miss Wooster’s stocking-clad knees were being brushed against by myriad trouser legs.

“I don’t see why not,” Miss Fotheringay-Phipps said. “He probably gets loads of them from his admirers.”

Miss Wooster clapped Miss Little on the shoulder. “I think it’s a splendid idea, Bingo! Now, let’s go get some ice-cream – I’m in the mood for mint.”

[darkobsidianquill]

Harry Potter and the descent into Darkness.

Chapter Fourteen.

The ritual was not that weekend. Nor was it the next Wednesday. On Thursday afternoon, Harry tried to catch 'Moody's' eye several times, but the professor basically ignored him.

The week had felt like it was dragging on, and Harry's patience was wearing thin. He had tried to keep himself preoccupied by spending a half hour each afternoon practicing various magics – mostly dark – down in the chamber, and then spending an hour or two copying more pages of the old elven book. He still spent his late evenings in the common room with Ron and Hermione to get his classwork finished, but even they could tell he was distracted.

By Friday, Harry had twenty pages of the book copied into a bound parchment notebook and gave a copy to Hermione so she could start translating it. She had been extremely eager to start working on the translation of it. She had been devouring her copy of the Old Aldric book all week long, and had spent many of their meals raving to Harry about how fascinating the language was.

Harry had been regularly checking the charmed parchment that was linked to a counterpart in 'Moody's' possession. Nothing had appeared. To say that Harry was getting frustrated, was an understatement.

Harry was sitting in Potions, Friday afternoon, lazily stirring the Wit-Sharpening potion in his cauldron. It was currently a milky white color with inconsistent little lumps floating about, but it was supposed to turn into a translucent yellow by the time it was done. He really wasn't paying it much attention. It was a stupid-weak potion, as far as Harry was concerned. It's effects would only last for about an hour and a half hour, and you couldn't take another dose for twenty-four hours after that. How useless is that?

Harry had found several potions, spells, and rituals that had far more beneficial effects on one's wit and cleverness than the potion they were practicing that day. The thing was that most said potions, spells, and rituals were either dark, illegal, or required illegal ingredients to brew. Sooo... the potion they were brewing that day was the best anyone trying to stay on the proper side of the law, could rely on. Harry was under the impression that there were some post NEWTs level potions that temporarily aided in one's intelligence that were not illegal, but they were so difficult to brew that few could pull it off.

In any case, Harry felt he had very little interest in the potion he was currently brewing, and was only doing it as a part of the class, and not because he would ever want to use it at some point and be grateful of the knowledge.

What was even worse was that the damned potion was in it's incredibly boring stage of the brewing. He had to just sit there and stir, once, counter-clockwise every 3 minutes, and then wait thirty seconds and do five quick clockwise stirs, before waiting 3 minutes to do the counter-clockwise stirs again. Rinse and Repeat. He was very very bored.

He had just hit the three minute wait and leaned back on his stool to stretch his back a bit. He sighed heavily and glanced around at his fellow students around them. From what he could tell, Hermione was the only other Gryffindor who has at the 'stir and be bored' stage. Her potion was the same color and consistency as Harry's was. A quick glance to the other side of the room showed that at least, Malfoy, Zabini, and Greengrass were also at that stage, although he couldn't see into their cauldrons to see what color they were.

Snape swept through the center aisle and paused to glare disdainfully down at Harry. Harry rose a single eyebrow up at the man with a questioning, yet also disinterested look to him.

Snape's eyes narrowed and his lips curled, but just before he was able to open his mouth to spout something that would undoubtedly result in Gryffindor house loosing some points, a knock came at the dungeon door.

Snape's head spun around glared, curiously at the door.

"Enter," he drawled with a sneer.

At this point, just about everyone had turned on their stools to look back at the entrance to the classroom, looking at the door with notable curiosity. When the door opened, and the person responsible for the interruption was revealed, to say that everyone was rather shocked, would be an understatement.

Igor Karkaroff, walked in through the room, holding his head high, but looking decidedly nervous, if the way his eye was twitching was any indicator.

Harry's eyes narrowed and he watched the man walk straight for Snape and begin to whisper rather furiously.

Snape held up his hand and looked around at the room full of curious eyes that were trained on the two of them.

"Get back to work!" he barked and everyone quickly began to shuffle their supplies and look busy.

Snape looked exceedingly displeased with the other man's appearance, but jerked his head towards the back of the classroom and the two made their way over there.

At this point, Harry already had his wand out and in hand below his desk. He pretended to knock some random potion ingredient off of his desk so he could bend down, and while out of view, he pointed the wand at his ear and silently incanted Declamo in his mind. Next he pointed his wand at the two adults on the other side of the room, from under his desk and kept it trained on them, like a long-distance microphone.

"– are you out of your mind! What the devil do you think you are doing interrupted my class!"

"You cannot avoid me now, Severus!"

"I am not avoiding you," Snape sneered. "I have been busy!"

"Something is going to happen, Severus! It has never been so clear! Not since..."

"I know very well, you fool. Now shut up, and get out of my classroom!"

"What if he summons us!" Karkaroff hissed in a panicked voice.

"What you do is entirely your prerogative, Igor," Snape sneered, "What I do, is my business and my business alone."

"I cannot go back! He vill kill me for sure!"

"And I. Don't. Care!" Snape hissed "Now, OUT!"

Igor stood up straighter and pierced Snape with a look of pure loathing. He spun on his feet and headed back down the center aisle and out the door with a quick stride.

Harry quickly tucked his wand away and glanced at his point just in time to realize he had missed stirring it and it was turning brown.

Well, crap. He muttered to himself before sighing and banished the whole cauldron of potion with a quick flick of his wand.

– –

"So what do you think that was all about?" Ron asked in a hushed voice as he, Harry, and Hermione exited the dungeons twenty minutes later and began to make their way towards the great hall.

"What was what, all about, Ron?" Harry asked in a disinterested voice.

"What! Are you joking! That thing with Snape and Karkaroff!"

"Oh... right. That."

"Uh, yeah... THAT." Ron said, exaggeratedly.

"Do you think something is going to happen?" Hermione said in a worried tone as she looked at the other two. She seemed to hesitate and was looking at Harry while chewing on her bottom lip. "Harry?"

Harry eyed her with mild suspicion, but kept it hidden. "Yeah?"

"You... you remember when you told us about that dream you had at the end of summer? The one with You-Know-Who and Wormtail... and the other man?"

Harry's steps slowly slightly, but he kept his face impassive. "Yeah? What about it?"

"Have... have you had any more dreams like that?"

Ron's eyes were filled with quite a lot of curiosity at this as well, and was looking at Harry expectantly.

Harry simply shrugged and shook his head. "Nope. Not a thing. My scar hasn't even hurt once. I mean, Ron can attest to the dreams thing. I haven't woken up with a single nightmare all term, have I Ron?"

Ron scrunched up his face and looked thoughtful – a.k.a. constipated.

"Hmm... now that you mention it... you haven't. Not since before Halloween anyway. Didn't you have one or two of them in September?"

This time Harry twisted up his face, but then shrugged dismissively. "If I did, I don't remember them."

Hermione turned forward and the three of them resumed their journey to the great hall. She looked to be deep in thought, which as far as Harry was concerned, was never a good thing when it came to her trying to figure out a secret that involved him. But she hadn't seemed to piece anything together about him so far this term, and he'd been slipping into her head for surface scans from time to time, just to make sure she wasn't getting too close to anything dangerous.

She wasn't. She was suspicious, but she had no idea what was going on with him. She had formulated a whole slew of theories, and while some of them were mildly concerning, they still weren't even remotely close to the truth.

The trio reached the great hall, found their seats, and Ron instantly set to loading his plate with food. Hermione continued her deep-in-thought look and Harry had to repress an annoyed scowl.

He sighed and decided to deal with it after getting some food in his stomach, so he focused on his meal instead.

About fifteen minutes later, 'Moody' stomped his way into the great hall and made his wait straight to the head table, and to his usual seat. Harry glanced up at the man, and instead of being pointedly ignored, like he had for the entire previous week, the man was staring straight at him. Harry almost did a double-take, but managed to subdue it into a mild flinch.

The pair met eyes and 'Moody' did a curt nod before reaching his hand into the front inner-pocket of his robes and pulling out the slightest sight of a piece of folded parchment before it was instantly pushed back inside.

Harry's eyes lit up with an excited fire, and he only just managed to refrain from taking on an enormous eager grin. Instead he gave the other man a small smirk and an equally curt nod before looking down at his meal and continuing to eat, as if nothing had happened.

Once he was done with his food, and Ron, clearly was not, Harry pulled out his bag and fished around in it for a book. The book in question was called Defense on the Dark-side of Gray by Temerity Winickus, but the cover was charmed to look Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard.

Folded between the last two pages was what normally looked to all the world like a blank piece of parchment. Harry pulled it out and folded it, just slightly below the lip of the table to keep it out of view. He looked down and was thrilled to see 'Moody's' handwriting, where there was usually nothing.

It's tonight.

Midnight by the statue.

A wide, wicked smile had spread across Harry's lips as he stared down at the parchment. He quickly schooled his expression, and tapped the paper with his wand, clearing the text. He folded it back up and stuck it back in between the last two pages of the book.

Tonight! Tonight, tonight, tonight, tonight!

The chant ran through his head, and it was all he could do to keep his face impassive, while internally, he was dancing an insane little jig.

"Hey, Harry. What's up with you?" Ron's voice broke in through Harry's internal glee, causing him to look up with a quick snap.

"Huh?"

"You just look like you're in a pretty good mood. What's up?"

"Oh. Uh... nothing really. It's Friday. You know... just looking forward to the weekend."

Ron grinned. "Yeah, me too. I hate having Snape's class last on Fridays, but I'm glad it's over."

"Yeah," Harry said grinning. "Me too..."

– –

Harry knew he was being fidgety that evening. He was anxious and excited. He could hardly focus on any of his homework and finally he made an excuse about getting some fresh air, which Hermione and Ron knew was just an excuse for him running off to whatever place he disappeared to, but they both had learned by now that asking where he was really going was a waste of time because he just wouldn't tell them.

Harry went down to the chamber and went straight for the basilisk. He was grateful that the thing was over 50 feet long, because he was quickly decimating it's corpse with his spell practice.

He quickly lost himself in his violent dark magic assault on the beast. His mind was euphoric and utterly absorbed in what he was doing. He was exceedingly relieved for a distraction to help the time pass faster, and before he even realized it, the 'watch' on his wrist was beginning to grow hot, signaling that it had been an hour and he needed to reign his magic in.

He was panting from the exertion, and his eyes were on fire with the blazing euphoric insanity the dark magic induced. As he slowly pulled himself back together, he calmed the giggles that he often found escaped him after an especially violent session. He was going to have to move onto a new section of snake soon. He had gone through skin, muscle, and even some of the bone in the section he had been concentrating on for the last couple weeks. And apparently basilisk bone was supposed to be damn-near impenetrable. But then again, it's skin was supposed to be 'magic resistant' too, and it clearly wasn't.

It had become obvious to Harry that when people talked about things being 'magically resistant' they were talking about 'normal' magic. Neutral magic, and probably light magic too, although he admitted that he had found next to nothing on magic that was specifically 'light' in nature. He knew that the Patronus was a light spell. He had actually tried casting it a number of weeks prior, just to make sure he still could. He could.

It wasn't difficult to cast, although it did feel strange now. It felt... wrong. The taste of the magic was all sour and he didn't like it at all.

He had considered searching the school's library for books on specific light spells, but had only a mild curiosity on it, so he hadn't yet bothered. He wasn't the least bit surprised not to find any books on that type of magic down in Slytherin's study.

In any case, he seriously doubted that even high level light spells could get through something like basilisk flesh. From what he understood, light spells just weren't intended to be that destructive. It was the destructive nature of the dark that made it so powerful.

Even after his 'work out', Harry was feeling too edgy to go back up to the common room. He knew his behavior would seem really off, and if he spent time around the Gryffindors, they would notice that he was acting even stranger than usual. Instead, he settled himself down on the chaise lounge and opened up to a chapter of Tip-Toeing Through the Mind of the Unaware by Clair Videre.

He'd skimmed through the book a few times, and bothered to read all the way through a couple of the chapters. With the book, he had learned that the nifty little mind-reading trick he'd been using was something called Legilimency. What had really interested him lately, and what had made him pick the book back up, was the discovery that Legilimency had a 'brother' magic called Occlumency. While Legilimency let you read a person's mind, Occlumency taught you how to create barriers to keep others out of your head.

Tip-Towing Through the Mind of the Unaware, however, was a book on Legilimency; not Occlumency. It only had a single chapter dedicated to Occlumency, and that was what Harry was reading now.

It sounded fairly complicated, and had several levels of proficiency. The first level – the only one discussed in the book in any depth – was the act of simply clearing your mind the moment you detect an unwelcome presence. Clear the mind, and leave them in a big empty expanse so that, even though they're in your mind, they have nothing to read.

While this was fine and dandy, Harry was more interested is keeping a person from entering his mind at all, and for that, it was obvious he was going to have to find a book, specifically on Occlumency.

Harry sighed, set the book down on the table beside the chaise, and massaged his temples. He closed his eyes and let his mind wander to what was going to be taking place that night. Voldemort – the Dark Lord – was going to be performing a ritual to restore his body, and Harry was going to go voluntarily help him accomplish it.

Rationally, Harry knew he was being... very irrational. Or perhaps, he was being too rational. He wasn't really sure. He tended not to actually think about what he was really doing, all that often. He was a bit too overwhelmed by the emotions that surrounded it. He knew that on some level, it felt entirely right. His magic was pushing him towards this, and he felt insanely excited over the prospect of the Dark Lord, returning. Rationally, some tiny part inside him knew he should be screaming and running fighting tooth and nail to stop this from happening.

But then he asked himself... why? Why should he not want this? Harry opened his eyes and looked across the room at nothing in particular. It seemed like a valid exercise. Why should he want it, versus why he shouldn't. He shouldn't just let his gut drive him on this. He knew he needed to make sure he put some serious thought behind it too.

First off... reasons to be excited. Reason to want it.

Voldemort was the Dark Lord. Harry had become a dark wizard, and he liked it. He refused to even slightly regret his choices, and had come to terms with the fact that he had gone dark. As a dark wizard, he felt drawn to the dark lord – he knew that. But he was also positive that it was greater than that. He felt connected to the man in the most indescribably intimate way. He knew it was because a portion of his soul had resided in Harry for as long as he could recall – even if he hadn't realized it until recently.

So... why should he want to stop it.

Voldemort was violent... well, that was true. But Harry had become rather violent himself and it didn't seem nearly as such a bad thing to him now as it had only six months prior.

Voldemort would start the war again. Loads of people would die. Harry conceded that that was possibly a valid excuse, but Harry also had an extremely strong sense in his gut that this sort of... needed to happen. The fact that he didn't understand why, kept him from entirely agreeing with it, right out though. But he also refused to use the war as a reason to not resurrect Voldemort either. He just didn't understand enough about the true motives and needs behind the war. Without that understanding, he couldn't use it to argue for or against the resurrection.

Voldemort killed his parents.

Harry rolled his eyes. Well that was a stupid reason. For Harry, his parents were just ideas. Intangible, idealized notions that had no real substance or meaning. He had never known his parents, so their loss didn't really mean anything to him. What was tangible was the way he was raised by those filthy muggle bastards, and the man who had abandoned him there. That was tangible. And Voldemort was waging his war against that man.

At least in part.

Well, as far as he was concerned, he simply didn't have enough reasons to not help. If he helped, Voldemort would stop trying to hunt him down and kill him. He was pretty sure of that. Even with the whole 'part of his soul' and 'making him immortal' thing, Harry knew that if he continued to pose a threat to Voldemort, Harry was sure the man would still come after him. But if Harry sided with the Dark Lord... well, self-preservation was a pretty strong motivator. And in this case, it was really just a really good excuse to add on top of the fact that deep down in his gut, he really reallywanted to join the man.

So! Gut feeling, combined with desire not to die equals voluntarily aiding in the man's resurrection.

Harry chuckled to himself and rolled his eyes at the wall opposite him. He knew he was being ridiculous but really didn't care.

He cast a tempus and groaned in annoyance at the time displayed. It was only 8:30pm. But curfew was at ten o'clock, so it wasn't like he could stay down in the chamber much longer anyway.

Harry got up off the chaise and went over to the desk where he had the ancient elven book. He pulled out the copy that he'd been manually working on and opened to the last page he had worked on.

His copy and Hermione's copy were charmed together so anything he added to his would appear in hers as well. It had seemed like the easiest way for her to start work on translating it while he was still in the process of copying it.

He resumed where he left off after setting an alarm to ring once it reached nine o'clock. He would need to spend at least some time in the common room or else his friends would badger him all weekend.

– –

Two and a half hours later, Harry was sitting down in the common room, trying not to scowl at the ruckus going on at one of the large tables in the common room, that currently housed, the twins, Lee Jordan, Seamus, Ron, and a couple other Gryffindors that Harry wasn't very familiar with.

They were playing some game that had managed to be even more annoying than exploding snap – a feat which Harry had never thought possible. Apparently the twins invented it. If anyone could invent a game this obnoxious, it would be them. Harry thought bitterly to himself as another ear piercing noise erupted form the table, followed by peals of laughter.

It was eleven o'clock, which meant that Harry only had one hour left till he needed to meet 'Moody', but none of his dorm mates had gone to bed yet, and the common room was still filled with people. Since it was Friday night, none of them felt it all that important to get to bed at a reasonable hour, and had chosen, instead, to stay up watching or playing the twin's and Lee Jordan's new game.

Harry had to face the fact that they would not be going to bed before him, so he was going to have to pretend he was going to bed, rig his bed to look occupied and probably apply a sticking charm to his bed hangings, and then find a way to sneak out of the common room while it was still full of people.

His invisibility cloak would get him past everyone, but he would still need to open the portrait hole, and that would get noticed. Hermione, at the very least, would notice if it opened and closed an no one appeared to be there. She would know that Harry was sneaking out in his cloak.

Maybe he could open one of the windows up in the dorm room and fly out with his broom? That was a viable option. Harry hadn't touched his Firebolt in months, so he almost forgot he had it most days.

Harry glanced around the room, taking note of the locations of all his dorm mates. Dean was standing beside the large table, watching the game. Seamus and Ron were actually playing the game... but what about Neville...

Harry looked around, trying to find his most timid room mate. He scowled when he didn't see him. Was Neville already up in bed? That would complicate things... He was sure he'd seen Neville down in the common room a few minutes earlier.

If Neville had just gone up, then Harry might still have a chance. Neville always took a shower before going to bed at night. He apparently hated doing it in the mornings and going to breakfast with wet hair.

Harry quickly began to pack up his homework into his bag. Hermione noticed this and looked at him questioningly.

"I'm getting pretty tired... I think I'll call it a night. Besides, I think I may be getting up early tomorrow."

"Oh? Why?" she asked curiously.

Harry raised his eyebrows and gave her a pointed look. She scowled at him, rolled her eyes, and huffed. "Fine, fine. Don't tell me," she grumbled while glaring at him through narrowed eyes.

Harry smiled. "Thanks Hermione."

Her glare softened into a resigned frown and she sighed. "Fine, fine... goodnight, Harry."

"G'night," he said as he slung his bag over his shoulder and raced up the stairs. Harry entered the room just as Neville was slipping into the bathroom and Harry heaved a brief sigh. He didn't have any time to waste though because Neville wasn't much one for long showers.

He ran over to his bed and grabbed one of the pillows. He transfigured it into a dummy with scruffy black hair. It looked like a pretty ambiguous store mannequin, but it would be sufficient as long as no one actually looked at it. He pulled the covers up over it and then pulled his hangings closed and applied a sticking charm to hold them shut. He quickly dug out his Firebolt, invisibility cloak, and the map. He tapped the top of his trunk to shrink it and slipped it into his breast pocket. He'd copied a few more of the books from the chamber during the last week and figured he could take them with him.

He put his invisibility cloak on first and grabbed his broom. He made his way over to the largest window in the dorm, unlatched and opened it, mounted his broom and hovered out. Once he was floating just beyond the window, he used his wand to shut it and relatch it.

The cloak didn't completely cover the broom beneath him, nor did it conceal him from anyone standing directly below him and looking up, so he quickly descended to ground level. Once he had landed he applied the shrinking charm to his broom and put the miniaturized broom into his pocket. He still had about forty-five minutes until he had to meet 'Moody', but figured he'd may as well start heading that way.

He activated the map and made his way towards the closest entrance that would let him back inside the school.

Thirty minutes later he was leaning against the wall in the defense corridor, just down the hall from the one-eyed witch statue. He'd had to dodge Filch, Mrs. Norris, Peeves, and a couple patrolling prefects, so it had taken him longer than he had anticipated. So he was glad he'd had such a head start.

At five till midnight, Harry felt a mild disruption in the magic in the air and reached out with his magical senses. He was positive he was sensing what was probably 'Moody's' magical signature and almost pulled his cloak off before looking at the map. Fortunately he didn't. He glanced down at it to compare the location of the dot with where he thought he sensed the disillusioned wizard and nearly choked when he saw the name 'Severus Snape' by the little dot.

His eyes widened and he quickly pulled out his wand, just to be safe. He looked back at the map, searching for Bartemius Crouch and saw the man coming their way from several corridors away. Harry cast a silencing charm on his feet and began to make his way down the hall and away from where Snape had planted himself against the wall opposite the statue.

Once Harry got to the end of the hall and turned, he switched to a full-out run and headed straight for Barty. He caught up with the man's dot and was surprised to see him just openly walking down the hall and not disillusioned at all.

"Moody!" Harry whispered harshly from a few feet away.

'Moody' froze and spun around with his wand drawn. "Potter?"

"We've got a problem," Harry growled lightly as he pulled the cloak off his face enough for the other wizard to see his eyes.

"What kind of problem?" 'Moody' asked as he rose a single eyebrow.

"Snape is down by the statue, disillusioned. Did you tell him? I mean... is he invited, or something?"

"What? Snape? Of course not. What the devil is he doing there?"

"Hell if I know. But wasn't he a Death Eater?

"Snape is a spy. Whether he's Dumbledore's spy or the Dark Lords, is still up for debate. I wouldn't trust him as far as I could spit."

Harry twisted up his face, trying to fully understand that last bit, but shrugged it off. Don't trust Snape. Easy enough. I never trusted him in the first place. "A spy huh? Interesting... It can't be a coincidence that he showed up tonight like that."

"No it can't," 'Moody' growled with a deep scowl. He turned his one good eye on Harry and narrowed it. "You didn't let it slip to anyone did you?"

"No! And I cleared the parchment the second I'd read it. Not like anyone else would be able to figure out exactly which statue you mentioned. There're thousands of statues in the castle."

'Moody' nodded and scowled down the hall. "I'm going to need to do another bug sweep of my office," he grumbled. "Makes me wonder what else might have been overheard..."

"You do that. Anyway, we're really lucky I realized who he was. At first I thought he was you, coming in disillusioned like that. I'm glad I looked at the map before I took my cloak off."

"Map? The one that tells you the names of everyone in the school?"

"Yeah, that one."

"Is he still there?"

Harry pulled the map out from his cloak so that just his hands and the map were now floating in space in front of 'Moody'. Harry pointed at Snape's name with his other hand. "Still there."

'Moody' made a growling noise in the back of his throat and then pulled out a pocket watch and frowned.

"We can't sit around and wait for him to leave. We'll have to get out a different way. You wouldn't happen to know about any other secret passages, would you?"

Harry looked thoughtful for a moment. "Well, there's a secret passageway that goes from the Shrieking Shack to the base of the Whomping Willow, but we'd have to go out to the Whomping Willow to get into it. There's also supposed to be one behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy, but I've never used it because I was told by the Weasley twins that Filch knows about that one and has it booby-trapped."

'Moody' snorted. "We'll take our chances with the tunnel behind the Smarmy statue. Filch is just a stupid filthy squib. Whatever 'booby-traps' he might have come up won't be a problem."

Harry nodded his head and pulled the map and his arms back under his cloak.

"I'll lead the way," Moody began, "you stay under your cloak and follow."

"Got it," Harry said.

Another five minutes and the pair of them were standing at the statue of Gregory the Smarmy. It only took 'Moody' a minute to figure out how to open the doorway behind it, which Harry was relieved for since he really had no idea how to get into this one.

Fifteen minutes of walking down a very narrow tunnel, while occasionally throwing freezing and stasis charms on whatever rudimentary alarm systems Filch had erected, and the pair felt themselves leave the boundary of the wards. 'Moody' pulled out the portkey, they both held onto it, and a second later, they were both being whisked away with a soft pop, and an uncomfortable tug behind the navel.

The two appeared in the same entry hall as last time. Harry managed to stay upright with only a little trouble this time, and once he had himself steadied, he reached into his pocket and pulled his wand out.

'Moody' instantly got on his guard when he saw Harry reaching for his wand, and was then only mildly surprised when Harry flipped the wand around in his hand so he was holding the tip of it and offered it to 'Moody'.

"I expect I still won't be permitted my wand, so I figured I'd save you the trouble of asking for it," Harry said with a smirk.

'Moody' humphed and snatched the wand away. He instantly spun around with as much grace as a man with one wooden leg could have and began to make his way through the entry hall towards a hallway.

Harry looked after him curiously for a moment before he quickly hurried after. 'Moody' led him down a couple of corridors with detailed wooden wainscoting and ornate polished lighting fixtures that had their light bulbs removed and were currently being lit with magically conjured balls of light.

Harry felt a tingling sensation in his scar appear and begin to slowly grow the further they traveled through the house, and a wide grin began to spread across his lips. He pulled his magic out and let it stretch out and around him as he tasted the magic around him. The house was originally muggle and that was obvious, but was also clear that a number of magical additions had been made to the structure. Harry was pretty sure he detected some space expansion magic from behind a few closed doors.

He sent his magic out further and instantly knew where they were heading. There was a powerful mass of magic in a room at the end of the hall. It was also the same place that the tingle in his scar told him Voldemort was.

'Moody' was about ten feet from the door when he suddenly hunched over and began to twist and clench. Harry froze, surprised by the sudden change in the man's demeanor. He was confused for all of five seconds before he noticed the man's skin bubbling and stretching. Moody began to scramble at the fake leg, releasing the belts and latches that held it in place, and slid down the wall and onto the floor. The next moment, his hand was up, clasping over his magic eye, just in time to catch it as it popped out of his socket.

Harry scrunched up his face as he watched 'Moody's' Polyjuice dose wear off, and the man slowly transformed back into his true self.

It only took a moment, but Harry was sure it was not a pleasant experience. Barty Crouch stood, unsteadily, to his feet and nudged the fake leg that now lay on the floor, over to the wall. He pocketed the fake eye and looked back at Harry.

The man standing before him looked to be about thirty years old, had pale skin, messy straw-colored hair and a light dusting of freckles on his skin. He had dark eyes that were sunken and had a wild insanity to them. As he looked back at Harry he gave him a rather mad-looking toothy grin.

"Well, Potter... now we go to our Lord. Are you ready?"

Harry returned the toothy grin and nodded his head eagerly. "I am."

Barty cackled lightly and turned back towards the doors at the end of the hall. It was a set of double-doors, but he only pulled one open and slipped in quietly. Harry hurried after him and as soon as he entered the room, he was instantly met with a kneeling Barty just a few feet in front of him.

"My Lord. I have brought back Harry Potter," Barty was saying with a reverent glee, while keeping his head bowed low.

Harry stood there for a moment, taking in his surroundings. From what he could tell, they had just come in a back entrance to a mid-sized ball room of sorts. Any furniture that might have once been there had been banished. In the center of the room was the largest potions cauldron that Harry had ever seen. It was suspended above a magical fire and the contents in it were already boiling away.

Around the cauldron were concentric circles etched into the floor, along with a number of runes and odd symbols at key points. Hunched over, and still in the process of writing some of these symbols, was none other than Wormtail. And sitting in his levitating chair, towards the side, was the Dark Lord himself. He turned and Harry saw the tiny reptilian man smirk at the kneeling Barty.

"Very good, Barty. And welcome, both of you, to my resurrection." he said with a grandiose wave of one of his tiny bony arms and a wicked cackle. Barty's head rose and a wild delight spread across his face while his eyes blazed with triumph.

Harry found himself sporting a rather similar expression, as he felt the intense anticipation in his chest growing to a breaking point.

Voldemort motioned his arm towards the only piece of furniture that remained in the room, a small, but long buffet-type table that was placed along the wall beside the door that Harry and Barty had entered through.

"Potter, there are instructions there that you should make yourself familiar with," Voldemort said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Harry bowed his head in a quick motion. "Yes my Lord," he said as he turned and took a couple quick strides to the table and picked up the parchment. He quickly read through it, his eyes widening with each additional line. His eyes darted back down to the table, where he saw the ritual dagger laying on a piece of black velvet.

He glanced back at Voldemort who had a wicked grin on his face. He rose a single questioning eyebrow at Harry as if daring him to argue. Harry rolled his eyes and began to take off his robes.

"Alright. Do I have to carve them into myself, or is Barty going to be doing this? I'd really rather it not be Wormtail, but I do realize that I don't have a lot of say in the proceedings," Harry said as he folded his school robes and began to unbutton his undershirt.

A very brief look of surprise flitted across Voldemort's serpentine features for a second before his smirk returned.

"It doesn't bother you? This will not be a pain free ordeal for you."

"I never expected anything of the sort. Besides, it says they won't scar, and that's the only thing I'd really worry about since my dorm mates would probably notice strange ancient runes-shaped scars on my body that didn't used to be there. I doubt the pain will be the worse I've ever experienced, and certainly not the worse self-inflicted pain. I think I've managed to set the bar pretty high for that already."

"Is that so? You've peaked my curiosity, Potter. Explain."

"Ever heard of Drajiou's Excellerant potion?" Harry asked as he began to slip the now unbuttoned shirt off his arms and fold it.

Voldemort's eyes grew wider now and he actually began to chuckle. "Did you finish the full process? All eight doses?"

"Yup," Harry said with a pained look before placing the now folded shirt down on folded robes.

"And you survived with your sanity in tact?" Voldemort asked with mild disbelief in his tone.

Harry laughed. He laughed hard. Then he shrugged and looked sheepish. "Well I suppose that's debatable, isn't it? But I would say I did. I actually escaped into my mindscape during the majority of it, but it was unavoidable to experience some of that pain, no matter how quickly I tried to slip inside myself once I'd taken the dose."

"They say the pain is worse than a half dozen simultaneous cruciatus curses, drawn out over a ten hour span of time," Voldemort mused with an air of mild respect. "Why would you put yourself through that, may I ask?"

"Well... I suppose that I didn't honestly expect it to be that bad, when I first set out to do it. But I really wanted to fix my body. I was just... sick of living with the results of being treated like a house elf for a decade. I mean..." he paused and waved his hand down at his now bare chest, "I'm rather fond of the results, if I'm being honest. What I looked like before the accellerant potion doesn't even compare."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed and he looked rather displeased. Harry felt a bolt of fear shoot through him, but it was fear that he had somehow managed to displease Voldemort and he had no idea why.

"What did these muggles do to you, exactly?" Voldemort hissed and Harry found himself caught off guard by the question.

"Oh... well, they tossed me in a boot cupboard under the stairs and made that my 'bedroom' up until I was eleven and got my Hogwarts letter. I had to clean their house, cook their meals, do their gardening, do the laundry, and they frequently refused to feed me as a form of punishment for not meeting their oh so high standards of perfect normalcy. Oh, and if I was ever unfortunate enough to perform any accidental magic, I was locked in the cupboard and refused food for days. As a result of spending an inordinate amount of time in a tiny, dark space without food, I ended up malnourished, short, and sickly. Even the regular meals at Hogwarts weren't enough to counteract the damage done over the previous ten years, so I was scrawny and pathetic looking. I prefer this," Harry finished, making another motion towards his chest.

"What potions did you accelerate?" Voldemort asked, looking away and trying to appear disinterested. Harry felt a burning in his scar though, and saw a glimmer of pure rage in the man's ruby eyes. He rose a single eyebrow – wondering exactly what that was about, but quickly realized that the Dark Lord had asked him a question, and that it would not be wise to keep him waiting.

"Just two. An advanced nutritional restorative potion, and a bone and muscle restructuring potion. So basically the accellerant tore apart my bones, muscles, and tendons, each time I took it, and rebuilt it. After eight doses, it was done."

"You didn't use an aging potion in the mix? You do not appear fourteen to me."

Harry blinked, surprised by the comment but quickly swallowed his surprise. "Er... thanks? Uh – my Lord."

Voldemort scoffed, but it sounded remarkably similar to a snort. "When did you do all this? If it was too recently and any of the potion remains in your system, it could complicate the ritual."

"Oh, I finished my last dose nearly two months ago. It shouldn't be a problem."

"Good. As to answer your earlier question, you must carve the runes into your own flesh, except for the ones on your back, which I will do."

"Oh," Harry said as he blinked and took this in. "Alright," Harry said with a quick breath and then a determined nod.

He returned his focus to the parchment and read it through again, paying attention to each of the symbols and where, exactly they would need to be carved into his flesh. He was glad there weren't too many of them. It could have been a lot worse. From what he could tell, the whole 'him carving runes into his flesh'-bit was the alternative to a much simpler ritual that would require Harry's entire body be sacrificed and bled dry. The pain would be unpleasant, but it was preferable to being dead.

"I do appreciate you opting to go with this version, over the one where I would have been a live sacrifice," Harry said as he continued to read.

"Yes, well the amount of extra effort on my part is very minimal, and your potential future usefulness outweighed it enough that I chose this path instead."

"Like I said. Much appreciated," Harry said, glancing up and smirking.

Voldemort rolled his eyes and scoffed.

"When you feel ready, we will begin," Voldemort said in a dismissive tone as he levitated several objects from the floor behind him and began to move towards the cauldron in the center of the room.

Harry refocused on the parchment and reached over to pick up the dagger. He balanced it in his palm for a moment before grasping it, blade facing towards him, and practiced different grips for holding it.

He took a deep breath, steeling himself and began to walk towards the circle.

He passed by Barty, who was now standing towards the outside the outermost circle, not far from Wormtail who had apparently finished his task, and was now cowering in the shadows. Barty appeared to actually be mildly impressed with Harry and was watching him with an air of intrigue.

"You will stand here," Voldemort, pointing to a spot on the floor where the runes and circles came to a certain formation. "You have ten minutes to complete the runes before we can move on to the next part. If you do not complete it in ten minutes, we will have to heal the woulds and start over. Do you understand?"

Harry nodded, but at the glaring red eyes he quickly spoke, "Yes, my Lord."

Voldemort smirked and nodded in approval.

"Once you have completed the runes on your front, hand the dagger to me and I will complete the two on your back. Begin when ready."

Harry shook his head again, took another calming breath and spent a few minutes practicing the movements necessary to carve the shapes into each of the specified spots. When to shift the dagger into different grips when he moved onto a different location, and then practiced holding it in his left hand and traced where he would carve for the rune he would need to carve into his right bicep. Once he felt comfortable with what exactly he had to do and in what order, he began.

[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One:  The Dark One

Chapter 54:  The Sea Witch

Patience was a virtue, and it was his special talent...but that didn't mean he never swayed from it. Yes, he knew, as the Seer told him constantly, that Regina was his way to The World Without Magic. But still, when the nights were long and the days stretched into weeks and months, when patience was hard to find, he couldn't help but seek out alternatives. With Zelena back in Oz, and Regina practicing but only making slow progress with her magic, he used his free time to continue his research, seeking out other answers that might land him in The World Without Magic sooner rather than later. He told himself he was just being cautious, after all, if the shoes existed there might be something else out there in the world that he couldn't overlook. He trusted the Seer, but on the day he finally stood before his son he wanted to be honest with him. He wanted to be able to tell Baelfire that he'd gotten to him as soon as he possibly could, and in his mind, that meant exhausting any and all options he could find until the Seer's distant future came to pass. And besides, a little extra knowledge never hurt.

One night, his research turned up something new: Mermaids.

In reading a book, he was shocked to find that mermaids could travel between realms. Supposedly even to non-magical ones though it was supposedly frowned upon. He didn't particularly care what was appropriate or not in mermaid culture so long as it got him to his son. There was one little hiccup he'd read with that statement though. Apparently, it was difficult, if not impossible, to summon the magic required to take people along with the maids on their voyage. And even if they could summon the magic, there was some question as to whether or not the subject could survive.

That was a small hiccup. But since becoming the Dark One, he'd learned that everything had its loophole. The second issue was easy enough to get around. It threatened that people would not survive the journey. He was immortal. He was certain that if he could find a mermaid to do such a thing, he would be the best candidate to survive. So the problem then was simply finding a mermaid powerful enough to summon enough magic for two.

That had taken some thinking. It had taken some poking and prodding among some merfolk as well before he'd come up with a very unexpected answer.

He felt excitement. But no matter what happened, he was determined not to let anything more than the intelligent dealmaker show on his face tonight. He found her lounging about the rocks in a place called Demon's Bluff. In the distance, he could see a storm churning the waves so that they foamed and sprayed wildly at the rocks he moved about safely, even at this distance. She was staring out at that same storm when he found her, half her body sunk into the water, a small smile on her face as if she were relaxing. When the lightning lit up the distant water, he could see the outline of a vessel being tossed and turned in the chaos. It was doubtful that the sailors would survive. After what he'd heard of her, he was confident the storm was her work.

"Well now…I hear you've been causing trouble all over the realms," he squealed in delight.

She didn't jump, didn't even fidget at the sound of his voice, which let him know that she'd known he was there all along.

"Not causing it…I am trouble. Much like yourself…Rumpelstiltskin."

Finally, she turned, shifting her body so that he could see a large metal object in her hand-the Trident. It was what he'd heard so much about from the other mermen and women he'd talked to. It was a joy to actually see it for himself. But she wasn't looking for him to be impressed by that. It was his name, the way that she'd said it told him she'd wanted him to be surprised that she knew him and wanted him to feel as though she had the upper hand. He could play that role.

"Oh! My reputation precedes me yet again!" he rejoiced clapping his hands together. "Since we're making introductions, allow me to make yours…Queen Ursula!" he stated standing up straight and tall as if he were an announcer at a royal ball. "Formerly Princess, of course, but I understand you fell into your new title not by inheritance but rather by siege. Fear not! I am a man who respects that."

"Respect it all you like," she explained, rolling her eyes and handing the Trident off to a tentacle that had just appeared next to her so she could put her hands on her hips. "I'm not like the other fish in the sea so easily impressed by a little knowledge or even power like your own. I have spies all over these waters, and they say that you've spent quite some time attempting to find me. What is it that you want, exactly?"

"Right to the chase! That's a business plan I can appreciate," he smiled. "As I understand it, you were once far more fishy than…squidy."

"The tentacles are my own choice!"

"No doubt to reflect the character within far more than the goddess you were named for."

"Something like that…" she dismissed, lifting a shoulder. "Mermaids are too…nice. Cecaelia are so much more feared than mermaids."

"A keen observation," he agreed. "Though I imagine you can't quite shed all of what you are despite your transformation. I have a hunch that you've maintained some of your former self in the powers that you hide, powers that are only enhanced by that fork in your little tentacles there. The ability to travel between realms, for example…"

The truth was, the more he had questioned the mermaids of the sea, the more he had found that there would be no convincing even those who he suspected had power enough to take him between worlds. Magical creatures were different than human beings, and he wasn't a threat to them like he was to mortals of his own race. But if he found the right mermaid who had the right weakness, he just might have. The mermaids he'd spoken to had told the tale of Ursula, one right after the other. They all told the tale of the mermaid who had been turned cruel by her father Triton, the rightful ruler of the sea until Ursula had snatched the Trident away from him. According to them, she'd grown tentacles shortly after, but it was only upon seeing her that he realized the magic flowing through them was her own. Her own words a few moments ago had confirmed that. But those mermaids didn't have the ability to understand who or what she really was. The Sea Witch they'd dubbed her. And she acted her part quite well. Nearly as well as he acted his various roles.

"You want a ride?" the Witch asked with dubious disbelief. "The Great and Powerful Dark One…needs the Sea Witch to take him for a ride?"

"I would have worded it differently myself but…more or less…"

She let out a single nasally snort of laughter as she looked him over. "That wording might have been worth it to hear, but the answer will be the same. I can't do it-"

"Because you are unable."

"I didn't say I was unable to do it. I said I can't do it. It's the principle of the thing!"

"The Principle."

"I'm the Sea Witch! The you of the water world! Would you lower yourself to such an indignity?! If I say yes to you, then I have to say 'yes' to everybody, and I don't have the time for that. I have bigger fish to fry."

"Well then…it's fortunate that I came with a back-up plan," he smiled. Before she could furrow her brow or dive back into the ocean, he called the Trident in her tentacle into his hand, and she stared back and forth between him and the place it had once been. "I'll make you a deal…I'll return this to you in exchange for passage…"

She opened her mouth as if to argue with him, but then looked at the Trident in his hand, put her hands back on her hips and smiled. "No, I think you'll return it to me soon."

"And I think that if you truly cared you would keep better hold on your possessions. Last chance…the Trident…for a 'ride'."

No sooner had he finished the words than he felt something spark. Something ran up the metal into his hand, it buzzed and hummed then sparked again as the buzzing and humming intensified, and in no time at all the entire rod was covered in what looked like lightning. He glanced up at Ursula, expecting her to look fearful, but instead, she held her knowing smile.

"No," she stated again.

Suddenly, whatever had been building over the surface of the Trident jumped into his own body with a jolt forcing him to release the item and knocking him back through the air against the rock of the bluff. It had been a long time since someone injured him enough to rattle him, but this had. He hit his head. It was bleeding and he felt disoriented as he was he tried to force the magic he had to the area to correct it. The world was blurry and hazy and spinning and he was seeing in double as a tall woman walked up the beach toward him. Dark skin, walking on two legs, his vision corrected just enough for him to watch as Ursula knelt down to collect her oversized fork before stepping up close to him and kneeling down once more.

"You don't know all Dark One," she whispered. Your magic is strong, but the Trident was handed down by the gods to be passed from generation to generation. It can only be with one of the royal bloodline unless surrendered willingly to another. It'll never be yours. But this was fun, a bit of entertainment to break up the monotony of my day. If you ever want to try again…look me up!"

He would have loved to stop her with his magic, reach out, and crush her neck in his hand just to show her. But apparently, he'd broken more bones than he'd realized when he was thrown against the rocks and as he used his magic to heal himself he watched as tentacles rose out from underneath her skirt again, one taking the Trident once more, before she stepped back into the ocean and disappeared.

Odd. Angry as he was, the moment she left he had a feeling, a whisper from the Seer.

This wasn't the last time they'd meet.

[mrslittletall]

Title: The Crazy Cat Vicar (Chapter 2) Fandom: Bloodborne Characters: Laurence the first Vicar, Original female character (Laurence' secretary Florence) Word Count: 3.136 AO3-Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20989841/chapters/50184428 Previous chapter: https://mrslittletall.tumblr.com/post/188280567214/title-the-crazy-cat-vicar-chapter-1

Summary: The first day with Mick continues. Florence and Laurence set everything up what a cat needs. Laurence has to learn that a kitten can be rather demanding.

(Author's note: Who is ready for more pure kitten fluff? Also, this story is set during Laurence' whole time as the Vicar. In this early chapters, he just established the church and is 23 years old, thus Florence' comment about his age.)

Laurence had put Mick down on the floor of his office and then hooked himself up to the old blood to heal the rather burning scratches. He had sat down at his desk, waiting for the old blood to pour into his system and observed Mick, who did his best to undo the “damage” of the bath.

It felt ridiculous that the kitten tried to dry himself with a rather wet tongue, but it worked against all odds and soon the fur of Mick puffed up, making him looking even more like he had the worst case of bed hair than when Laurence had found him at the graveyard. Mick took in several seemingly impossible poses, making Laurence question if there even were bones in cats, although he had seen enough pictures in books of their skeleton. Though, once Mick took a pose that was one leg lifted straight up in the air and his head trying to reach his stomach, he managed to fall over and oh, did this look adorable. Laurence couldn't help but chuckle at this sight.

Just when Mick had managed to stand up again, shaking his head, the handle of the door turned and opened. Mick hissed and ran over to the couch, squeezing himself under it. Laurence was impressed that the kitten managed to fit under there. Once again he asked himself if cats maybe didn't possess bones after all.

The door opened completely and Florence tumbled in, arms full of items. “Excuse me, Vicar, but I simply wasn't able to knock like this.”, she said.

“Oh, it's fine.”, Laurence said. “I am more impressed that you were able to carry all this stuff on your own.”

“I have three kids, Vicar, you are getting used to carry a copious amount of stuff when you have a large family.”, Florence said, shuffling over to the couch to set the items down. “Phew, this was heavy.”, she said, turning around, narrowing her eyes: “Are you hooked up on the old blood again, your grace?”

“...Mick was rather adamant about not taking a bath.”, Laurence said, raising his arm to show the scratches which already had started to heal.

“Oh, so you have given it a name.”, Florence stated. “Where is the little guy btw?”

“Below the couch.”, Laurence answered, observing the healing process of his wounds. He could unhook himself from the ministration once the wounds were completely closed.

“Oh, there you are, dear.”, he heard Florence say and then a hiss. “Oh dear, I don't want to hurt you, just checking if you are fine.”

“Leave him be, he needs to adjust to the new situation.”, Laurence said, reciting the things he remembered from all the cat books he had read. Once his wounds had closed up completely, he took a handkerchief and pulled the needle, pressing the handkerchief on the punctuation wound. With the old blood still in his veins it would heal quickly, but he wanted to avoid bruising.

“What have you brought for Mick?”, Laurence asked once he was sure that he could stand up.

“Bowls for food and water, a litter box, a scratching post, a cat bed, some toys and a bit of cat food.”, Florence said, pointing at each item when she spoke. “Do you want to keep the kitten here, in your office? Or would your room be the better choice? Or should we make a complete separate room for it?”, she queried.

“I was planning to keep him here so that he could get used to the new situation first.”, Laurence said.

“I guess you will sleep in here then instead of your room, I better fetch you some new blankets soon.”, Florence paused for a brief moment, staring at the old blankets draped over the couch. “Although, you practically already live in here.”

Laurence could feel how his cheeks flashed a certain kind of red: “I... I just have so much to do. Instructing people on the blood ministrations... Making contact with the aristocrats for donations... Having to explain all of this to Cainhurst...” His face darkened at the mention of the last place.

“I know, that is a big deal for someone your age.”, Florence hummed.

“What is that about to mean?”, Laurence narrowed his eyes.

“Oh, I just tried to say that normally people of your age aren't willing to take in such an important position.”, she chirped. “Now, shall we make sure that Mick feels safe, secure and cared for here?”

That calmed Laurence down and the next hour or so was spend making sure that everything found a proper place. While Laurence had never been able to have a pet cat on his own, he was full about book knowledge about them and was particularly demanding about the placement of the cat furniture.

“The litter box should be put into the most quiet corner, so he can use it in peace... don't put it behind the door, that is the same as someone coming in when you are using the bathroom.”, he said as he scanned the room for a proper position and found one in a corner between the wall and a bookshelf.

“I would like for him to be able to climb up high, cats really like being up high, put the scratching post near the shelf, but make sure that he can't kick down books.”, he commented as Florence was running back and forth trying to find the perfect spot so that the kitten wouldn't be able to knock down any books.

“I don't really know if he accepts a cat bed, I heard most cats just prefer simple boxes, why don't we rummage around in the storages for some boxes?”, he mused as he weighed the cat bed in his hands, asking himself if it had been a waste of money.

Halfway through their work Mick dared to come out from under the couch, sneaking behind Laurence on silent toes, puffing himself up as he turned and spotted him. “Look who came out of hiding.”, he said, kneeled down and gave the kitten a soft pet. He could sense Florence smiling at the both of them.

They finished their work under the watchful eyes of Mick who took a few seconds to sniff at every new item that got put down or rearranged. After the both of them were done, Laurence flopped on the couch. “I am not used to this physical work anymore...”, he groaned.

“Shall I get you something to drink?”, Florence asked and when Laurence shook his head, her eyes fell onto the bowls. “I guess we should fill them up. I am going to get some water for him.”

She bend down to pick up the bowl. When she stood up again, she said: “I brought some cans of cat food, so that you can feed him.”

“I doubt that he is hungry, I have fed him a whole bag of dried fish treats before I brought him here.”, Laurence answered, eyes on Mick. The kitten was still investigating the room, sniffing at his bookshelf.

“That explains why you were so late. All your appointments have been rescheduled for tomorrow, so I would prefer it if you wouldn't pick up any more cats until then.”, Florence said with a joking tone in her voice before she left the room.

Although Laurence didn't plan on feeding Mick right away, he got curious about the canned food and walked to his desk, where it had been placed. “Food made out of chicken...”, he read aloud. “Hm, I wonder why they don't make it out of mice? After all, that is what cats are mostly dieting on...”, he mused to himself. Mick was in the process of climbing into his bookshelf, finding a particular cozy spot on top of his books and laid down.

“Maybe you will be a good hunter one day.”, he said. “Such big buildings as churches always attract mice.”

As Laurence still was in the process of remembering how much food a kitten should get daily and already was planning on searching out the cat books later, Florence opened up the door and came in with a fresh bowl of water.

“Now the little one won't get thirsty.”, she said and put it down.

“Hmmm... though I read that a lot of cats have trouble getting motivated to drink...”, Laurence commented.

“That is easy to take care off, just rub the water in his fur and he will drink it when he cleans himself.”, Florence said. Laurence had to admit that this indeed would work. After all, he had seen Mick lick himself dry after the unwanted bath. “Where is the dear?”, Florence wanted to know and Laurence pointed at the book shelf. Florence went over to smile and coo at the kitten, which only earned her a hiss.

“I think you are scaring him, Florence.”, Laurence chuckled. Florence was the complete opposite of scary with her warm smile and motherly demeanour. Maybe the kitten was scared because of her rather large frame.

“This situation is still new for him.”, Florence said. “By the way, you have decided quickly on a name. May I ask why you choose this particular one?”

“It was easy. He reminded me of Micolash.”, Laurence said without hesitating a single second. After a brief moment he added: “You know, my friend from By... the school.” That was close, Laurence almost had tainted his tongue with the name of this place.

“The young man with the messy black hair and the eye bags? Yes, indeed, they have a striking similarity.”, Florence said, eyes still on Mick. After a few more minutes of silence and Mick making no moves to come closer, she stood up. “Is there anything more you need or can I return to my usual duties now?”

“Hm, you could get me some cat books from the library, but that has time until later. I need to continue with my work too.”, he gestured at all the letters on his desk, stood up from the couch and walked over to the table.

“But other than this, you are dismissed, thank you, Flo...” Laurence got interrupted as he felt a sudden force tug on his holy shawl. “What the...?”

As he turned his head around he saw that Mick hung from it, clawing deeply into the shawl, apparently having come out of his hiding place. “Hey, that isn't to play with!”, he complained, grabbing his shawl and fruitlessly trying to free it from Mick's grip. All it did was making Mick even more relentlessly clawing at his shawl. “Stop, you are ripping it all up!”, Laurence yelled.

“Oh dear.”, Florence chuckled and walked over to the couch while Laurence still tried to save his shawl. When she came back, she had a toy in hand, a stick with added feathers. “Mick, look what I have.”, she cooed. Once the kitten saw the toy, it got big eyes, released itself from the shawl (and ripped a good part out of it much to Laurence' disdain) to chase after the feathers.

“One last request then... fix my shawl please.”, Laurence said as he pulled it from around his neck to hand to Florence. His shawl was different from the usual church set shawls which he were based on this particular one. It had been the last gift his late mother had given him and he had cherished it for ten years now.

“Of course.”, Florence said and came over, switching the shawl in Laurence' hands with the feather toy. “I'll bring it later to you with the books you requested. For now, I will take my leave. Ask for me if you need my assistance. And I suggest you play with Mick, so that he doesn't rip apart another one of your possessions.”

“Yes, thank you, Florence.”, Laurence said, sitting down at his desk and swaying the toy in front of Mick. The kitten did some impressive jumps trying to chase it and once he had securely managed to claw and bite into it, Laurence released the toy, watching as Mick brought his “prey” into safety.

“Well then, back to work.”, Laurence said and picked up a fountain pen.

The afternoon was spent between writing letters establishing relationships between the Healing Church and the aristocrats of the town and entertaining Mick whenever he brought the feather toy and laid it down as Laurence' feet.

At first, Laurence simply had ignored him, too caught up in his work to notice the kitten but when the mews had gotten more and more demanding, he had watched down with furrowed brows, ready to throw out whatever made this annoying noises, when he saw Mick sitting there, looking at him with wide eyes. At this sight, Laurence' anger got blown away in an instant and so when the evening came he hadn't managed to finish all the letters.

In fact, Laurence only managed to notice it was evening by the own growl of his stomach. “Time to eat something...”, he muttered to himself as his gaze fell on the food bowl. “Oh, I guess you must be hungry again too...”

He stared at the canned food on his desk and proceeded to open one of the cans. He still couldn't remember how much he should give Mick, but had the feeling that one spoon would be the right amount of food. That is when he realized, that he didn't had a spoon in his office. He doubted that Florence had forgotten to bring one, she probably hadn't been able to carry one of top of all the stuff she had brought.

Oh well, he wanted to get something to eat anyway, he could request a spoon from the kitchen while he was at it.

Ten minutes later Laurence returned with a spoon and a ham sandwich to his office. He preferred to eat food he could hold in his right hand so he would be able to continue writing with his left. He put the plate with the sandwich down and used the spoon to fill the bowl for Mick. As soon as he was finished, he turned around to see...

“Mick no, that is my sandwich!” Laurence rushed over to pick Mick up, who mewed in protest. Laurence carried Mick to the bowl and sat him down in front of it. “Here, that is your food.”, he said and went back to his desk, picking up his fountain pen with the left and the sandwich with the right to continue working.

Laurence had peace for about five minutes and then the head of a scrubby black kitten showed itself from the other site of the desk and it slowly climbed on it. Laurence didn't pay him much attention, but when he noticed that his head very much followed the the movements of the sandwich and the moment a tiny little paw reached out when he put it back on the plate...

“Mick, you just had your meal not even ten minutes ago!”, Laurence scolded, spending the rest of his meal having to make sure that Mick didn't steal the ham from his sandwich and barely getting any work done. As soon as he had finished eating, he laid his pen down, maybe he should finish this tomorrow. He could instruct Florence to prepare the finished letters already.

Thinking about Florence, he heard a knock and her voice asking for permission to enter. As Laurence approved, she came in, smiling as she saw Mick sitting on the desk. “In good company, I see, Vicar.”, she said and placed a selection of books on his desk. Then she produced his fixed shawl out of her pockets. “As good as new.”, she smiled.

“You are a treasure, Florence.”, Laurence said as he put the shawl around his neck again. He felt far more complete with it on. “Can you prepare the finished letters so that they can get send off tomorrow?”

“Of course.”, Florence said and picked up the stack of dried up letters. “I am intending to go home after this if you are fine with it, so I wanted to wish you a good night and we see each other tomorrow.”

“Yes, that is fine. Have a good night, Florence. Until tomorrow.”, Laurence said and picked up one of the books. The rest of the evening should be spend with reading.

The rest of the evening was only half spend with reading though, because Mick kept kicking around the various toys Florence had brought and Laurence couldn't help but watching. It was too cute. Sometimes Mick would kick the toy towards his direction and chase after them when he threw them away. Naturally, he barely got through one book before tiredness overcame him and he made himself ready for bed.

As Laurence made himself comfortable on the couch, he looked at Mick and wondered where the kitten would decide to sleep. Maybe it really would decide to sleep in the cat bed. But he also could decide to sleep in the book shelf. Or under the couch. Laurence probably would find out the next day. It didn't take long for sleep to overtake Laurence, it had been a long day.

When Laurence awoke, it was still dark. He needed a moment to orientate himself. When he realized he was sleeping in the couch of his office he relaxed a bit, asking himself why he woke. That was easily answered when he felt the need to use the bathroom. Well, this was easily taken care off. As he wanted to pull himself up to stand up, Laurence felt the warm, furry added weight on his chest.

Apparently, Mick had decided that Laurence himself was the right sleeping place. Laurence felt himself smile at this sight and he extended his hand to pet the kitten. Mick made a surprised “mrrm” sound and then started to purr.

Laurence had the feeling that he could have stayed like this the whole night and he continued to sleepily pet Mick until his body reminded him of his needs. “I am sorry, Mick.”, he muttered as he picked up the sleepy kitten from his chest to put on the couch and rushed out of the room to take care of his business.

When he returned, Mick was still on the couch. Laurence laid back down, closed his eyes and shortly after felt how Mick took his position on his chest back. With a smile Laurence gave him a lost stroke before drifting back to sleep. (Author's note: So, I am not the only one who feels awfully sorry for waking her cats when she needs the bathroom in the night, right?! Just why do they decide to sleep on me anyway xD) Next chapter: https://mrslittletall.tumblr.com/post/188884037944/title-the-crazy-cat-vicar-chapter-3

[kiruuuuu]

Ignorance is Blitz

Dearest @magehir​, I wish you a happy birthday and all the best 💖💖 May this next year bring all that you need. Thank you for existing, putting up with me and infecting me with the worst kinds of ideas :) This is a first part to the long-promised Wikihow fic, though it functions just as well as a standalone, and I hope you enjoy it! (hints for Blitz/Rook, Rating T, humour/fluff, ~5k words)

.

“How to give passive-aggressive gifts for Christmas”, Mute murmurs.

Rook’s brain shuts off mid-sentence. He supposes this is one of the situations where people claim to be thinking of a million possible responses when his thoughts have instead come to a screeching halt and the last syllable died on his tongue, never to be accompanied by its brethren which would’ve formed the rest of the term best describing the all you can eat buffet he went to recently: culinary extravaganza.

“How to find hot people to be friends with on Facebook”, Mute adds just as quietly as before, apparently oblivious to the sudden silence as his two friends merely stare at him in vague disturbance. “How to act like a modern vampire.”

“What the fuck”, Rook addresses him and attempts to catch a glimpse of his screen, now thoroughly concerned. “I hope to god this isn’t your google search history you’re reading right now or else we’ll have to start carrying around garlic soon.”

Mute, now having finally noticed their attention, is grinning down at his phone and announces: “How to hide an erection.”

“I could’ve used advice on that in school”, Glaz states drily, startling Rook into a laugh.

“How to be okay with having a communist friend.”

“Are those actual – what the hell are you reading?”

It’s yet another one of their lazy days, meaning they’re draped over various pieces of furniture, dying of boredom and hoping fate plops anything exciting into their laps. Their standards keep dropping with every passing second and it’s happened before that a small caterpillar became the highlight of one of their afternoons – they spent more than an hour simply feeding it and watching it eat and Glaz ended up almost crying when Sledge threw it outside to motivate them for kitchen duty. At this point, Rook would give his left arm for a balloon or a piece of string, though he keeps dismissing Mute’s claims about the internet harbouring enough entertainment to last several lifetimes. Maybe he just doesn’t know where to look, however.

“How to trick people into thinking you’re possessed.”

“Step one: be Mark Chandar on too many energy drinks.” Mute throws the Frenchman a glare and earns an innocent smile in return. “Seriously though, pretending to be possessed by a demon must be hilarious around Maestro, he’d probably cry.”

“He’d cry for you”, Mute informs him. “With me, he’d offer to put me down before even thinking twice about an exorcism. Do you think we should pick one of these stupid articles and actually do what it says? It could be entertaining.”

“Are there any remotely nice ones?”, Glaz wants to know hopefully. “Like ‘how to break into somebody’s room and clean it without their knowledge’?”

“Oh, here’s one for Jules – ‘how to love’.”

Before Rook can even threaten bodily harm, Glaz sighs and mumbles: “That one I definitely don’t need to read.”

Fighting down the urge to just hug him and never let him go so no one can ever hurt him again, Rook suggests: “They probably have stupid suggestions for really normal things too, don’t they? Like really detailed descriptions of how to shower for example, we can take those and exaggerate them a bit. How does that sound?”

“In that case I’ve got the perfect example”, Mute replies excitedly. “How to date. Short and sweet but the very first point is setting yourself up for success, so this should be good. If we follow this like a recipe, we’ll be dating left and right no problem.”

“Somehow, I doubt that”, Glaz sighs. “Who do you even want to date?”

“What do you mean, ‘you’? Shouldn’t you be the one to do it?”

“I’ll do it”, Rook volunteers to gloss over the fact that the last time Glaz asked anyone out on a date was likely ten years ago whereas he himself flirts with everything that moves, therefore making an unsuccessful attempt sting less. “So, how do I trick myself into being successful?”

“Define your expectations”, Mute quotes the article with a grin. “Are you looking for a lifetime commitment?”

“Sorry, mystery guy, but I’m already in a committed relationship with -”

“- yourself”, Glaz butts in, making Mute snort and break out into immature giggling as soon as he notices Rook’s indignant expression.

“… I was going to say my bed and food, but I guess that works. Thank you for the vote of confidence, in any case. Am I that self-absorbed? I don’t think I am, I’m a good listener, right? And it’s not like I talk over people or ignore them, or as if I’m lacking awareness of talking too much about myself. You wouldn’t call me egocentric, would you? I definitely don’t fit all of the criteria, after all I’m not -”

“Decide how you want to date”, Mute interrupts him quite rudely, Rook finds. “You’re absolutely not going to snag anyone on the internet, we may be out for a laugh but you’re not catfishing anyone.”

“Why would I catfish?! The only fitting part of that is the fish, since I’m a real catch”, Rook protests and causes the other two to groan.

“Yeah, no, I’m not letting you on the internet because you’d need a likeable personality for it. Oh, one of the options is having a friend set you up. I like that – Glaz, who should he try to date?”

“Craig”, the Russian deadpans immediately. Concerned silence follows as the other two attempt to assess whether he’s joking or not. “You can go watch a film with him and get kicked out when he won’t stop talking loudly.”

“I’d say Seamus but -”

“- there’s no way I can compete with Italian sausage”, Rook chimes in and feels a grim satisfaction at Mute’s grimace. He really reacts as if they were talking about his real parents. “Have you seen his bruises? The worst I’ve done is accidentally slap someone in the face.”

Glaz is horrified. “How do you… accidentally?”

“Listen, I was drunk, the guy kept getting louder and louder about wanting me to spank him but I at that point didn’t know how it’s done, so I just…”

“Maybe this was a mistake”, Mute grumbles and rubs his temple. “I would have you date Seamus now just out of spite but he’d chuck you out the nearest window as soon as you started babbling nonsense or acting weird. We need someone who’s more lenient, ideally someone nice so they don’t hold a grudge when we tell them it was all for shits and giggles, maybe shy because then your chances are better, and someone who doesn’t dislike you. So Fuze is out.”

“What, why?”

“Are you telling me you’d like to date Fuze?”

“No, I mean – why doesn’t he like me? He never talks to me, but he never talks to anyone.”

“It could be the fact that you helped Dom dye his teeth blue while he slept. Not only is it fucking creepy, he also looked like he ate all the Smurfs for a day.”

“What about Elias?”

Again, Glaz’ contribution gives them pause, albeit a noticeably more pensive one this time. He’s right, what about Blitz? Together with Sledge, Thatcher and Montagne he makes up Team Dad, meaning they look out for everyone but especially the younger operators, take them under their wing – yet it also means neither of the three are particularly keen on details about their love lives, which is why Mute’s thoughts instantly went to Sledge as a form of punishment. Blitz is similar in that vein, though he fits the Brit’s description to the letter: he’s quick to forgive people, has an atrocious track record concerning relationships as far as they know and he seems to enjoy Rook’s company. He might indeed be a good target for this.

“Rather him than Gilles or Mike”, Rook hastens to reply as soon as he realises that if he rejects the German, this is where his friends’ worrisome thoughts are going to end up. Both of them could easily be his dad, unlike Blitz who might have a fatherly protective attitude towards his younger colleagues but at least no grey hairs yet.

“I’m sure you could win them over with your boyish innocence”, Mute deadpans, making Rook grimace. “They might be a tad too old for your tastes though. I think Mike even owns a Cat Stevens CD.”

“Remember how Elias and Marius talked about a DOS-based game? I think he is, too, but he’s the best out of the three.”

“Ten years older isn’t too old.”

Glaz and Rook exchange a meaningful glance and merely raise their brows at an increasingly flustered Mute who looks ready to smack himself in the face with his phone, given how much he’s suddenly fiddling with it. “I’m not sure we’re talking about Julien and Elias anymore”, the Russian states drily, and Rook nods up a storm.

“Look”, Mute begins to defend himself to two expectant expressions and eventually just sighs in frustration. “Whatever, let’s not talk about my crush -”

“Oh, so it is a crush now, is it?”

“Shut up.” Rook wasn’t aware that Mute’s ears could be this shade of red. “James is… a good friend right now.”

“You say this as if you hadn’t thought about whether he sounds in bed just like the time Seamus accidentally pelted him in the balls with Diana’s tennis ball and he whimpered for an hour straight.” Rook feels a rush of pride at his comment when Mute suddenly looks ready to murder. It seems like he hit the mark, just like Sledge had done: right in the crotch.

“He strikes me as someone who’s had dog slobber in that particular area before”, Glaz murmurs probably as an aside and looks almost shocked when Rook’s instant guffawing lets him know that he said this out loud. Even Mute doesn’t seem sure whether he should be horribly offended or deeply amused.

.

In the end, they do decide on Blitz being their victim. Glaz gets cold feet halfway through the conversation, raising the issue of morality and deceit but gets shot down quickly when Mute lists some of the pranks with which Bandit got away and which had exceedingly far-reaching consequences. The West wing of their building still has no running water. Not that Rook is complaining about sharing their showers with some of its occupants, no, not at all.

“We’re going to Bond you up”, Mute announces while digging through one of the many, many drawers in the workshop that are filled with… stuff. Rook is waiting for the day this stuff starts pouring out of every cupboard they have, because it means it’ll all get cleaned up and tidied by someone who’s not getting paid enough and maybe then they’ll find the remote for the TV again. He’s sick of bribing people to turn the volume up or down by pressing buttons on the device directly, especially because his candy stash has run low by now because of it.

“What are you guys doing?”

Only Rook and Glaz turn away from the unmanageable mess of cords, cables, plugs and other electric parts in which Mute is elbow deep right now, and maybe Rook should worry about it turning sentient and swallowing the Brit whole at some point, but right now he’s worrying about one thing only: the possibility of Bandit catching wind of what they’re doing. He’s pretending to make nonchalant small talk but really, he must’ve smelled blood. He always knows when they’re up to something.

“Befriending communists”, Glaz replies politely.

“Hiding boners”, Rook supplies.

Bandit’s eyes narrow suspiciously but he remains silent as Mute produces a triumphant noise and pulls out what looks like an earring attached to a cable and a few other things, with a small box at the end. “Here we go! You can wear this, Jules.”

“In my life I’ve only fucked one guy who wore earrings”, Bandit deems it necessary to divulge. “And when he got dressed, he’d do sock shoe sock shoe.”

Rook snorts. “I’m not surprised you’re friends with James since you seem to have prior experience with psychopaths.”

“Let’s go, boys, we have all we came for”, Mute tells them, an unambiguous signal to not engage Bandit any further or else he’s never going to leave them alone, and starts herding them out of the workshop. To their collective annoyance, Bandit follows, unperturbed by the waves of get lost rolling off of them.

“If I give you a Curly Wurly, will you leave us alone?”, Rook addresses him and earns a scoff.

“Please, as if I could be bribed with sweets. This is an interesting device you’re undoubtedly going to misuse somehow and I want to see where it’s going.”

“And four hobnobs. The ones with chocolate.”

“I just told you -”

“Add a chocolate orange to that.”

“Deal. Have fun!”

.

“I feel extraordinarily gay”, Rook mumbles into his collar and prays that no one else in the canteen is paying any attention to him hovering uncertainly at the edge of the room, waiting for Zofia to be done talking to his mark. Blitz looks comfortable in the middle of the room, paperwork spread out on the table before him and an open bag of crisps by his elbow – only he would still be working during his lunch break. Considering all the people in front of whom Rook could be thoroughly embarrassing himself, he’s one of the better options as his smile is not only contagious but also very pretty. So even if this will influence his reputation for a while, Blitz is likely to be a good sport about it all.

Rook is wearing an apron reading Kiss the cook because one of the items on Mute’s blasted list involved making him look ‘approachable’, and since the pink t-shirt they gifted Glaz with the slogan ‘single and ready to flamingle’ is in the wash, this was the next best option. The earring which serves as Mute’s and Glaz’ way of communicating with him during this whole ordeal is not only garish but unfortunately a clip-on, so Rook couldn’t refuse wearing it. He feels like a budget version of an undercover agent, only much, much shadier.

“You look it, too, so it’s perfect”, Mute’s tinny voice reassures him into his left ear. They’re both sitting at the other end of the canteen, sharing popcorn and crunching infuriatingly loudly into their mic. “Make eye contact, smile and raise your eyebrows – that’s the first step, according to this masterpiece.”

It’s the perfect opportunity to implement a technique Rook has mastered almost twenty years ago: he starts out by rolling his eyes over his friends but as soon as he notices Blitz looking over, Zofia nowhere in sight, it transforms into a bright smile. This instantaneous switch in facial expressions has served him well over the years, especially around unlikeable teachers or bosses – only this time, he thinks a little too much about what Mute has said and ends up with a manic grin instead of a friendly smile while lifting his brows so high he must look either utterly astonished or inexplicably anticipatory.

Glaz masks his snort as a cough whereas Blitz reciprocates his bloodthirsty smirk with a much milder lifting of the corners of his mouth. Even from this distance, Rook can detect his concern which is probably fighting Blitz’ omnipresent drive to be social, accepting and open-minded. He always looks like this when Twitch’s current explanation has left him lost half an hour ago or when Tachanka jovially reminisces about early Spetsnaz training (and who in the world thinks that being chased through a hallway filled with blood and guts by a massive dog in the middle of the night was in any way, shape or form fun).

He’s starting to feel bad. Only a little, but honestly, when Blitz put on the clothes his blind roommate laid out for him this morning (because how else does he explain his usual attire), he probably wasn’t expecting to become a wikihow experiment today.

“I swear you’re gonna make me choke on this popcorn”, Glaz mutters and, like clockwork, Rook immediately replies: “Sounds less entertaining than choking on cockporn.”

More strangled noises in his ear, but fortunately Mute takes over to rescue him from certain death via being cast out of society by informing him of the next step: “Indicate interest and project confidence during social situations. Go on, be interested and confident. You’re as great as you are misguided in one of those, and terrible at the other.”

Rook ignores the slight (really, just because he once paid no attention to what Mute was telling him and they ended up stranded in the wilderness with no more gas doesn’t make him a bad listener, and him self-assuredly flirting his way into some stranger’s car who then became a little too interested in him doesn’t necessarily mean he’s overconfident), and approaches his target with a cocksure swagger he’s practised for exactly three seconds on the way to the canteen. “Hey, what are you doing, I like you, is this equipment paperwork, I’ve actually done a ton of these so I’m an absolute pro, how are you this fine day?”

Blitz stares at him. Maybe Rook should’ve let the other two know that he gets the worst case of stage fright whenever he feels observed in social situations and that it manifests in casual blabbering. “I, uh, I’m good, thanks. Are you alright?”

He sounds hesitant and Rook can’t blame him. After plopping down opposite of the German with a slightly less manic smile, he attempts to ignore Mute and Glaz whom he can very clearly see over Blitz’ shoulder and who both seem to be shoving their fists into their mouths to try and not giggle too obviously. “Peachy”, he beams. “How’s the work going? Is it just as work-y as always?”

His contagious laugh falls on deaf ears, at least from the man he’s talking to. Glaz looks about ready to cry.

“I suppose so.” Bless Blitz for his endless patience. The doubtful tone is still present and betrays his suspicion of something going on, but as Rook neither attempts to steal or set fire to the papers nor to shove a cake into his face, he probably figures there’s no immediate danger. “Have you actually filled out these kinds of forms before?”

“Confidence”, Mute squeaks into his ear, still suppressing his mirth, and Rook suddenly wonders whether Smoke would like to know about the time Mute despaired over his new laptop not working, troubleshooting it for several days and refusing any and all outside help until an innocently passing-by Jäger pointed out that it wasn’t plugged in. So far, the event has been contained but Rook has long been waiting for an opportunity to unleash this knowledge.

“Of course, I used to do them all the time as homework, I could do them in my sleep”, Rook lies through his teeth.

“Great!” It seems Blitz failed to get the memo about projecting entirely misplaced confidence because he goes on to ask: “Could you help me with this one detail then? I’m not sure what -”

And while he explains his problem, Rook’s brain long having shut off, Mute informs him of the next step: “Make engaging small talk. Ask broad, open-ended questions like ‘so, what got you interested in rock-climbing’.”

“So, what got you interested in rock-climbing?”, Rook interrupts Blitz’ detailing completely out of the blue. A distance away, Glaz is putting his head in his hands.

Blitz forgets to close his mouth for a few seconds, and Rook almost wishes he didn’t stop talking but instead ignored Rook’s question entirely. “I… am not particularly interested in rock-climbing, if I’m honest. Why do you ask?”

And while Rook flounders and stutters out a non-committal oh, you know, Glaz, the absolute angel on his shoulder, decides to step in and save him: “Perfect opportunity, the next step is don’t take yourself too seriously. Try making a joke at your own expense if you say something you think is utterly stupid. You can save this, Julien, I believe in you.”

“Well, uh.” Think, think, think. Rook feels like Winnie the Pooh and barely stops himself from tapping his temple. As usual, his mouth is writing checks long before his brain has earned the money, and so he witnesses in unfortunately non-mute horror as the words come over his lips: “It’s just that your muscles are as hard as a rock and I suddenly thought how awesome it would be to go rock-climbing.”

Smooth.

Blitz is genuinely gaping now.

Behind him, Mute nearly falls off his chair while shaking with silent laughter, and Glaz is wearing the all too familiar expression of ‘if anyone asks, I will forever deny knowing you’.

“I, um, well, thanks? I guess? Julien, are you sure there’s nothing wrong?”

“I’ve never felt better in my life.” Confidence, right? What was the other thing? Open-ended questions? “Speaking of, what do you want to achieve in life?”

How Blitz hasn’t gotten whiplash yet is a mystery. Maybe Rook will be able to make Mute laugh so hard he’ll drop dead. He’s looking a little blue in the face already. “Why do you ask? Do you really want to know?”

“Yes!”, Rook responds too forcefully and thanks whoever is responsible for Blitz being completely resistant to weird behaviour, merely accepting it as a fact of life and glossing over it. On second thought, the reason for this is most definitely Bandit and Rook would rather gnaw off his own toes than thank Bandit for anything.

Blitz’ eyes lower and he absent-mindedly moves some of the papers around. His entire demeanour… shifts. “I want to make a difference somehow. And I know this sounds horribly cliché, and everyone here has the same wish – but does that make it in any way less special? I don’t think so. We put our lives on the line to ensure some girl will have a mother when she grows up, to inspire some people to turn their life around, so that people have a roof over their head and peaceful sleep. And I don’t care if some say there’s better ways to do this. This is mine, this is something I’m good at, and my capabilities are useful here where they would be lost as a politician or anything else. And there always will be more to do, I’ll never be done, but that’s okay. I’ll know I’ve done a bit, and I’m happy with that already.”

Something flutters.

He hasn’t felt it in a while, not like this, usually stemming from a different place in his body or more concrete, aided by alcohol or general giddiness, but paradoxically his heartbeat is calming down despite the tingling sensation in his chest. Speechless, he stares at the man in front of him, trying to do what he always does when people’s sincerity makes him uncomfortable – joking about it in his head, react with sarcasm, discard the notion as sentimental or naive. Only right now, it’s his cynicism which feels fake instead of Blitz’ words.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bore you with a speech”, the German adds sheepishly and laughs a little. It’s cute. It’s the cutest thing Rook has seen today and if he does that thing where he scratches the back of his head because he’s embarrassed and a little lost now, Rook might pass out on the spot, just lose all body tension and glide to the ground like a jelly pancake because no one, and that includes genuinely happy Glaz, no one has any right to be this adorable.

Blitz scratches the back of his head.

“I’m going to faint”, Rook informs someone, he’s not even sure who, whether it’s Mute and Glaz and this is a badly hidden attempt at getting them to come to his aid, or whether it’s Blitz to inform him that the cute police is on his case.

“Oh, that’s right, it’s lunch and you haven’t eaten anything yet, no?” If his next sentence is something along the lines of ‘let me offer you food’, he’ll have to propose. There’s no way around it. “I’d offer you something more substantial but I only have the crisps. You can try them if you want, but they’re a little hot.”

Right on cue, Mute whispers in his ear: “You should find some common ground and then ask him out. This is already a disaster, no need to prolong it.”

“I love hot things!”, Rook exclaims cheerfully and it’s not even that big of a lie, except that ‘food’ isn’t on the list. But if Mute wants his common ground, he’s going to get it. Without checking the packaging, Rook reaches into the bag and shoves a few of the suspiciously red potato crisps into his mouth.

“He’s going to die”, Glaz utters full of concern, just as the spiciness hits Rook full force.

Blitz seems to be convinced of the opposite. “Really? That’s great, I’ve not found anyone who likes this type. You should try some of the Indian dishes I make now and then!”

Rook’s consciousness is fading, slowly being replaced by unadulterated fire. This must be what it’s like to be burnt alive, he reckons, and right now he’d rather eat glass than ensure a second more of this brilliant pain. His eyes are watering and he’s doing his best to efficiently chew without letting any more of it touch his tongue so he can swallow it as fast as possible, in the process ruining his throat. Now it, too, feels like he ate glass. “I’d love to”, he croaks and sniffles pitifully while a cold sweat breaks out on his back.

“Are you ill? You’re a little…” Blitz’ concern is as heartwarming as it is unwelcome; it only makes everything worse.

“Yes, actually.” He can’t cough now. If he does, all is lost, he won’t be able to stop, ever, and it’ll invade his lungs and slowly cook him from the inside out.

“You need to get out”, Glaz informs him, sounding troubled, “and eat your emergency chocolate. Now. Ask him and then bolt.”

This is it, huh. This is what he’s been working up to for the last half an hour: posing a question while sounding like he’s been smoking for longer than he’s been alive, choking back tears which make it almost impossible to see Blitz, and faced with all the kindness and compassion of a man he suddenly doesn’t want to disappoint.

And so he asks.

.

“I am still in shock”, Mute says. The others nod.

“I have no idea how it came to this”, Glaz says. More nodding.

“I can finally feel my tongue again”, Rook slurs and downs the third glass of milk, just to be safe. He feels like he ran a marathon, solved maths problems and had an allergic reaction all at once. Not to mention the overarching shame of having embarrassed himself in front of someone who turned out much more sympathetic than he thought.

“I don’t understand.” Mute’s rational brain is rejecting this reality, Rook can almost hear the gears crunching. “Why would he say yes?! Where did we go wrong?”

He’s hesitant to tell them that he actually wouldn’t mind getting to know Blitz better because the memory of them shoving oversized condoms into Glaz’ pockets in order to embarrass him in front of his crush is still all too fresh. “This was a success then”, he very inaccurately summarises the unholy catastrophe of whatever it was that happened in the canteen twenty minutes ago. Maybe he can just… pretend he doesn’t want to actually go on the date but go nonetheless, be far, far from either of these two so he might end up enjoying himself – and if something comes out of it, he still has ample time to let them know.

“You don’t seem sad about this result”, Mute picks up on his careful neutrality and squints. “Are you telling me you actually want him to make you groan with something other than his terrible dad jokes? Is that it?”

“We probably should’ve picked Shuhrat after all”, Glaz muses with a sigh. “He wouldn’t have accepted. He might’ve refused to ever go near you again, but at least we wouldn’t be in this situation.”

“Wait.” Mute is on his phone, which is never a good sign if the Thomas the tank engine toy he modified into a fully functioning flamethrower after having watched a video of someone else doing it was any indication. A sense of dread starts rising in Rook. “There’s instructions for a first date here, too. We can do the same thing again, give you instructions and have you follow them. At this point, we kinda have to do this.”

Rook pictures it. All he can see is carnage, chaos and more catastrophes. It’ll be a disaster, he’s already struggling with multi-tasking without it involving another largely unpredictable person, and his nerves don’t deal well with expectations of any kind.

He weighs this against the alternative: admitting that he’d like to go on the date without their interference and facing endless mockery as a result. He remembers his own mental threat against Mute to divulge embarrassing stories of his past to Smoke. He thinks of the time his tongue got stuck to a pole because Mute told him this only happened to children, not adults.

“Alright”, he agrees with a sigh and regrets his decision as soon as Mute’s and Glaz’ eyes light up.