#I used to be a tiny bit critical of the whole too sick to do something thing because I always power through things like this

[depressedraisin]

ok ok quick summary of my thoughts and feelings so far:

it's 5:30 am and ive been up since 2:30 so probably gonna regret this but here we go

FIRSTLY, im incredibly INCREDIBLY proud of them for putting up the show. last week was tense and rather scary, we were all shitting ourselves with worry over alex's voice and health so i felt like i could cry in relief seeing look so much better and sound so much better and obviously being great at his job. the others, particularly nick on 4/5 and matt on body paint- fuck they were showstopping!!!!! overall very very enjoyable experience, im glad we have this.

YET.

yet. i AM disappointed and i got no qualms admitting it. the car is my favourite album, tbhc id die for, i literally spend so much time with their discography i probably AM a little too emotionally attached and not-objective about them. so yeah it's saddening. to not see the car and tbhc getting the limelight and the appreciation. i for one do believe there are songs in them which would work in a gigantic stadium or a festival, but we would never know if they do bcs they never gotta the chance to be taken out for a spin. also the rest of the albums- for a discography as diverse and as deep as the band's, so much of it sits in an attic catching dust. but yeah i get it i get it- logistics and commercial considerations and audience and all that. i get it....... sometimes. most times.

glasto did piss me off a tiny bit however. (just a little im sure it'll wear away soon). i was really fucking excited for it, jumped through so much to get access to the livestream and all, barely slept today just to watch it. i was holding out a lot of hope for this gig- ofc bcs it's glasto!!!!! it's such a consequential milestone in their career, it's been so long in the waiting. and being really fucking honest here- i took the "they'd surely do something different for glasto!!!" to heart. BUT I UNDERSTAND. i understand, why they might not have done anything, why things planned might not have worked out. I GET IT.

but also. there's a miniscule corner of my brain which is like. how different would a glastonbury show have been in an alternate timeline anyway? yeah they do surprise us, but signs haven't been pointing towards those directions at all in this tour. so all in all, yeah im disappointed. not so much for this one gig but the tour as a whole and the general attitude in this era. things alex has been talking about in the album.....at times their way of going about things seems so contrary to that. and yeah they're a band of 2 decades of experience and fucking professionals so no, i don't believe it's external uncontrollable reasons every time.

the monkeys are such an important band, yk? they might be the last of their kind- which other band will have their level of critical and cultural impact again. i hate LOATHE DESPISE to see all the potential getting wasted. they're saying such important things and not many are paying- but the band isn't trying particularly hard to get anyone to listen either. and yes, it's been the case long before alex got sick and long before they got up on the pyramid stage.

anyway enough whining and ranting for today.

i just love the car ok i'll defend it to my grave.

i just love the band so much i wanna give them a giant hug.

also yes i AM a lowly fangirl and miles kane not being there makes me sad.

[just-orbiting-you]

I’m so so glad you’re being honest and transparent about AYS and jikook’s dynamics change. I felt really weird after I finished watching the show and when i came to X and tumblr most jikookers were focusing on the skinship moments but no body is talking about how off everything felt between them. I think you summed it up pretty nicely so I won’t repeat what was said but watching how jk acted when jm was sick made my heart sink. I felt so so bad for jm i was praying that there’s someone from staff at least taking care of him. There was zero worry or compassion from jk which shocked me a lot. I think this is where I realized that they’re definitely not together and I’m ok with that. Kinda relieved tbh, i feel like i finally have a clear answer. Now regarding tae being in the next episode, i saw the clip and JK was being his usual passive aggressive self lol, that’s just how he is with tae and now with jimin too apparently. I have to admit, now that I’m seeing jkk in a whole different light I’m not worried about how different jk is gonna treat vmin, none of them is in a relationship so I don’t care if he’s nicer to v. I just hope jimin had a great time and enjoyed himself (tae and jk too) i hope they all had a good time. I only wish jimin wouldn’t receive hate after the episode no matter how it turns out.

hey anon, im responding but with intention that im hoping you’ll see the response :). i don’t really want other anons in my inbox criticizing your words. from someone who thought like you, i hope we can enjoy the show and engage with it critically instead of just writing it off as a "be careful what you wish for."

while i think this point could get us backed into a corner a little bit, i've had a few anons, including this one write about how they could be omitting the truth for the sake of the show, to fit a narrative. if we turn to speculation instead of looking at what they show us head on, it can be hard to fully believe. what we do know is they had to see each other to plan the show, they saw each other at yoongi's concert, at hobi's enlistment (and maybe drinking that night before who knows). i think face era was a hindrance to their friendship, but as the year went on things got better. i think about that tiny clip from jimin's production diary livestream and jimin was so excited to see jungkook, jungkook was all smiles like nothing changed.

i think, even the people we love most, we don't see often or even don't try to make an effort to see based in individual circumstances. and we don't know their circumstances outside of bts and solo schedules. with bts going on group hiatus, things were already going to change. relationships change naturally and i think giving jikook that grace is okay. i don't think their relationship has turned into one of vitriol or negativity. they still very much care about each other and i think if this was how the year started off, the distance from each other probably propelled them into deciding to enlist (distance makes the heart grow fonder and such). also i think you can see them start to fall into their ways as the trip carries on. i felt a dramatic shift in tone after their boat ride and once jungkook cooks for them, it feels like we are at the jikook we know. so i hope this show was able to help them reconnect.

I felt so so bad for jm i was praying that there’s someone from staff at least taking care of him. There was zero worry or compassion from jk which shocked me a lot.

this anon and a few other posts in the jikook tag were talking about this and i think i have changed my opinion on this. jungkook has known jimin for years, he probably knows when jimin needs in stressful situations and that might just be a little space and some jokes to get him laughing. jungkook didn't bother him when he rested, he let him be. i think jungkook did what a friend would do in this instance, and try to go about their day making the most of it while conscious of jimin's state. possibly the camera involved maybe could have escalated the level of jokes around jimin's misfortune. but from what was on camera, jimin started feeling better after the boat and they ended the trip on a good note.

i don't even want to speak on the tae stuff, because that will open a big can of worms. i appreciate you coming forward as well to talk about it as well. definitely rewatch the show too i think a second watch could change how you're viewing it.

[kisszuki]

Friendsgiving

Bangchan x reader

⚠ lil bit suggestive, pet names ⚠ Can you guys tell I like writing for channie lol

---

Thanksgiving was four days away. Together with your partner Chan, you decided to throw a "friendsgiving" because you were traveling out to spend the holiday with your family. He invited all his bandmates and a few of your close friends as well.

It seems like you and Channie were responsible for preparing the classic mac and cheese. It's just that you haven't made it before. Well, yes, unless you include the ones that can be microwaved.

"Channie, please help me find a recipe," you pleaded. You had been deciding which recipe to try while scrolling through tiktok. "There are a ton of recipes on your screen, baby. "Just choose one that appears appetizing and doable for us to make, okay?" he asked, offering you reassurance as he tucked the dishes away.

"Oh my goodness, there are so many of them," you complained, stomping into the living room. You collapsed onto the couch and resumed your quest for a decent mac recipe. "This doesn't look too bad," you remarked as you watched a longer recipe for tiktok.

"Tini's mac and cheese.. shouldn't be that hard"

Authors note: Idk what side of tiktok yall be on but damn that mac look GOOD.

You're right, though. It was thought to be simple to make a mac and cheese that looked appealing. But there was chaos when your guy was present. Don't get me wrong; you and Chan were both fantastic cooks. Simply put, your partner might be a little too immature for his age.

ツツ

You said nicely, "Channie, could you grate the cheeses while I make the sauce?" It was difficult to grate.

He smiled warmly at you and said, "I gotchu baby."; You carried on preparing the roux and then added the macaroni to the sauce. You said, "You done with the cheese?" He brought you your freshly grated cheese and responded, "Yes ma'am." With praise, you replied, "Thank you, handsome."

You stirred the pasta in the pot with your sauce ready to plop it onto your dishtray; (not sure what its called). Unexpectedly, he exclaimed, "That sound reminds me of something." "What sound?"

"The pasta." He said, staring at you indifferently. As you keep stirring the macaroni in circles, you start to wonder what this guy was talking about. When realization struck, you yelled, criticizing him, "Oh my gosh.. you dirty freak!" (ifykyk..). He just laughed uncontrollably. "I'm kidding!" Just kidding! I'm sorry; I just couldn't resist."

"You just ruined the whole night, I don't even want to eat this anymore." You claimed to be staring at him and attempting, but failing, to give him a disgusted face. You knew he was only trying to make you laugh with the awful joke, so all you could do was grin. You were anxious and worried about this Friendsgiving that you really didn't want to host the entire week.

Even though you had previously met his bandmates, your relationship with Chans was quite new, so you couldn't help but feel uneasy.

You were cooking for them for the first time, so how could you not be frustrated? It was obvious that Chan had noticed your behavior, and you were appreciative to have a partner who was so perceptive and attentive. You couldn't settle for anything less; He was the one. 

ツツ

Author's Note > Sorry for like the latest post ever! I've been sick!

[transmascsnearyou]

Rant time!!

I just realized how my parents actually fucked me up. (More my mother than my father but still) Like I know I'm fucked up but I never was like 'Oh it's because of this and that' and now I have at least one thing that I KNOW fucked me up.

When I was a kid I was expected to bring home good grades. My oldest sister brought home average grades but she tried her best so it was fine and she got praised for every B or C she got.

My other sister (the middle child) had generally bad grades but she tried so whenever she got an average grade she was rewarded.

Learning came easy for me as a kid so I got As without studying much. My mother criticized me whenever I didn't get everything right, even if I had the best grades of my class. I was reprimanded whenever I got a B and I was so afraid of showing my mother the C I got on a maths test that I cried the entire way home from school. It at least stopped her from saying too much, just that she was disappointed.

As the only of us three children who decided to stay in school after the mandatory 9 years and wanted to go to university there was a whole new set of expectations on me.

So when I fell into one depressive state after another in my first year of advanced school because of bullying and trying my best but still getting nothing better than a D in all the important subjects I was labeled the disappointment of the family. This was also right around the time I realized that I wasn't straight.

But being the disappointment freed me in a way. I stopped caring about my grades because it didn't matter anymore. I had made up my mind. I wouldn't be dealing with the constant bullying at school and my mothers nagging at home. I'd finish this year of school with terrible grades and quit. And I did. And my mother couldn't stop me even though she tried.

I went to another school for one year so I'd finish school with good grades and have better chances at finding a job that would pay well. I finished that year with two Bs and still had the best grades of the entire school. All I got from my mother was the words 'See, you could've gotten these grades last year as well if you had just tried a bit.'

Guess I didn't stop caring after all...

She still believes that she's the perfect mother and that she just adapted to our individual skills. I had it easier at school so in her eyes she was in the right for destroying every sense of self worth I had. If I'm not good at things then I'm not worth anything. Just a waste of space.

I know other people had it worse (this is just a tiny fraction of my childhood) but I still carry this sentiment with me every day. I hate taking sick days because that means admitting that I'm useless.

I cry every time I'm at a doctors office because I'm 'just being over dramatic and wasting their time'

I can't take compliments because I genuinely believe people are lying to me to make me feel better and I don't deserve that. Nobody should feel bad for me because I'm JUST BEING OVER DRAMATIC and an attention seeking brat.

At least that's what I was told when I was sick at 9 years old and lost 10kg in less than a week because I couldn't keep anything down. I was 'being overdramatic and lazy and just didn't want to go to school.'

So... Yeah. Pretty sure that fucked me up pretty badly xd

I talk to my mother more often these days and it's been better since moving out, still I resent her for how she treated me as a child. She always made sure that I knew that I was an accident and that she wasn't very happy to have me around. But I wanted her to love me so badly that I ignored all the sharp words. I still do. Because I want people to love me. I want everyone to like me and be impressed by me because my mother never was.

[allthewhumpygoodness]

Sicktember Day 6: sick on vacation

Well here it is folks: my ONE contribution to sicktember. I wanted to do more. It didn't happen.

***

It's just their luck that they would get sick on the holidays. In hindsight, nothing they shouldn't have anticipated.

But still. B didn't get on a plane for almost six hours and then sit in a cab with an all-too-talkative driver through the worst of a snowstorm, and then find out just as they were struggling through the middle of nowhere trying to find C and D's cabin that their phone was dead just to end up being miserable the whole time.

It could be worse. Right now at least, it's no more than a scratchy tickle in the back of their throat and a heaviness in their limbs. They're a bit chilled too, but that could easily be the drafty wood house they're staying in. C and D couldn't have a more beautiful spot for a winter getaway - up in the mountains (but not too high), and surrounded by towering conifers no matter where you look. Only ten minutes away is a little town that looks like it should be made out of gingerbread, currently all decked out in Christmas lights.

B couldn't help but feel a sharp pang of jealousy when they first set foot here, knowing their friends can come up here whenever they want instead of being confined to a tiny apartment - the cabin itself might be drafty, but at least they do have proper heating and a toasty fireplace on top of that. B isn't sure their building's furnace has been so much as looked at in fifty years.

But after a long morning of feeling steadily more and more tired and achy it's all they can do to sit curled up on the sofa with a blanket, sipping hot chocolate. Guilt pricks at their skin knowing they aren't exactly being the most lively houseguest, but they really don't have the energy to get up and move. For a while now they've been drifting in and out of a shallow sleep, trying not to let their not-so-hot-anymore chocolate fall from their hands.

Footsteps shake them into wakefulness. They look up to see C entering the room, peering over at them. "Cozy?" they say, a small smirk on their face.

B's cheeks grow warm. They were chilled to the bone when they sat down and buried themselves in three blankets - probably at this point they looked like some kind of burrowing creature. "Just chilly. And tired. I'm - honestly I'm a bit of a mess today, I guess I'm not used to being out in the country like this."

C looks sympathetic. "You're a city dweller for sure. And it does get cold out here." Just as they speak the wind rattles the windows, blasts of snow coming with it.

Seeing B's nervous look (that wasn't supposed to be on their face, not at all), C goes over and shuts the colourful curtains, blocking out the snow-filled world outside. "There. We're nice and safe in here."

B nods, coughing a little. Their throat burns, making them wince - with a sinking feeling they note that it's worse than before.

I'm not that sick, they tell themsevles. I just need some sleep. And to get warm.

The cushions on the couch dip down a little as C sits beside them, resting a hand on their arm. They look at B with a critical glance. "You look a little under the weather, you know."

B shrugs, not meeting their friend's eye. "Maybe. It's just this cold." Another wave of chills hits them and they shiver uncontrollably. "It gets in my bones."

"Here." C moves some pillows and fetches another warm blanket from a nearby chair, draping it over where B sits crumpled. "Lie down right here, while the fire's still going. Take a nap. And lose this - " they take the mostly-drunk cocoa from B's hands - "Drink the rest of it later."

B complies, but they can't help feeling awkward as they lie down; this isn't their house - C and D might be friends, but it's not right to be so casual...

C seems to read their expression. "I promise, we don't mind. You seem like you could do with some rest. Don't feel bad."

"Are you sure? I just hate that you invited me here, and now I'm not even doing anything...I'm not even being helpful..."

C shushes them, adjusting the blankets. "Holidays are for taking time off. And you have been plenty helpful, more than you needed to be."

B only manages a muffled noise in response. Just upon laying their head on the pillow they're twice as exhausted as they were.

A hand brushes through their hair, fingers resting lightly on their forehead for a moment. "Try to rest," says C. "You seem like you need it."

For a while, they do. Sleep claims them quickly enough, but then soon they're caught in a web of dreams they can't quite make sense of, that are just strange enough to be disturbing. And once the dreams have them, they don't let them go for what seems like a very long time.

It seems like they wake up five or six or twenty times in a row, again and again only for there to be something wrong with the room - something distorted and twisted and horribly nightmarish. Each time they're either too cold or too hot, their limbs aching and trembling.

Eventually they wake for real with a groan, fighting to block out the knife stabbing them through the temples. For a solid minute they can't open their eyes at all - the second they try the world is too bright and they can't seem to focus. They panic for a few long seconds, wondering if they'll forever be stuck in a dark and blurry world.

But the seconds pass and they manage to pry their heavy, gritty lids open. It's dark now, the fire dwindled to a few coals. A wave of malaise washes over them and they let out another muffled noise of discomfort. They have to admit it now - they're sick, sick.

Dimly they're aware of the fact that they should go to bed, but dragging themselves out of their nest and up the stairs feels all but impossible. So they lie there wrapped in feeble half-dreams and aches in their bones.

Soon in the back of their brain they hear footsteps approaching and open their eyes a sliver. C's slightly blurry form approaches them, their face only coming into focus at the last second.

It's worried looking. Their face. "Hey," they say. "How are you feeling now?" A soft hand rests against their forehead.

"I think I'm sick," B manages to get out. God, their throat feels like sandpaper. The extra-grainy kind.

C lets out a small sound of sympathy. "You're not kidding. You feel like you just came out of an oven."

B's eyes are half closed again already. "I...I just want to sleep."

"I know. I know, but believe me when I say you'll be a lot more comfortable in your own bed."

It's not my own bed, they want to say, it's the guest bedroom in your cabin that you let me stay in and now I'm ruining the entire visit by being too sick to actually do anything.

But they don't say any of that. Instead they give in to C's gentle hands as they guide them upward, sitting them up on the couch. Their eyes hurt and their nose and throat are full of gunk, but they melt into the warmth of C's shoulder all the same. They feel a soft hand on their forehead again, cool right where it burns.

They're distantly aware that when they're better this will seem horribly embarrassing. Right now they don't care very much.

"Come on," C says gently, "let's get you up to bed. You'll be nice warm up there."

B clings to their arm as they stagger up the stairs, unable to focus on very much aside from the effort of putting one foot in front of the other. When they actually reach the bedroom they're borrowing they're exhausted, leaning heavily against the doorframe and taking several long moments to catch their breath.

They're barely aware of C leading them to their bed, only that all of a sudden they're lying down and something heavy is being pulled over them - the sheets are cold and they start shivering immediately.

"You'll warm up," C says soothingly. "Just wait a little. Can I bring you anything? I'll get you water- that isn't even a question - but do you want some tea, too? Some chicken brother?"

"No," B gets out, "no, I'm fine." To their horror, they feel painful tears rising in their eyes. "I'm sorry," they say, unable to keep it in any longer. "I wanted this to be a nice trip with you, and I'm so grateful to you and D for inviting me and it's so lovely here and I'm just jealous that I can't have what you have, and I don't belong here even if you've invited me...I just wanted it all to be special but now I've ruined it."

C shushes them, looking alarmed, one hand reaching for their now-tearstained cheek. "B, honey, you don't have to be sorry about all that. We want you here, or else we wouldn't have invited you in the first place. I'm sorry you got sick in the middle of it all - but you haven't ruined anything. You're our friend, and we're happy to have you no matter what state you're in. We'll help you through it, I promise."

That's just too much. B lifts a shaking hand to their eyes, burying their face in the blankets in a vain attempt to hide the fact that they're crying in earnest now. They feel C rubbing gentle circles on their back, saying soft and kindly things, and feel like their heart might just melt with how overwhelmed with love they are.

It's only the fever, they think. I can't really feel this much. I'd explode if I did.

But they do. They cling weakly to C's arm while they sit there beside them, holding them with both strength and tenderness until the tears pass.

[restlessfandoming]

campfire in the snow (chilumi)

hey friends back again with that fanfic writing :^)

this is my headcannon that childe absolutely suffers during the colder winter months as a hydro user (based on this post here) so SOMEONE’s gotta take care of him

in other words, a chilumi...chilumine? lumichilde? CHILDE X LUMINE sick fic !!!

thanks for reading as always <3

[Fic Masterlist]

“campfire in the snow”

“Ahchoo!” 

Lumine glanced at Childe, watching him sniffle miserably as they walked through the woods towards Mondstadt. 

The sky was overcast, giving the land the hazy gray glow of winter, and the chilly temperature felt stiff against shivering bodies—their coats only warming them slightly. Their shoes crunched in the snow from last night’s snowstorm; the promise of another snowfall hung in the air. 

“Are you sick?” Lumine asked. 

Childe gave a weak smile. “Of course not. In top shape as always.” Then, AHCHOO! Another sneeze. 

Paimon popped up in front of the Harbinger’s face, staring directly at his red nose. “You don’t sound so good to me. Paimon thinks you’re sick!”

“Hate to say it, but I definitely agree with Paimon,” Lumine said, ignoring the guide’s flailing arms of anger. “I think we need to get you somewhere warm.” 

The orange haired man playfully scoffed. “All I need to do is speak with the Grand Master of the Knights. Easiest mission of my—sniff—life.”

The traveler stopped in her tracks, and took off her own scarf, holding it out for Childe. “Then at least take this. I think you need this more than me.”

He looked at the scarf, eyes almost glazing over from yearning. He shook his head. “I’d never take something from a lady in need.” 

Lumine almost threw the scarf at him. “I’m not in need.”

“And she’s not a lady; have you seen her eat?”

“Paimon.”

“Paimon only tells the truth!”

“Thank you, really, but it’s just a little reaction to the colder weather. No big deal,” Childe assured, walking past Lumine’s offering. 

“What’s his problem?” she muttered, as he walked ahead. She heard him coughing in the distance. Why won’t he just take it? 

“He doesn’t seem so threatening now, does he?” Paimon said. “Paimon’s never seen him so weak…”

“Weak…,” Lumine echoed. 

Of course. 

Childe was a member of the Fatui. A Harbinger. A deadly fighter. Someone who used a bow despite it being his weakest weapon. 

He would never accept help like this, not when it made him feel weak. 

Lumine groaned in frustration. Stupid, stupid man. She continued on the path, picking up her pace to try and catch up to him. 

Except he was nowhere to be seen. The cold set into her body a little more. 

“Childe?” she called out. She ran down the path, eyes scanning every inch of the snowy road and fields. Then—

“Lumine, look!” Paimon shouted, speeding over to Childe’s body laying in the snow. 

The blonde traveler quickly scrambled to his side, flipping him over so his face wasn’t buried in the snow. He was drained of color, and his body felt ice cold. There was barely air leaving his nose. 

“Childe!” she called, shaking him. Wake up; please, wake up! 

He didn’t move. Lumine cursed. 

“What should we do?” Paimon asked frantically. 

Lumine took a deep breath in, then took off her own coat and scarf, placing it on Childe’s shoulders. She shuddered as the winter air nipped at her skin. 

“Now you’re gonna freeze to death!”

“It’s okay, Paimon,” she said, beginning to pick up the unconscious man. “We need to find somewhere to stop and start a fire.”

Paimon nodded worriedly, trying to (unsuccessfully) help Lumine shoulder Childe. The traveler eventually had his arm slung across her shoulders, and her arm gripped his waist. 

The three shuffled down the path, searching for any sort of shelter or firewood. As time went on, Lumine felt colder and colder, her whole body beginning to ache under the weight of Childe. Every so often, she would call out his name, hoping to hear a response, but there was nothing. 

As she crested the top of the hill, she spotted a tiny cabin at the base. Her ragged breath became concentrated as she mustered up the last of her energy to drag Childe there. 

“Almost...there…,” she strained out. No response. 

“Come on! You can do it!” Paimon cheered, though her scared expression betrayed her positivity. 

Lumine was mere feet away from the door when she heard a familiar high pitched and distorted laughter ring out behind her. 

An Abyss Mage! 

She turned to see it prancing around in its bubble, icicles swirling around it. 

Great, a Cryo Mage at that.

She set Childe down gently, then drew her sword. The blade shook in her hand, her teeth chattering. And she still felt winded. But I have to protect us. 

“Try to wake him up,” she told Paimon. The tiny fairy nodded and started tapping his shoulder.

Lumine charged the mage. Her blade scraped against the frozen barrier. She slashed frantically, making miniscule scratches. Around her, icicles fell as the mage chanted spell after spell. It took all of her will to continuously dodge the attacks. Charging enough energy, she unleashed a Palm Vortex. The shield cracked considerably. 

I can do this. She leapt at the mage, striking a few times, then casted a Gust Surge. The bubble crackled. A few more hits and the shield will be down. Then, it’ll be a piece of cake. 

She started concentrating, trying to summon another Palm Vortex, when an icicle came unexpectedly from the side, slamming into her. She crumpled to the ground. 

Nononono. She tried to get up, arms shaking, fighting the exhaustion in her body. 

The sinister laughter drew closer as the mage floated towards her. It raised its staff, ready to deliver the finishing blow.

“Hey!” 

Lumine looked past the mage. 

There stood Childe, hunched over, gripping his side, but standing. She almost cried out in relief. 

The mage made noises of anger, blinking away, then reappearing closer to Childe. 

The Harbinger raised his hand, droplets forming from his palm. 

No, Childe wait—! His Hydro elements didn’t stand a chance in this battle. 

The beginnings of his spear formed. But then, the water quickly crystallized, turning into shards of ice, and dropping to the ground. Childe winced painfully. 

Lumine jumped up on her feet, her energy renewed, and raced towards the mage. 

The mage raised its staff again, forming a huge icicle above Childe. He wouldn’t have enough time to move, especially in his condition. The shard started falling. 

“Childe!” Lumine screamed. 

He closed his eyes. The mask sitting atop his head began to glow. It crackled with purple electricity, and spiraled out, creating a barrier. The large icicle shattered on impact. The mage shrieked in confusion. 

Lumine took the distraction, and destroyed the Abyss Mage’s shield, then stabbed its critical point: right through its head. It vanished into the air. 

“Good job...traveler…,” Childe said between heavy breaths. His voice sounded distorted, his eyes and expression darker than before. The electro-shield came down, and Lumine watched as he fell to his knees, before rushing over, and catching him before he fell down completely.

She felt his forehead on her bare shoulder. “You’re burning up,” she whispered. 

He laughed weakly, before descending into coughs. “I hate to say it, but I think you were right,” he murmured. 

She saw Paimon opening the door to the cabin. “Okay, c’mon, we only have a little bit to go, then we can rest.” She felt him nod. 

When the three finally got into the cabin, Lumine laid Childe down, folding their scarves to make a pillow, and covering him with their coats. Paimon helped carry some pieces of wood to her, and soon a small fire was started. The guide disappeared back into her world to let Lumine rest. 

Lumine finally let out a sigh of relief. She looked over Childe, making sure he didn’t have any injuries she didn’t notice before. Her eyes fell on his mask, the mask that created the electro-shield earlier. 

Two elements? That shouldn’t be possible. Was he different, like her? Not of this world? There was certainly something dark about the mask, lurking beneath the surface. 

She reached for the mask. Childe’s hand weakly sprung up, catching her before she could touch it. His eyes were still closed.

“Now, now, we don’t touch things that aren’t ours—isn’t that right, girlie?” he teased quietly. His voice was hoarse, strained. 

“Even on the verge of death, you love teasing me,” Lumine responded. He still hadn’t let go of her wrist. “And anyways, I dragged you all the way here. You could at least tell me what that thing is.” 

He opened his eyes, narrowly. “Sorry, sweetheart, Fatui secret.” Lumine tried pulling her wrist away, but he held onto it, then shifted it so he was holding her hand. “Thank you, Lumine.” 

She blushed. “I couldn’t just leave you out there to die.” She looked at their intertwined hands. “Why did you take this mission anyways? You know it’s dangerous during the Cryo months for a Hydro user like you.” 

There was a long pause of silence. She almost thought he had fallen asleep. 

“It was for Mondstadt,” he finally replied. “I knew you would be here.”

She was feeling warm. Too warm. Is it the fire? Am I getting sick too?

“You should get some sleep. You’ll feel better when you wake up,” she said, completely avoiding what he said. He nodded and closed his eyes, a faint smile on his lips. 

Lumine observed his sleeping face, how harmless he seemed right now. None of his antics. None of the mystery surrounding him. None of that lurking darkness. Just a sick, lonely boy. A sick, lonely boy completely vulnerable to the world. 

She started to get up, maybe to go cook some stew for him, but to her surprise, Childe held tightly to her hand. 

“Stay,” he said, hazily. His eyelids were fluttering, like he was struggling to open them. 

“...Okay.” Tired herself, she laid down next to him, tucking herself under the coats as well, glad for the warmth. 

He pulled her closer, letting go of her hand, and instead wrapped his arms around her waist, tucking his head under her chin, like he was listening to her heartbeat—a heartbeat that was surely beating way too fast right now. This sickness is making him delusional…

She was about to start protesting when he started speaking. 

“No one ever stays,” Childe whispered. It had been no louder than a small leaf rustling in the nighttime wind; Lumine might not have heard it if she wasn’t listening. Her heart broke a little. 

She wrapped her arms tightly around him. You’re not alone.

“I’m here,” she whispered back. “I’m right here.”

[homoose]

Through the Smoke

Request: could you do spencer x bau reader where they aren't dating yet but they both feel for each other? where both spencer and reader are very closed off people and the whole team knows that. but after one rough case on the flight back, they're both just exhausted mentally and physically and seek comfort in each other. then spend the night at reader's apartment and kiss for the first time there. sorry if this is specific but thank you (:

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: angst with a happy ending

Warnings/Includes: typical CM stuff, cults, kidnapping, violence, etc.

Word count: 8.1k

Music recs: Through the Fire by Jake Etheridge and Margot Todd; scared by Jeremy Zucker

a/n: anon, I have no idea if this is what you were looking for, but this is where it went. It’s a generous rewrite of 300, substituting the reader for Garcia. Also this blog operates with the understanding that the season 14 jeid arc does not exist lmao. JJ is firmly in the “I love you as a brother” camp and I will not be taking questions at this time. Also, this is a reminder that my requests are open! send me some fresh ideas, head cannons, rambles, whatever! 

———

“Metro PD and the Bureau have been made aware of the Believers and possible activity following their leader’s arrest,” Prentiss confirmed, looking out over the team mingling in the bullpen. “But taking Theo at his word—”

“We only arrested three. There’s probably more out there, but if they follow cult dynamics, they’ll break down on their own without the messiah,” Matt finished.

“Typical cults: you think it’s a cast of thousands when really it’s just four whackos sitting around in the dark,” Tara mused.

Prentiss smiled. “I think we deserve some decompression time, and Rossi’s kind enough to host.”

Rossi leaned over the railing and nodded. “And I have some top shelf wine picked just for the occasion.”

The team started gathering their belongings and heading towards the elevators. Y/N hesitated, looking toward the case file still sitting on her desk. Something about how this had all wrapped up just… didn’t sit right. Her nearly five years with the Critical Incident Response Group had given her an up close view of some of the most prolific cults in American history. She’d studied Jonestown, Waco, Ruby Ridge, Liberty Ranch; new cults emerged onto CIRG’s radar regularly. And there was something about The Believers that just didn’t add up.

Y/N began shuffling things around on her desk, trying to look busy. She caught Spencer and JJ out of the corner of her eye, talking quietly. They ended their conversation with a hug, lingering just a little longer than Y/N would have preferred. She shook her head to try to physically clear the thought from her brain. She knew that Spencer had been through a lifetime’s worth of trauma before she joined the team, and that JJ had been an integral support for him. Y/N was also aware that she had zero grounds to be concerned with any of Spencer’s relationships, romantic or otherwise.

“Y/N, you coming?” JJ asked, walking toward her desk. Spencer headed out of the bullpen and down the hall.

Y/N gave her a half-hearted smile. “Yeah, I’ll be there in a little bit. Just wanted to finish up a couple things here.”

“Well, don’t stay too late.” JJ pressed her lips together for a moment before adding, “Maybe you and Spence could drive together. He said he might not make it, but if he had some company...”

Y/N hoped her immediate flush wasn’t too obvious. After nearly a year in the unit, she finally felt like she had built some solid relationships with the team, and Spencer was no exception. She relished their card games on the jet, the laughs over too-sweet coffee, discussions about books and films and music. But she also adored the way his hair sometimes curled and fell into his eyes, his animated and rambling tangents, the way his hands traced over the tiny print of his books. Most of her adult life had been spent surrounded by men who would gather up her trust in their pitted hands and crush it on a whim. She’d kept her heart behind glass for a long while, but Spencer was slowly chipping away at the fragile panels. She was certain he had no idea that he was even holding the chisel; but just about everyone else seemed to have figured it out. JJ, with her hands clasped together and an eager smile, definitely had. Y/N smiled, too. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“So we’ll see you in a bit?” When Y/N nodded, JJ gave her a warm smile and headed out.

Turning back to the case file, Y/N pressed her fingers to her temple and looked over the documents. Some of the pieces fit together, but the whole case felt littered with gaps and holes. The tale that Theo had woven about The Believers seemed true enough— his parents were simply the suppliers of potential cult members. Although, she still couldn’t figure out the reason for the kidnapping and torture. There were much easier ways to recruit vulnerable people.

She flipped past the pages of written statements and read over the report from the warehouse raid. It was short— the take down of Merva was too easy. Why was he sitting alone in an empty warehouse with only two unarmed, sleeping followers as a defense? Where was the rest of the cult? Matt was correct that most cults fall apart without their leader; unless the loss of a leader was a possibility they’d already prepared for.

The burns on Quinn’s hands didn’t make sense, either. Why use the initiation ritual as a torture device? Shouldn’t that be saved for people who had accepted the invitation? And then there was the one coincidence that nagged at her the most: what were the chances that Theo just happened to be enrolled in Spencer's course? Why did Spencer seem to be at the center of the whole thing?

Y/N sighed as her phone lit up with a message from JJ. She realized she’d been poring over the file for twenty-five minutes, and she had to laugh. As the least experienced profiler on the team, what could she possibly see that the others hadn’t? She closed the case file and quickly packed up, grabbing her jacket and bag and making her way toward the elevator lobby. She paused at the glass doors, retrieving her phone and pulling up Spencer’s contact information. Her thumb hovered over the call button for a long moment before she huffed out a breath. If even JJ hadn’t been able to convince him to go, there was no way she’d be able to change his mind. Despite herself, she glanced down the hall, allowing herself one moment to imagine an alternate timeline where she asked him to come along with her— to Rossi’s, to the moon, anywhere.

With a sigh, Y/N pushed open the glass doors and saw Agent Meadows leading Quinn to the elevator. She pushed down the little red flag in the back of her mind. As she stepped onto the elevator, she smiled politely at the two agents.

“I knew you didn’t do it. I just knew,” Meadows said to Quinn. She turned to Y/N. “And I can’t tell you what a privilege it’s been working with the A-Team on this case.”

Something about the calm in her voice made Y/N uneasy. “Yeah, it’s— um. It’s a great team to be a part of.” Her phone lit up again, this time with a phone call from JJ. “Okay, okay,” she muttered under her breath. Y/N answered the call, half an ear still listening to Meadows speak to Quinn. “Hey, I’m just leaving now.”

“Are you still at the BAU?” JJ demanded, voice low.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry. But I’m in the elevator,” Y/N answered.

“Listen, we’re pretty sure Quinn was converted,” JJ told her. Y/N’s heart dropped into her shoes. “I need you to make sure he doesn’t leave that building. We’re coming back now. Where’s Spence?”

Y/N took a breath to try to even out her voice before speaking again. “Mom, we already talked about this. I don’t know.”

JJ paused. “Is Quinn in the elevator with you?”

“Yep.” JJ spoke quietly to someone on the other end of the phone. Y/N watched as the elevator dinged to the floor of the parking garage. “I’m going to have to hang up, mom. I’m gonna lose you, but I’ll try to take care of it tonight, okay?”

“Y/N, we’re on our—” The call dropped as the elevator hit the basement level.

Y/N took a deep breath to steady her voice. “Ugh, lost her.” She glanced at Meadows and Quinn, forced a smile and shrugged. “Elevators, right?”

The elevator doors began to open and Y/N stepped out, surreptitiously reaching for her holster. She had just lifted the strap when she heard the crack of metal hitting bone. Her face hit the concrete before she realized it was her own skull that bore the impact. She watched as her gun skidded across the parking lot floor, the taste of iron flooding her mouth. “Fuck,” she muttered, wincing in pain and scrambling up off the ground as a gunshot went off.

She didn’t feel the impact of the bullet. She looked down at her body, expecting to see a blooming rose of blood. She stared dumbly for a second too long, before remembering that she needed to get to her gun. Her hand instinctively went to her nose as she stumbled forward, coming away wet with blood.

“Stop, Agent Y/L/N.”

She heard the sound of a gun cocking, and then another. She closed her eyes and ran through an internal stream of curses. Raising her hands up, she turned slowly around. An older white man stood to her left, his gun trained on her. Meadows walked slowly towards her, lowering her own weapon. Quinn leaned against the back of the elevator, clutching his abdomen and blood staining the front of his shirt.

“Surprise,” Meadows sang, a sick smile spreading across her face. She stopped in front of Y/N, sweeping her hand in the direction of the man. “Now, John’s going to make sure you don’t do anything stupid. Get in the car.”

Y/N glanced in the direction of the vehicle, a dark sedan, driver armed to the teeth as well. “The team knows something’s up. You won’t make it out of this garage alive.”

Meadows laughed, loud and unhinged. “Oh honey. They’re not looking for lil ol’ me. And they sure as hell won’t be looking for an ambulance.” Her smile returned. “Plus, I already erased 299 murders from the Bureau’s radar. What’s a couple more? Now, shut up... and get in the car.”

Y/N moved to the open car door, keeping her back as straight as possible and her chin up, refusing to show them any cowardice. The barrel of the gun jabbed her in the back as she lowered herself into the vehicle. The door slammed shut, and in a moment, the gun was back on her, the man sitting next to her in the backseat. Y/N waited for the car to pull out, still trying to make sense of it all. Meadows was a Believer? What did she mean by “erased” 299 murders? Why would she blow her cover to shoot Quinn? Did she think that he had figured her out? Or that Y/N had? If that was the case, why not just shoot her? Why wasn’t the car moving?

“Drop your gun, Agent Reid,” Meadows’ muffled voice penetrated the inside of the vehicle. Y/N’s heart began to race. John dug the gun further into her side.

“It’s been you the whole time,” Spencer deduced.

“Yes, it was. Quinn somehow figured it out first. Pity having to shoot him,” Meadows mocked. “But he can’t give me what I want. And you can.”

“What’s that?” Y/N’s brain scrambled to put the pieces together as she listened to the exchange. Spencer was at the heart of it after all. It was right there, she just couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

Meadows continued, “You and I are going to go upstairs and free my Messiah.”

“You’re in the heart of the FBI. As soon as the rest of my team figures out it’s you, you’ll be dead before you’re out the door.” Y/N hoped to god that he was right.

“Then we need to work quickly.”

“I’m not going to cooperate with you,” Spencer told her. “Might as well shoot me.” Y/N didn’t even have time to panic before the car shifted into drive.

“I have a better idea.” On Meadows’ cue, the driver squealed out of the parking space and into Spencer’s line of sight. His eyes fell on Y/N, hands nearly pressed against the window, John’s gun pointed at her head. “Now, what’s it gonna be? Because you can either join us, or she dies.”

Y/N tried to radiate her rage through her eyes and screamed, “Reid, just shoot her! Shoot her!” The last thing she saw before the second crack of steel against her skull was the hesitation in Spencer’s eyes.

⧭⧭⧭

Y/N’s eyes fluttered open and she groaned at the pounding of her head, the rhythm of her heartbeat throbbing in the space behind her ears. She tried to lift her hand to check for blood, only to strain against the hold of a zip tie attached to the base of the chair. Instead, she surveyed the room around her. A warehouse, lots of shipping containers, and even more men— this time armed with assault rifles and machine guns. One stood at the entrance point of the small area she was being kept in.

She worked through her memory, putting the pieces together. Meadows was a Believer, had been for quite some time to pull all of this off. Quinn wasn’t special, he just got in the way of her real target. Ben Merva might have been the messiah, but Spencer Reid was clearly just as important to whatever mission they were carrying out. Every twisting thread of information somehow traced back to him: Theo in his class, Quinn’s attachment to him, Meadows’ demand that he be the one to free Merva.

“Good, you’re awake.” Meadows strode through the space with a laptop in hand. “I need your handiwork.”

Y/N stared at her. “Is that so?’

Meadows set the laptop on the barrel in front of Y/N and then leaned down to cut the zip tie. “Besides being my collateral for the good doctor, you’re also going to help me access CIRG’s surveillance data.”

“Fuck you.” Y/N spat on Meadows’ shoes. “I’m doing nothing for you.” Her head rolled back, eyes piercing daggers into Meadows. “You should just kill me now, because this is a waste of your time. And I’m sure you know the A-Team isn’t going to waste theirs.”

Meadows narrowed her eyes and gave a theatrical sigh. “I should’ve known you’d make this difficult.” She nodded to John, standing at the entranceway.

Y/N spat again, this time to rid her mouth of the taste of blood. She steeled herself for the next onslaught, compartmentalizing every emotion outside of her fury. Her mind raced to salvage and scrutinize the memories from her time in CIRG, trying desperately to identify what Meadows could be looking for in the surveillance reports. The Believers hadn’t even been on the Bureau’s radar. The reason had to be linked to their interest in Spencer… a piece of information that involved both Spencer Reid and the existing surveillance data. A single grain that could bring the whole damn bushel down.

She heard a scuffle at the entrance of the room and raised her head. Her heart jumped into her throat at the sight of Spencer, bloodied and bruised. John dragged him into the room, throwing him down onto his knees in front of Y/N. His eyes tracked over her face and clouded over with an emotion she couldn’t quite place.

“Shit, Reid—”

“I’m fine—I’m sure it looks worse than it is,” he murmured. The concern in his eyes told Y/N she looked about as bad as she felt. “Are you all right?”

“I should’ve seen it. I should’ve known—”

“No,” Spencer interrupted. “This isn’t your fault. We all missed it.”

“What’s the end game here?” Y/N asked. “What’re they doing?”

“I’m going to be their last victim.” Spencer shook his head, barely able to keep himself upright. “I don’t know why, but I overheard them. There have been hundreds.”

Meadows stepped up behind Spencer, grinning at Y/N. “Have you changed your mind? I sure hope you have.” She raised her gun to his head. “Because if you don’t do what I want, I’ll blow his big, beautiful brains out.”

Spencer locked eyes with Y/N. She held his gaze for a moment, then tilted her head slightly as the gears started turning. The tie between Spencer and Benjamin was where it all unraveled. “No, I don’t think you will.”

Meadows’ grin faltered for less than a second, but it was long enough that Y/N knew she was right. “Is that right?” Meadows questioned.

“Yeah, it is.” She furrowed her brow, and Spencer looked at her. “You need him, don’t you? Alive.” Meadows’ tongue darted out to wet her lips, and Y/N was sure. “Because this isn’t just about Benjamin Merva. It’s about Benjamin Cyrus. It’s about Liberty Ranch.”

Meadows held her gaze for five seconds, then ten seconds. Y/N raised her chin, refusing to be the one to blink first. Meadows shifted the trajectory of her gun a foot to her right and fired off one shot. The breeze from the bullet shifted Y/N’s hair.

“You have two minutes to decide,” Meadows advised. The phone in her hand began ringing. “The next one won’t miss.” She answered the phone and stepped out.

Spencer spoke quickly. “Do whatever she’s asking. We have to get you out of here.”

“Reid, are your eyes broken?” Y/N snapped. “There’s a cult loyalist with a machine gun every five feet. You got a plan for that?”

“Listen to me.” His voice was calm, determined. “You’re right about them wanting me alive.”

The frustration bled through Y/N’s voice. “You should have just shot her.”

He shook his head. “I couldn’t do that.”

“You could’ve shot all three of them and ended this in the garage,” Y/N argued.

“And then I would have watched you die,” he said quietly. “That was never even an option.”

“I’m failing to see how that would have been any worse than this. Look at us.” She gestured wildly between them. She watched as the storm of emotion returned, a cyclone swirling in seas of gold and brown. “The team needs you. Spencer, I—” I need you. She reached a hand up, almost touching his face before dropping it back in her lap. He had found the chink in her carefully constructed armor; a fissure he’d fractured a little further with every smile, every look, every moment. All at once she knew she’d never be able to keep him out, no matter how much it might hurt.

“You’ve got one minute,” Meadows barked, hovering over them.

“Y/L/N, listen to me… Please...” Spencer’s voice was thick with tears. “Tell my mom—” The phone rang again, and Meadows stepped away to answer it. Spencer dropped to a whisper. His eyes flashed with urgency. “They’re taking me and Theo. We’ll distract them. The car we were in is right outside the door. We’re 18 minutes from Quantico. Turn left outside the parking lot, take a right at the light, you’ll recognize the rest. They stay off the highways.”

Y/N’s voice was frantic when she asked, “What about you?”

His eyes pleaded with her to respect what he was asking her to do. “I’ll delay them. Get the rest of the team back here. And do not worry about me.” John hauled up him off the floor.

“Time’s up.” Meadows, in a rare display of mercy, allowed them a hug.

Spencer leaned into her and Y/N wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She squeezed as hard as she could and whispered his name. She felt him take a deep breath into her hair, holding it for one impossibly long moment. Just before she released her hold on him, he mumbled, “It’s all happening. 10:23.” John dragged him back out the way they’d came.

“I gave you what you wanted.” Meadows ordered, “Get to it. Now.”

⧭⧭⧭

Y/N worked and waited, then watched and worried. Spencer spoke to Meadows. He was stalling her, offering a deal, boosting her ego, granting Y/N the opportunity to mentally prepare. But no matter how much time he gave her, she would never be prepared to leave him in that warehouse. He met her eyes across the movements of the operation and gave her an imperceptible nod before lunging forward to reach for John’s gun.

Chaos exploded throughout the warehouse. Theo ran in one direction, accosted by half a dozen Believers. Spencer and John tussled over the gun, one fighting for control and the other fighting the inevitable. Y/N sprinted, largely unnoticed, toward the huge sliding doors left slightly ajar. Bursting out into the night air, she immediately spotted one of the black sedans, unbelievably unlocked and with the keys in the ignition. She slammed the door behind her, turned the key, hesitated with her eyes on the door and her mind on Spencer for one moment too long. A single gunshot sounded from inside the warehouse.

Meadows raced out of the doorway, gun drawn. “Stop!” She pointed her gun at Y/N and there was nothing to do but step on the gas. Y/N had her eyes wide open as Meadows bounced off the windshield and onto the asphalt. She didn’t look back.

She drove. Left out of the parking lot. Just a dark, rural road—nothing particularly special or descript. She drove. Right at the stoplight. Then it was, just as Spencer said, familiar terrain. She wondered how it was possible to have seemed so far away— a world away— when it was right under their proverbial nose. She drove.

Her brain navigated of its own volition. Her mind couldn’t have been farther from the inside of the vehicle. She didn’t realize she’d arrived at the Bureau until she was attempting to pull into her usual parking spot, only to be met with her own abandoned car.

She turned the car off, left the keys in the ignition, and nearly floated out into the garage; up the elevator; across the cold floors of the lobby. Her body had walked this same path so many times before; it carried her without hesitation. She could hear the voices of the team, drifting through the open glass doors.

“She accepted their help knowing she would betray the government,” Tara deduced.

“Not every survivor wanted help,” JJ clarified.

Rossi continued, “We ran those who left the ranch and kept their names. A few relocated in rural Maryland and Virginia.”

“They could be helping now,” Luke suggested. “Any of them have large pieces of property?”

“A few,” Emily confirmed. Y/N turned the corner as she continued, “The Washington field office has started searches in Maryland. We’ll take the lead in Virginia.”

As she moved into the doorway, JJ’s eyes went wide and she rushed to Y/N’s side. “Oh my god, are you hurt?” She gently grabbed Y/N by the shoulders.

“It’s a warehouse in Hillcrest,” Y/N said flatly, eyes unfocused. “I can take you there, but we have to hurry. They hurt Reid; he looked— bad. He told me to r-run and take the car, but he’s still there.” Everyone headed for the doors except JJ and Garcia. “They won’t be there long, they have lots of trucks.” Y/N’s eyes locked on JJ, and for the first time since the whole ordeal started, she allowed herself to splinter, just a little. “I heard a gunshot. JJ, I heard a gunshot. I tried—”

“Shh, it’s okay,” JJ nodded, drawing her into a hug. “I know. I know you tr—”

“I left him there.” Her voice broke, but she couldn’t cry. Not yet. “I couldn’t get him. There was no way to save hi—”

“Stop,” JJ ordered, pulling out of the hug. “Y/N, look at me. You got out, you got back to us. If you hadn’t, we wouldn’t even know about the warehouse.”

“What if— what if I got him killed?” Y/N asked.

“You didn’t get anyone killed. Spence knew what he was doing.” JJ’s voice softened. “That’s what he does. He always figures things out before the rest of us. He has a plan and getting you back to Quantico was part of it.” She raised her eyebrows, making sure Y/N was listening. “And now we have to help him by putting the rest of it together.”

Y/N ran a hand over her face. “You’re right. Of course, you’re right.”

Garcia stepped forward and laid a hand on her arm. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Then we’ll get Reid back.”

They cleaned the blood from her face and hair as best they could in the bathroom sink. JJ patched up the lacerations with steri-strips. Back in the conference room, Garcia insisted she should get screened for a concussion as Y/N rubbed the knot on the back of her head. “There’s no time. Reid said, ‘It’s all happening. 10:23.’”

“But it’s past that,” JJ considered.

“So what did he mean?” Garcia asked.

“Could be a clue here.” Rossi's voice came over the speakerphone from inside the warehouse. “They got sloppy since they left in a hurry.”

“Okay, well you can’t be that far behind them,” JJ insisted.

“I know,” Emily agreed. “But there’s easy access to three major highways, and we don’t know which way they went.”

“Right, but they’re in tractor trailers. That means we can track them through weigh stations.”

“Garcia?” Emily prompted.

“In order to do that, I’d need the transponder identification numbers,” Garcia answered.

“Which we have no way of knowing,” Rossi sighed. “Everything they used was almost definitely forged.”

“We’re going to do another sweep here, and then we’ll head back,” Emily said. “Try to map out the most likely routes they’d use to get out of dodge.”

JJ hung up and looked to Y/N. “What do you remember about the warehouse?”

Y/N pressed her fingers into her temples. “It was full of supplies. They were disguising them, but they had stockpiles of weapons and ammunition; non-perishables and other food items; water. Enough to be off the grid for at least a year.” Y/N leaned back in her chair. “But it wasn’t just about The Believers. I mean, we know they’re a reincarnation of the Separatarian Sect.” She looked at JJ and Garcia. “It was more than that, though. Reid was at the center of everything; he was the target all along. Merva is the messiah, but it somehow all comes back to Spence.”

“Makes sense. They blame him for the downfall of the Sect,” JJ supplied.

“Yeah.” Y/N cracked her knuckles. “But—and I can’t—I can’t really explain it, but Meadows really wanted to kill Reid right then. She was— she was irritated, more than anything else.”

“So what stopped her?” Garcia asked.

“That’s what I can’t figure out. She threatened me with it, with ‘blowing his brains out,’ but I— called her bluff. And she was pissed.” Y/N rapped her knuckles on the table. “I mean, really, really furious. Which tells me that, even though she wanted to,  she couldn’t kill him.” She looked between the two of them. “Merva was pulling the strings, and he wouldn’t let her do it there.”

“So it matters where the final sacrifice takes place,” JJ concluded. “We’ve got to figure out where they’re going.”

⧭⧭⧭

They’d been rehashing the details over and over. Liberty Ranch, The Strangler investigation, The Believers, Meadows, Merva, Cyrus, 300 victims, the hyoid bones, all of it. About the only thing they knew for sure was how far the cult could get in the trucks. Spencer could have told them the exact square mileage, but the potential geographical range of the trucks was dauntingly large. Y/N tried not to panic as she stared at the map.

“If this is about a Believer's rebirth, babies are born with 300 bones,” JJ said. “And they’re taking the hyoids.”

“And the hyoids we had in evidence are missing, which means Merva needed them back,” Tara reasoned. “And that means they mean more to the end game than we thought.”

Y/N felt her patience waning. “But why did Reid need us to know it all happens at 10:23?” Y/N hated that her voice sounded snappy and desperate. “That’s got to be important. It’s the last thing he said to me.”

Matt put his hand on her shoulder. “Listen, you’re right. It means something to him. We’re trying to figure it out.”

“Yeah, well, we better figure it out soon.” Y/N shrugged off his hand, pushed back from her seat at the conference room table, and turned for the door. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. Every minute they spent floating ideas was another mile between them and Spencer. Another moment closer to losing him. She shoved the bathroom door open, hurrying into the stall and emptying the contents of her stomach.

She slumped back against the side of the stall, head gently knocking into the cool metal. She needed to pull herself together. The team was always strongest when they did their group think sessions, building upon each other’s knowledge and perspectives and filling in the gaps. If they’d done more of that earlier— if she’d had the confidence to call it out as soon as she saw the holes, Spencer might not be locked in the back of a truck, hundreds of miles away.

Y/N hoisted herself off the ground and out of the stall. She braced her hands on the counter top and tried to breathe evenly. She turned on the water and splashed her face, tapping against her cheeks. With water dripping down the planes of her face, she stared herself down in the mirror, willing her tired brain to make that last connection, to find that missing thread. It was all about the Benjamins, and she had a feeling that Cyrus was the key.

Y/N rolled her shoulders back and made her way to the conference room. She listened to their rotating conversation, knowing that this team was the only group of people capable of getting Spencer back alive.

“We have confirmation that there’s been no activity in or around the old ranch,” Matt informed them, pocketing his phone.

“If this is about rebirth, they’ll choose a new place,” Luke posited, arms crossed.

Tara leaned over the table. “Given their adoration of Cyrus and his love for the country, he’d want them to stay within our borders.”

“But Benjamin Cyrus wasn’t his real name, and he wasn’t born into the Sect,” Y/N reminded them quietly. Everyone turned to look at her. She gave an apology grimace to Matt. He just shrugged and smiled, motioning her over to the table.

Garcia nodded. “Right, let’s see. Uh, he and his mom arrived there when he was a teenager. He was kicked out for molesting girls. And then he served time in prison in Kentucky.”

“And that’s where he found religion,” Y/N recalled, thinking back to the report she’d studied dozens of times. “So he was reborn as Benjamin Cyrus in Kentucky.” She closed her eyes and flipped through her mental file cabinet, looking for 10:23.

“That’s within the area,” Garcia confirmed. “Maybe that’s where they’re headed?”

“Find out what city he was born in or where he was in prison,” Luke said. “We’ll spread out from there.”

“He found religion,” Y/N repeated, mostly to herself. “Chapter ten, verse twenty-three. 10:23 isn’t a time.” Y/N shook her head and then dragged her hand through her hair. “It’s scripture.”

“Let’s get in the air; we can narrow down which verse and city before we land,” Emily instructed.

⧭⧭⧭

“We’re approaching Kentucky; the pilot needs to know where to touch down,” Rossi informed them.

The team was scattered throughout the jet, scrolling through scripture on their tablets, reading out verses. Y/N held her chin in her hand, eyes unfocused, dragging a net along the furthest corners of her mind.

“Hey guys, listen to this,” JJ said. “Matthew chapter ten, verse twenty-three: ‘When you are persecuted in one place, flee to another.’”

“They’re going to the next town,” Emily said.

“Flee to the next town. But which one?” asked Garcia.

“Their end game is also a new beginning,” Rossi explained. “Cyrus brought religion back to the cult. They’d honor that by wanting to start fresh.”

Y/N raised her head. “Like the Garden of Eden.”

“That’s how 300 fits,” Tara concluded. “That was the number of angels that protected the Garden of Eden. Are there any Edens in Kentucky?”

The sound of Garcia tapping across the keyboard came through the laptop. “Um, no, but there are two synonyms: Canaan and Arcadia.”

“Cyrus is the original messiah. Which one is closer to where he was born?” Y/N asked.

“Arcadia,” Garcia informed them.

Y/N stood up. “That’s where they’re going.”

“Garcia, pull land deeds. I’ll notify SWAT,” Emily instructed.

JJ grabbed Y/N’s hand. “We’re going to get him.”

Y/N met her eyes. “I just hope we’re not too late.”

⧭⧭⧭

The new compound proved easy to find. In the middle of nowhere but illuminated by hundreds of lights, there were rows and rows of tents. The team began strategizing, looking for the best route to Spencer.

Emily tried to convince Y/N, now showing clear concussion symptoms, to stay with the SUVs.

“With all due respect, there is no way in hell that I’m going to sit in this car while Reid gets sacrificed by a homicidal cult leader,” Y/N said. There was a hushed pause, the team exchanging knowing glances.

“Fair enough,” Emily conceded. “Matt and JJ, I want you on the left side. Luke and Tara, the right. Dave and Y/N, you’re with me. We’re clearing every tent; eliminate any threat that would give away your position.” She unholstered her gun and swept her eyes across the team. “Our objective is to extract Reid with minimal loss.”

As they approached the first line of tents, Y/N could faintly hear Spencer speaking. “To everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven.” Her heart hammered against her ribcage. “A time to be born and a time to die.” She could feel the blood rushing through her ears. “A time to weep and a time to pluck up that which has been planted.”

“Okay, he’s stalling,” Meadows snapped. “That’s enough!”

“All right. Let the sacrifice begin.” That was Merva now, riling up the followers. “Protect us from all harm.”

As Merva led The Believers in a monotone chant, Y/N tried to block it out. She scanned a tent, watched as SWAT took out a bodyguard, looked for Spencer. Rinse and repeat, again and again. It was taking too long.

“And we thank Our Guardian, who will protect this family now and always,” Merva’s voice rang out. “Spencer: keeper of provisions!” Y/N saw the gathering of followers, but she couldn’t see Spencer.

The SWAT commander stopped them. They had reached the final line of tents. He signaled to the leaders on each side. They were ready to strike.

Y/N’s eyes scanned the crowd. She could just barely make out some sort of hanging mobile, white u-shaped decorations suspended from string. The hyoids, she realized, a wave of nausea hitting her like a truck.

Merva continued, “You have given selflessly to others and will be rewarded by the highest honor we could bestow. Your blood will be our blood. Your life will fuel ours.”

A gunshot rang out. The followers gasped. There was a split second of calm before the bedlam. Y/N took a single breath. Then she heard Matt yell; saw John lift his rifle and be felled by a solo shot to the head; watched Luke take down another bodyguard directly after.

And then she saw him. Strapped down under a canopy of bones, Spencer was silent and unmoving. He didn’t struggle. He didn’t call out. And there was Merva, knife in hand— still trying to complete his mission.

She didn’t vacillate, barely breathed, just let her legs carry her forward. She heard Emily call out his name. When Merva turned, the curved blade of the knife poised at the column of Spencer's throat, Y/N’s trigger finger compressed. She felt the gun recoil, felt the force of the shot travel up her arm as she put a single bullet in his chest. As he fell, she didn’t stop, just stepped over him, knew one of the others would take care of it.

She tripped over the small platform Spencer was restrained on, stumbling and holstering her gun. Her hands moved over the straps, loosening the one over his waist, then the ones at his hands, finally pushing the leather from his head. He panted and muttered his thanks, but she didn’t dare speak, afraid that if she did, she’d never be able to stop. Instead, she flung her arms over his shoulders, pulling him down and close and over her heart. She wondered if he could feel the way it pummeled against her chest, because to her it felt like it might smash through at any moment. His arms came around her, chin resting on her shoulder, nose in her hair. She heard him inhale and hold his breath, a mirror of that last moment together in the warehouse. She held onto him as an overboard sailor holds a life ring: single-minded, unrelenting, desperate.

There was a touch on her opposite shoulder and Y/N swung around, adrenaline still racing through her veins. JJ put her hand out in a placating motion, and Y/N came back to herself, allowing JJ to step forward and help Spencer off the platform. Y/N let out a breath and reached a hand out to steady herself, only to flinch when it brushed one of the straps that had held Spencer down. Luke caught her on one side, Tara on the other. She grasped at them, her emotions teetering right along with her physical form. Luke pulled her out from under the macabre canopy and into a hug. Tara held her hand. For the first time since the parking garage, she let herself go.

⧭⧭⧭

The jet was quiet. The team was spread out around the cabin, each of them lost in their own heads. There was a tranquility over the space, one that only ever happened when unmitigated relief overwhelmed even the joy or fulfillment of a life saved.

Y/N sat in one of the single seats, across the aisle from where Spencer was settled. Tara and Luke had finally convinced her to get checked out by the EMTs, who had confirmed her concussion. She convinced herself that the fuzziness on the corners of her vision was just a symptom of that, not a product of the tears she was struggling to hold back.  

The team each stopped by Spencer’s seat, patting his shoulder, squeezing his hand, or in Rossi’s case, gently ruffling his hair. They all spoke briefly in hushed, grateful tones. All except Y/N. She couldn’t formulate a sentence that seemed adequate. There was simultaneously too much and nothing to say. Everything felt contrived or insufficient or intemperate.

Spencer was safe. They hadn’t been too late. He was bruised and undoubtedly sore, but ultimately, he’d been through worse. So why was her heart still aching? Why couldn’t she catch her breath? She hadn’t spoken more than a few words since leaving the raid, so why did her throat feel like it was on fire? She closed her eyes, leaned her head back. She incessantly pressed her hands together, trying to crack her sore knuckles over and over again.

A pair of hands gently closed over her own, stopping the abuse, and she didn’t have to open her eyes to know who they belonged to. His thumbs stroked over the backs of her hands and she cursed the tears that spilled over her bottom lashes. He didn’t say anything, didn’t force her to look at him or acknowledge her shattering. He waited her out, rubbing a rhythm on her skin and steadying her without a word. She opened her eyes but couldn’t bring herself to look at him just yet. Instead she focused on their joined hands, reciprocating the gentle pulses he gave every so often.

She turned her head to wipe her wet cheeks on her shoulder as the landing announcement came over the cabin speaker. She did look at him then, and the emotion in his gaze left her feeling raw and exposed. Their hands reluctantly separated to buckle their seat belts. Y/N closed her eyes again, turning her face into the warmth of the early morning sun as the jet began its descent.

When they landed, everyone wearily shuffled off the plane, eager to get home to their beds. Penelope met them at the elevator, enveloping Spencer in a long hug, the rest of the team smiling at their embrace. They each moved through the bullpen, gathering their things and talking quietly. Y/N’s eyes paused on her bag, brought up from the parking garage by one of the team after she’d gone missing. They lingered for a long moment on the case file, still sitting where she’d left it hours ago, before she let herself let it go. She grabbed her bag and turned to see Spencer standing in the aisle, hands in his pockets and eyes fixed on her.

“Hey,” she said dumbly.

He smiled. “Hi.”

Her hands wrung the straps of her bag. “How—how’re you holding up?”

“I’ve been worse.” He shrugged. “How’s your head?”

“I’ve been worse,” she agreed.

“That’s good. Because I think after all that, the least you could do is give me a ride home,” he joked.

Y/N knew he was trying to reassure her that he was fine, but she couldn’t bring herself to laugh. If anything, his attempts to provide comfort made her feel worse. Because she couldn’t forget the sound of the gunshot at the warehouse, the sight of the knife at his throat, the feeling of nearly losing someone whom she knew she could love if she just had more time. Too exhausted to hide her emotions, she could tell by the change in Spencer’s eyes that the pain was apparent on her face.

“Actually, you probably shouldn’t be driving, even if it’s just a mild concussion. Where are your keys?”

“It’s fine. I’m all ri—” Y/N started.

“I know I phrased that as a question, but I’m not really asking.” He held out his hand.

Normally she would have argued, but she just didn’t have the energy. Y/N dug into her bag, fishing out the keys and dropping them into his hand. He closed his fingers around them and jerked his head toward the door. “Come on,” he murmured. He waved to the rest of the team, and Y/N nodded, avoiding their eyes.

The ride in the elevator was silent. The walk to the car, too. They were pulling out of the garage before Spencer finally broke the silence.

“You know this wasn’t your fault, right?” he asked. Y/N stayed quiet. “We all missed the connection to Liberty Ranch.”

“But I knew something was off, and I didn’t say anything. I— I almost came to find you before I left, and if I had just done that—”

“Y/N,” Spencer interrupted. “The plan was already in motion. Meadows and Merva would have just figured out another way to execute it.” His fingers tightened on the wheel. “And without you and the leads from the warehouse, the team might not have figured it out in time.”

Y/N opened her mouth before realizing she didn’t have a response. She didn’t even want to consider that possibility. She leaned her head against the window, pressing the thumb and fingers of one hand into her eyes to stave off the throbbing.

Graciously, Spencer let her remain in silence the rest of the ride to her apartment. There was so much to say, especially now; she didn’t know where to begin. And even after everything, she couldn’t stop herself from bringing up that wall— protecting herself from what she knew could hurt her more than any unsub.

They pulled onto her street, fairly empty at such an early hour. Spencer parked in front of her apartment, opening the car door and coming around the other side of the car. She expected him to give her the keys, but as she exited the car, he waited by the gate for her. “I’ll walk you up.”

Spencer opened the gate, allowing her to walk through before closing it behind them and following her up the sidewalk. “I need the keys,” she told him.

He shook his head as if to clear it. “Right, right.” He placed them into her outstretched hand, and she wondered if she imagined his fingers lingering over hers.

When they reached her door, she unlocked the deadbolt and swung the door open, stepping over the threshold. He waited outside, hands in his pockets. Y/N rolled her keys in her hand, and Spencer watched them.

“Um— thank you for—” Y/N started.

“I told Emily on the jet, and I’ll tell you now.” Spencer raised his eyes to meet hers. There was that look again, the one she couldn’t quite identify. “I’ve always had a hard time saying what I feel. And maybe sometimes it’s because I’m afraid of being disappointed. But sometimes it’s because the words I’m looking for don’t exist in the English language.”

“Spence—”

“Please just let me get this out,” he said. “There have been a couple moments over the past few months where I thought maybe we were sharing mamihlapinatapei.”

“Mamih what?” Y/N asked.

“Mamihlapinatapei.” He repeated, gesturing with his hands. “It’s a Yagan word that originates on the Tierra del Fuego archipelago off the southern tip of Argentina. It translates succinctly as ‘the wordless, meaningful look shared by two people who both desire to initiate something, but are both reluctant to do so.’”

“Oh.” Y/N felt a flush rising up in her cheeks.

Suddenly, Spencer couldn’t meet her eyes. “I, um—I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t want to do anything that would jeopardize our friendship or make things awkward at work. But last night, I… I just— I’ve had too many moments in my life where I thought it might be my last, and I hadn’t said all the things I needed to say.” He met her eyes again, and there was that familiar storm. “Last night I was out of time, and I hadn’t told you how I feel, and I realized that I wouldn’t get another chance, and it’s okay if you don’t feel the same, but I needed to—”

Y/N stepped forward, grabbed the front of his shirt, and crashed their mouths together. She tried to pour everything into the kiss: every blush, every worry, every laugh, every panicked moment, every mamihlapinatapei. Spencer cradled her face in his hands, opening his mouth and capturing her bottom lip, accepting everything she gave him. She wound one of her hands into his hair, pulling him impossibly closer and grounding herself to this new reality that almost wasn’t. The height of the kiss tapered off, and Y/N drew back, untangling her fingers from his hair and her heart from his grasp. Spencer watched her carefully, honey eyes uncertain.

“I do. Feel the same,” Y/N confirmed. Spencer’s lips twitched. “I’m not good at vulnerability. I’ve got a great track record of getting hurt.” Spencer grabbed her hand and opened his mouth, but Y/N continued, “But then I thought we might lose you, that time was out, and that I— I wouldn’t get the chance to see if you could be— if this could be more.” She gestured between them and then met his eyes again. “And I guess being vulnerable isn’t so bad in comparison. Because I think I could fall in love with you. I think maybe it’s already happening.” She held her breath and pressed her lips together, fighting the regret of saying too much.  

“Actually, there’s a word for that, too.” Spencer smiled, warm and soft and genuine. “Forelsket. The origin is Norwegian, and it roughly translates to ‘the euphoria experienced as you begin to fall in love.’”

“Forelsket?” Y/N asked.

“Well, it’s more like forelsket,” Spencer corrected.

“Wow, okay, 187.” Y/N laughed for the first time in what felt like days. “Forelsket.”

“Better,” Spencer praised. “There’s also the Tagalog version, kilig.”

Y/N took a step closer to him and smoothed his shirt where her hands had wrinkled it. “Translation?”

“‘The sudden feeling of an inexplicable joy one gets when something romantic happens,’ or alternatively ‘the feeling of butterflies in your stomach.’” Spencer moved his hand to her waist and stepped over the threshold.

Y/N cupped his cheek in her hand, soothing the bruises and guiding him back to her. “Yeah. Sounds about right.”

[sdv-mostly-shane]

Hello! January is birthday month for my children, and now that we got the last one down, time to get right back in ~ In the spirit of parenthood, here’s some Stardew Parent Headcannons of all the marriage candidates -

Stardew Valley Imagines : Parent Headcannons

Bachelors

Alex

The kind of dad to be at every appointment/interview/inspection and cry at every point of progress “we’re one step closer to our beautiful baby”

Will absolutely cry once he holds that baby, and will have a hard time letting them go to his partner

Baby wearing extraordinaire- has multiple options for different occasions

Matching track suits to hide the fact that they were both a hot mess that morning trying to get out the door, but they did it, so time to celebrate

Would ironically have a brainiac child that he is absolutely enamoured with and admires - he sits at their little table, spilling out of the tiny chair, but refuses to budge because his baby is telling him about the water cycle of the Earth, and he doesn’t want to miss a thing

Elliot

A very ‘hands off’ parent - will observe them at play and not pressure them in any particular way

Probably a Waldorf dad

Sits his babies in his lap every night to read- they are the first ones he tests out a new limerick on, and respects their criticisms as much as their praise

Lots of evening walks down the sea shore and the forest edge.

Out of the bachelors, I think would be the most sensitive/attune to them, and would be great at breaking down their complex emotions and thoughts, and would especially be so with any neurodivergent children.

Harvey

The type to plop down a stack of parenting and pediatric books on the dining room table as soon as you two have decided to welcome children into your lives

Is the one to show the farmer how to change a diaper

In fact, just count Harvey as the one to be the party planning, baby book filling, milestone documenting professional. He’s got it covered.

Loves the newborn stage, is terrified of toddlerhood, but then back in control once they’re like 6. And then terrified again once they are teenagers (his kids actually consider him a friend as well as a father and actually enjoy hanging out with him (sometimes))

100% a helicopter parent, but more so the ‘I love you so much I don’t want you to ever experience any pain’ type of way

Sam

Probably has an accidental love child at one point

You can find him in bed with the baby, singing songs together, while he spikes the baby’s hair nice and tall

Do you honestly think this young man would not use every dad joke ever known? Because he would- and he would find them all absolutely hilarious

The fun dad that will also actively try to embarrass his kids in front of their friends

Keeps his kids home for “sick days” to sit on the couch together, no pants, no homework, and all laughter.

Sebastian

Would be stressed when they are newborns, but relax as they get older. By the time they’re teens, he would have cultivated a very trust and respect-based relationship with them where his kids are comfortable telling him anything

You’ll find him quietly at every event, game, recital, competition, imaginable. Supporting his children with his presence and then taking them out that evening to do something fun, crazy, or maybe even a little dangerous

His most fond parenting moments are when the baby is in their bouncer right besides him, happily babbling away and smiling at him, while he does his work at the computer. Quality time is his baby love language.

The type of dad to patiently and honestly answer his children’s millions of questions about anything and everything.

Will absolutely take them out to splash in the puddles when it rains (but then will also send them straight to the bath)

Shane

Is already pretty experienced in the parenting realm, but is thrown into a whole new adventure with the newborn phase. Finds himself to truly LOVE babies and toddlers

“Hm, can’t sleep? Let’s go get a snack.” “But dad, it’s 1AM” “I do this all the time, don’t worry. Just don’t tell [parent]”

Would let his kids roam free, but only if he is supervising, and is actually kinda strict/short. Absolutely fears losing his children and will do anything and everything to make sure they grow up safe and cared for.

A very stressed daddy but only because he loves his children so much that he would die if anything happened to them

The best cuddler out of all the bachelor parents. Wanna soft spot to curl up on the couch? He’s already passed out with his head back, snoring. His nice pudgy ‘dad’ belly makes the perfect pillow to rest baby heads on while he reads a book.

Bachelorettes

Abigail

The fun parent.

The kind that wakes up early on a Saturday with their kids, just as excited as they are, to eat sugar cereal and watch a show together.

Is always down to play (especially play fight). Will (endearingly) spook their partner a bit when they rough house because Abby has that wild feral look in her eye too often

The competitive parent that gets just a liiiitle too involved in whatever sport/organization/fair/et.al that the child is partaking in-all in good fun, of course.

I can picture her taking her child out to the forest, late at night, to lay on the soft moss. She’d tell them about monsters, lore, crystals, and everything supernatural and mystic. Whispering in the dark as they point up to the stars and laugh and laugh and laugh

Emily

Hippy granola mom to a T - have you seen her “organic quinoa and fresh goat milk” quote? She’d do anything to provide the best that nature has to offer her children

While her disposition toward her children is incredibly loving and free-spirited, she would probably be very resposible and stressed about doing right for her children

Would absolutely take her children by the hand, in various states of dress (jammies? Okay. Just a diaper? Alright. Ballgown? Let’s go), out to the forest with handmade woven baskets to collect all the gifts from the Earth that they can find

Absolutely the Craft Mom - she’d be all about enrichment, sensory play, and fostering a creative spirit

Tells the best stories. After bedtime routine, will sit with her children in thrir bed, and will tell stories of magic, of love, and of adventure. Her kids, eyes bright, won’t want the night to end, because mom is showing us how much wonder and mystery is in the world

Haley

So gentle and so sweet with her kids, but can send them running with just a ‘look’

Would be a nervous wreck the first go round, but an absolute master by the time the second comes around

Helicopter parent that obsesses over every milestone, growth, and accomplishment of their child. SO proud of them and can’t wait to praise them and brag about them.

The wonder parent that can do it all while looking absolutely breathtaking. She makes it look easy once she gets the hang of it

Can’t you just picture her and her baby girl in matching flowy Daisy sundresses dresses with pink ribbons in their beautiful blonde curls, chasing after each other barefoot in the fields, while the golden grass dances in the wind- gah I love this pretty pretty princess so much.

Leah

Cool Wine mom that drives a Subaru

Would absolutely read her child to bed every night, until they fell asleep.

Her transition into motherhood was flawless. She’s a natural parent who just loves in abundance

Soooo many nature walks, hikes, and camping trips. Always accompanied with a picnic basket, quiet peacefulness, and heart to hearts about whatever is going on in their life.

The definition of free-range parenting, encouraging self discovery and independence. Yeah, she’ll always step in when needed with some kind encouragement or advice, but would much rather watch her children learn about the world on their own terms

Maru

The do-it-all parent. Signs up for activities, projects, school boards, committees, and teams. Is actually on time, prepared, and succeeds in all of these.

The most prepared and responsible out of any of the parents. Always has snacks in her diaper bag and a first aid kit

Did someone say routine/chore chart

Would show love for her children through learning and new experiences-the best part about being a parent for her is watching her child’s brain turning and working as they think about the environment in front of them. At her best, her kids think she is incredibly fun and they have a blast doing anything and everything with her

Not exactly tender/overly affectionate with her kids, but absolutely concerned about being the best mom she can be by having balance of learning, play, discipline, and love.

Penny

Literally just Miss Honey from Matilda

Pinterest mom. All the crafts, DIYs, bento boxes with cute little caterpillar grapes-you name it, she’s already done it AND packed your backpack and laid your clothes out for you.

Can be heard saying “well the pediatrician said...” “hm well that’s not what dr alberts book said to do” among other “first time mom”things

Can be incredibly anxious worrying about their child’s development and well being. She’s been around kids her entire life, but this is HER child? This one doesn’t go home at the end of the day? Everything has to be absolutely perfect

The most sentimental-would absolutely weep going through the baby box to pull out the teeny tiny booties and smelling the baby blanket - “they were just SO TINY- we need another one NOW.”

[inskz]

lucky charm - lee minho

pairing - lee minho x reader

genre - college!au, best friends to lovers, very cliche fluff (lucky girl starring lindsey lohan kinda vibes???)

words - 4k

note - this is just a cute little drabble i wrote while im still waiting for my covid test results to come back so that i can leave my room and see the sun again 🤪 pls be careful everybody take care of your health 💚 enjoy!!!

- - - - -

“You must be kidding me,” you sigh when you see Minho’s hand has turned into a fist, his rock crushing miserably your scissors. Once again, you lost at rock, paper, scissors. And once again, you’re the one that is going to wash your best friend’s dishes that have piled up in is tiny kitchen sink throughout the week.

“Fuck that. This is so unfair,” you grumble, throwing the dishtowel in Minho’s stupid yet perfectly chiseled face.

You make a beeline for his bed, which is actually only a few steps away from the kitchen. Being a broke college student definitely doesn’t allow him to rent a spacious studio, let alone a two-room apartment. You throw yourself headfirst onto his uncomfortable mattress, whose springs always poke your back at night.

“Life is so unfair,” your friend mocks you, dragging out every vowel of his sentence dramatically.

No doubt, you would be strangling him at that very moment if you weren’t so busy playing dead, hoping he would forget about your pitiful existence.

But there is no way mister Lee Minho would miss out on an opportunity to have his gross plates cleaned by someone else. Grabbing onto your ankle, he drags you out of bed until you plop down on the dirty carpeted floor (Minho has the unfortunate tendency to procrastinate vacuuming too). At this point, you are fake crying, throwing a literal tantrum, like a 6 years old child would.

“Life is unfair!” you yell, your feet kicking in the air in pure anger.

At least it is to you. You can’t remember the last time you’ve been lucky. The only instance you got remotely close to it was when you found a four-leaf clover last summer. Well, only if you disregard the fact you stepped into dog poop  on your way to picking it. Oh and that you were wearing brand new white Converse. 

On the other hand, it seems like the boy has the whole crew of the Olympus gods on his side. Not one day goes by without his guardian angel manifesting its presence. 

Minho has always been the lucky type. The type to get an extra nugget in his box of 10. To find 20 dollars bills on the ground. To win every single Instagram giveaway he participates to (and lord knows how much he likes participating to them). 

But how can you be mad at him when he always happily shares his food with you, invites you to the restaurant without you even asking, and gives you his prizes, pretending he doesn’t need them? You don’t believe him when he says he see no use in a panda onesie or a waterproof bluetooth speaker. Deep down, you know it’s his way to silently love you. 

But well, you can still blame him for occasionally taking advantage of your misfortune to make you do his dreaded house chores, just like right now. 

Everyone thinks you are a bizarre duo. Even you can’t fathom how in hell you two became best friends, considering how awfully your first encounter went three years ago. 

On orientation day, he asked you for the time, probably because his phone was dead (or maybe because he was dying to talk to you?)

Without hesitation, you lifted and rotated your wrist so that you could see your watch. Little did you remember; you never actually owned a watch and you were holding a fancy 7 dollars iced coffee, which, of course, did not have a lid on because plastic is bad for the environment (duh). 

Minho couldn’t help but burst out in hysterical laughter when the whole drink spilled on your jeans. For your defense, you didn’t sleep at all the night before  since you were terrified of being alone in your new dorm room the first few days (weird stuff happens all the time in dorms, okay?). If he had asked you for your name, you probably wouldn’t even have been able to tell him. 

But Minho thought you were the funniest person on campus, and he really needed a clown like you to entertain him throughout his endless college semesters. That’s what he told you anyways. Not that he thought you were the cutest human being he had ever seen. 

Why would he when you are the literal definition of a mess: always having toothpaste stains on your sweater, bags under your eyes, messy hair, tripping and falling, missing buses, breaking things, losing stuff. 

Most of the time, you just forget your keys and Minho lets you crash at his place since he hasn’t got any roommate and he isn’t used to sleeping alone, especially without his cats. It surely isn’t because he loves waking up next to a very groggy but adorable you every single morning, no.  

Minho manages to bring you back to the countertop despite your reluctance. Positioned behind you, his arms trapping your body to make sure you can’t run away from your duties, he dips your hands into the soapy water, and you can’t help but squirm at the touch of an unknown substance sticking to a plate that has probably been soaking here for a week. You despise doing the dishes and your friend knows it.

You hear him giggle in your ear while he is playing with your arms like you are some type of marionette, making you to take the sponge and squeeze dish soap onto it. 

You’ve never been the kind to like proximity nor seemed to be Minho, but for some reason, you always end up glued to each other. You hate public displays of attention and pet names a little less when it comes from him. Or maybe you don’t hate it at all and actually crave it every single minute that goes by.

Before he has the time to come up with the Machiavellian idea to soak your pajamas in dirty water (because you know he would inevitably have at some point), you yank his hands off of you and start scrubbing angrily the dirty cups. 

Minho stays behind you anyways, observing your every move, his chin propped up on your shoulder like a curious little bird. To be honest, his presence is kind of getting overwhelming. But whatever, it’s not like his slightest touch makes your heart warm up in comfort or that he smells like fresh linen drying out on the porch of a cottage house on a sunny Sunday morning or anything. 

“You missed a spot. Here” he murmurs teasingly, his lips almost touching your earlobe, while he points at the handle of his hideous ‘world’s greatest dad’ mug Jisung gifted him last christmas. 

You know he has noticed the way you shivered violently at the feeling of his breath tickling your skin because he starts snickering loudly. 

“I swear to god if you don’t shut up and go seat on the couch, I’ll slap you so hard with this spatula you’ll regret you were even born,” you say, turning around suddenly to menace him with the plastic utensil. 

Of course, he isn’t afraid one bit. Right now, you really wish you could make the smug, but oh so attractive, look on his face disappear. 

“Alright, ma’am” he laughs, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’ll let you do your thing”. He lets himself fall onto his dingy couch. 

You can hear him humming one of his favorite songs above the sound of the water running. It would probably be getting on your nerves if his voice wasn’t so pretty.  

“Chan’s sick, so we’re not going to the gym tomorrow night. Do you wanna eat tacos? El Huero has even better deals than usual” he asks you, scrolling mindlessly through his phone. 

“Aren’t the deals supposed to be on Tuesdays?” You frown and scrub a little harder the frying pan Minho has burnt the night before while trying to make chocolate chips pancakes for diner, because why eat savory food when you can have dessert for every meal, right? It is one of the few advantages of living without your parents you both truly enjoy. 

“Yeah, that’s what I said. Tomorrow,” he yawns, probably exhausted after what you put him through last night. You forced him to catch up on the entire season of Love Island because you desperately needed someone to bitch with, and what better partner than Lee Minho.  

You take a quick glance at him and see him stretching himself across the cushions like a cat. You always thought there was something feline about his features. While you’re drying the mugs with the dishtowel, your mind wanders uncontrollably, thinking about his piercing eyes, his delicate nose, the corners of his lips that curl up a little… 

All of the sudden, your hands freeze. Minho is too immersed in TikToks to notice the stupor on your face. “Wait. Today is… Monday?” you stutter. 

Alarmed by the sound of your voice, his eyes finally leave his phone’s screen to look up at you. “Yeah” he repeats slowly as if you are the dumbest person he has ever encountered. 

And you truly are. You are pretty sure your heart has stopped beating. Minho’s “world’s greatest dad” mug you’re holding slips between your fingers and comes crashing on the floor with a deafening sound. The pieces are now scattered all around you, making you unable to make out what’s written on it anymore. Not a big loss, if you ask. 

“Y/N, you know that’s my favorite mug!” he exclaims, leaping up from the couch. “I’m sure you did it on purpose,” he mutters while he’s trying to collect the small fragments, in vain. 

But you’re too shocked at this very moment to pay attention to the glare your friend is giving you. To be honest, Minho has only two moods: glaring at you or teasing you.  

“My interview,” you finally manage to say, and Minho’s eyes go wide as he realizes the critical situation you’re in. 

You check the time on the microwave: 10:45. In 30 minutes, you’re supposed to be on the other side of town, being interrogated by boring businessmen that are going to decide whether or not you’ll be accepted for a paid internship in one of the most reputable music label of the country. Basically, decide whether you’ll live a happy and fulfilling life, working in the sector you’ve always dreamed of or end up miserable with a boring office job and a massive college debt. 

“Holy shit,” Minho whispers. You can see a wave of panic washing across his face for a split second, but, as always, he manages to find his composure back immediately. 

He has never been the kind to lose his cool, except to scold you when you forget the names of his cats and their respective coats’ color (which you unfortunately often did forget). 

“What are you doing? Get dressed!” He tells you when he sees you’re still standing there dumbfounded in the kitchen, like the famous Robert Pattinson meme, wearing an oversize Kermit the frog shirt with a dozen holes in it and his favorite Adidas sweatpants you always stole from him.

“No, it’s too late. I can’t make it,” you mutter, your breath short. You’re paralyzed, as if there is a 20lbs rock sitting at the bottom of your stomach, pinning you to the ground. 

This isn’t bad luck, you think. This is karma. This is what you get for skipping classes to watch telereality shows in your bed with your best friend and not even realizing it isn’t the weekend anymore.

“Miss me with that bullshit.” He runs to his closet and rummages through his drawers, throwing every piece of clothing that’s on his way to find an appropriate outfit that would fit you. 

“You’re gonna go do this interview even if I have to drag you all the way there.” He pushes you into his bathroom since you still haven’t moved an inch. 

You manage to brush your teeth and your hair, fighting through the nauseous feeling that is building up in your tummy. 

When you come back to the living room, Minho has found dress pants and a sweater that might not look utterly ridiculous on you. He lets you change in a corner, while he runs around the room collecting all your essentials. 

“You’re coming?” you ask him when you see he is already wearing his puffer jacket.  

“You really think I’m gonna let you go all by yourself when you’re literally not even able to put your shoes on properly”. You are, indeed, struggling with your laces, as if your fingers are suddenly made out of butter. 

Minho ties them up for you and you literally feel like he’s your babysitter. You know you’re gonna hear about this for months – what are you saying- years! But all you can think about at the moment though, is the fact that sneakers are definitely not appropriate for an interview. 

He throws your warmest coat at you, grab his keys, and by some type of miracle, you’re both out to the door in less than 10 minutes. 

You try to call the elevator, but Minho grabs your arm and leads you to the staircase. His hand never leaving yours, he runs down the stairs and you have no choice but to follow him as fast as you can. 

You can’t count how many times you missed a step and fell at this particularly slippery spot, between the 5th and the 4th floor, but weirdly enough, it doesn’t happen today. 

When you finally reach the ground floor, you exit the complex and Minho hops on his old and rusty bike that he had attached to nearest tree the night before.

“There’s no way I’m riding behind you on this death machine,” you laugh nervously. The memory of that one time Minho convinced you to seat into his bicycle basket (as if you could even realistically fit in it) and you both fell seconds after he started to pedal is coming back to your mind.

Sure, it was after a long night of drinking, you were both tipsy and it was the only way to get you home since you had spent all your uber money at the bar, but still! You’re pretty sure the bruise on your butt hasn’t disappeared to this day.  

“Hurry up,” Minho groans, ignoring your complaint. You unwillingly seat on his flimsy pannier rack and wrap your arms around his torso. 

You haven’t even left, yet you’re already holding onto his puffer jacket for dear life. A giggle escapes your friend’s mouth (which you think is very inappropriate in such a desperate situation) before he lifts his feet off the ground and starts pedaling. 

You try to ignore the loud squeaking of the bicycle drive by shutting your eyes tighter and rehearsing your introduction you have prepared over and over in your head. No matter how hard you are trying, you can’t remember what you are supposed to say just after your age (which, as you can imagine, isn’t really far into your monologue). 

By the way the wind is lashing your face, you can tell Minho has picked up the speed. His breathing is getting louder, his heartbeat faster and you can’t help but think you’re probably way too heavy for him to bike you around like that. Maybe he shouldn’t skip his gym sessions with Chan so often. Or maybe you shouldn’t have eaten the leftover pancakes for breakfast after all.

You find the courage to open your eyelids and are pleased to see you’re already halfway there, probably because every single one of the traffic lights you encounter is green, and your friend is going surprisingly fast. Is luck finally starting to smile upon you? 

Your mad race comes to a halt when you reach the address of your interview. You hop off the bike and so does Minho who, by the way, is a panting mess. He’s barely able to catch his breath, strands of hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, but he’s beaming at you when he realizes you’re just on time. 

“Go” he gasps, pushing you in the direction of the building’s hall. 

You walk up to the glass door but as your hands are about to push it, you pull a 180. Your friend sighs loudly, already knowing what’s coming next. 

“Wait. No. I can’t do this. I’m not prepared” you tell him frantically. “I’m freaking out. I think I’m gonna pass out.” You are now walking in circles, mumbling incoherently. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” 

Your heart is racing in your chest and your hands are getting clammy at the simple thought of failure. But guess what? You can’t fail if you don’t even try! One more good reason to just go back to bed and forget about your sad life for a good 8 hours, right? 

“Y/N, you’re the most talented person I know, you’re gonna do just fine” Minho catches you in his arm to stop your endless pacing. You would probably think this gesture is endearing if it wasn’t just meant to make sure you couldn’t run for your life.  

“No, I’m not. What if I throw up in front of everybody like that one time during the Romeo and Juliet musical?” You look up at him and his face is only inches away from yours. You’re sure you would be swooning at how beautiful he looks if you weren’t so terrified at this very moment.

“You were nine,” your best friend says, and you swear you have never heard him speak to you in such a sweet tone before. His voice is like honey and lavander but it doesn’t soothe you like it should. 

You manage to break free from his embrace to crouch down, in an attempt to slow down your breathing. If only you had data left, you could be watching those short relaxing videos on your phone. They always work. But no, you had to spent it all on online games, just one week into the month. You really are beyond help.  

“Y/N I know you’re scared, but if you miss out on this opportunity, you’re gonna regret it for the rest of your life.” Minho is lowering himself so that you can hear him, even though you’re curled up in a ball. 

“And I’m warning you, I won’t want to hear you complain about it,” he adds, this whole situation obviously starting to get on his nerves. 

If you were him, you would have probably left a long time ago. But this isn’t your best friend’s way of behaving. You know he would never abandon you no matter how annoying you could be (and you could be very annoying sometimes). After all, he is always the one holding your hair while you puke in the toilets when you had a couple too many drinks.

It takes all your willpower to stand up but there is no other way, you have to do it. You can hear the time ticking dangerously in your mind, as if your brain had turned into a clock.

“You’re right. Slap me,” you say, looking at him straight in the eyes, dead serious. 

“Wha -“

“Slap some sense into me. They do that in movies when people are panicking. It’s like throwing a bucket of cold water in someone’s face. But clearly we don’t have a bucket and we don’t have cold wa- “ you start blabbering. 

“What the fuck are you talking about? I’m not gonna slap you!” Your friend isn’t usually that horrified at the thought of beating your ass. In fact, he has felt the desire to rip your head off more than once, especially when you’d steal all the duvet at night, but at this moment he is just scared you might have actually lost your mind.  

“Just fucking do it Minho!” you scream, your hands clenching the front of his grey hoodie he always looks so divine in. 

Minho has never obeyed you, and this is not the day he is going to start. 

He puts both of his hands on the sides of your face and crashes his lips onto yours. 

You would be lying if you said you have never imagined the day your best friend would kiss you. It happens pretty much every single time you look at his cute pout a little too long. But one thing is certain, it isn’t like you pictured it to be at all.

You were convinced your heart would go so wild it would burst out of your chest and your head would spin so furiously you’d lose your balance. You thought your stomach would fill with butterflies to the brim and your whole body would be on fire.

But none of that is happening. On the contrary, every single muscle in your body relaxes under his touch. The way his soft mouth presses gently against yours makes you calmer, almost at peace amongst all this turmoil. 

Minho is kissing all your tension and stress away and you catch yourself letting a sigh of relief escape your parted lips.

As if you have kissed him already hundreds of times in your past life, Minho feels like home. He’s a safe haven you can always take refuge in during troubled times. Ever since the day you met, he has never left your side.

When he breaks away from the kiss, you notice your breath isn’t so ragged and your mind isn’t so foggy anymore. You’re serene. His cold hands are still cupping your face, slightly squishing your cheeks, and you feel like an idiot sandwich for asking him to slap you seconds before.

“That can work too, I guess…” you mutter.  

“You’re okay?” he asks, staring at you with the softest eyes you’ve ever seen.

You just nod, unable to say one more word, and sprint to the entrance, not wanting to make your interviewers wait any longer than they already have.

“Good luck!” You hear him yell just before the door closes behind you and you can’t help but grin from ear to ear.

- - - - - 

Thirty minutes later, you finally step out of the fancy lobby to find a very bored Minho leaning against a tree, patiently waiting for you.

“You’re still here?”

“Of course, I am,” he says, his mouth full of croissant. He gives you a large iced coffee he probably went buying to kill time. Your lips unconsciously curl up into a smile when you notice it comes from the same chain that the one you spilled on your lap on the day you first met him. 

“How did it go?” he asks you, sticking his buttery pastry into your mouth so that you can take a bite.

“Way better than I thought” you answer, right after you swallowed. You hate the way flakes would always get stuck between your teeth. But Minho is always there to warn you about it before anyone else notices, and even pick them for you if you can’t manage to, which, when you think about it, is kind of gross. 

There are two things the boy knows about you: you’re the greatest pessimist on earth and you’d rather die than admit you were wrong (especially if it meant he was right). So for you to even say it wasn’t that bad, means it went phenomenal. 

“I don’t want to say ‘I told you so’ but I told you so.” He smiles so wide you can barely see his eyes anymore. You have to look away, otherwise you know you might become instantly blinded by love.

“Maybe I could use some more of your luck” you mumble, staring at your shoes and kicking the red leaves that were surrounding your feet on this sunny autumn morning. 

“Really? And what makes you think I’ll share it with you,” he teases you, leaning forward to incite you to look at him in the eyes. 

“That.”

Your hand finds the back of his neck and pulls him in, in order to close the space that is still left between your mouths.

At first, Minho stiffens, taken aback by your bold move. But soon enough, he caves into your touch. He kisses you back fervently, like he means it. 

His fingers entagle in your hair, his arm wraps around your waist and his chest presses against your body. You’re melting in his embrace, submerged by a wave of bliss which he alone seems to know the recipe. 

It feels new, yet so familiar. Like it was supposed to happen, like it was written in the stars. 

He tastes like croissant and Americano. Like fortune and fate. 

And you can’t help but think you’re the luckiest person on earth.

Who cares about winning the lottery when Lee Minho is your lucky charm? 

[voiceless-terror]

Oooo 16 mixed with 39 w Jon for the fluff/angst prompts?

Hello there, anon! Can you believe, that in all of my whump fics, I’ve yet to tackle the bread knife incident? High time we corrected that. The two prompts this is referencing are- “Do you need to go to the hospital?” and “If you don’t rest you won’t get any better.” Had this written for a bit, but I spruced it up and decided to post as I’m working on reconstructing chapters. Hope you like!

“Jesus Christ.”

“I-It’s not as bad as it looks.”

Admittedly, it doesn’t look great.

There’s a trail of blood following Jon to the sink, a bloody handprint or two on the counter (and probably a few door handles), and his shirt is similarly stained, the rumpled white button-up painted with red. The slice (more than a slice, probably a stab) to his arm bled more than he anticipated and is probably still bleeding under the towel he’s currently using to stifle the flow. Jon’s swaying where he stands; the loss of blood has him feeling weak, and the dizziness and dull throb in his head leftover from Michael hasn’t abated. All in all, he must look a mess.

Judging by Martin and Tim’s expressions, this is probably a fair assessment. Martin immediately goes to his side, though Jon flinches away as he tries to reach for his arm. He tamps down the guilt he feels at Martin’s look of rejection. “It’s n-nothing, really-”

“Nothing?” Tim scoffs, slowly making his way over as he dodges Jon’s mess. “We leave you alone for twenty minutes and suddenly you’re finger painting with blood. The hell happened?”

“Did you reopen one of your wounds?” Martin’s hands are hovering above his arm, like he’s trying to approach a skittish animal. “I told you not to pick at them-”

“Uh, n-no.” Jon leans against the counter- his vision’s starting to go, he should’ve sat down instead of puttering about like a fool. “It’s-it’s a new one.” Sufficiently cowed by Martin and Tim’s worried stares, he gently removes the towel with a hiss and yes, it’s still bleeding profusely. Damn. 

Tim hurriedly pressed the towel back down, leading him over to a chair as Martin lets out one of his disbelieving squeaks. Tim’s always been good in a crisis and Jon wants to lean into the touch but something in the back of his mind rebels against it, whispering paranoid nothings in his ear. Wrong wrong wrong. There’s something wrong, something bad. Find out. So instead he flinches out of his hold as soon as he’s sat down, ignoring the exasperated look this gets him and putting pressure on the wound himself. 

“What did you do?” he asks but Jon doesn’t meet his eyes, instead looking down at his lap. “How’d you get that?”

“A-A sandwich.” He can feel Tim’s stare, practically hears Martin’s fretting. “I-I was-”

“A sandwich,” Tim repeats, his voice deadpan. “A ham and cheese stabbed you.”

“No!” Words aren’t making sense, they’re hard to put together. He wants to lay down, he wants to sleep, he wants to be far away from these people and what they’ve done and what they might still do to him. “I cut myself...making a sandwich. W-With a knife. A bread knife.”

“A bread knife.” Martin’s talking now, his voice high-pitched and concerned. “A bread knife did that.”

“Where is it, then?” He wishes Tim would let up, would just take the story and leave him be, let him bleed.

“I-I put it back. I cleaned it and I put it back.”

“Let me get this straight-”

“For God’s sake, Tim- that doesn’t matter right now!” Now Martin’s at his side, hauling him up out of his seat with a steady hand that takes the brunt of his weight as he lists to the side. “Do you need to go to the hospital?”

“I-”

“Why am I even asking? Of course you do.” Martin’s muttering, already dragging him halfway out the door. “I’ll get us a cab. You two will just bicker the whole way. Take care of all this will you, Tim?” He gestures with one free hand to the mess Jon’s made and Tim just sighs wearily, nodding his head. He throws Jon one last glare but it’s weak and more worried than anything. He feels the guilt bubble up again. He should apologize for the inconvenience, tell them what happened, who visited. But then the voice creeps up, starting its chorus in the back of his mind.

He stays silent. He doesn’t speak as Martin takes more and more of his weight and the world tilts around him. He’s in a cab. Martin’s hand is warm and should be comforting but it isn’t. His arm stings and Helen’s gone and Michael’s laughter echoes and he can feel the worms burrowing back in, and over this cacophony of pain is the miserable choir singing wrong, wrong, something’s wrong someone’s there someone’s watching, waiting until they’ve got you alone-

He struggles in Martin’s hold but its weak and must seem more like a squirm of discomfort, for Martin doesn’t let go, just keeps up his murmured reassurances and his touches that sting like a thousand tiny needles.

He doesn’t know how long they’re at the A & E for. He barely registers Martin dragging him inside or talking to the nurses. He watches dispassionately as the wound’s stitched up, his other scabs disinfected from constant picking. Nobody lectures him or says much of anything- one mention of the Magnus Institute shut them right up. Jon is as much thankful as he is discouraged. He really is alone. He feels it even as he’s shoved back into Martin’s arms with a disingenuous smile and a ‘get well soon!’ 

Martin’s eyeing him critically as they wait for the cab; Jon’s too tired to fight at the probing hands that inspect the bandages. “Still your story, then?”

“Hm?” The world is hazy, but Michael’s laughter is starting to fade.

“Bread knife.”

“Oh...yes, yes it is.” He tries for some defiance but his voice is small and weary. Martin sighs in turn.

“You know you can tell me about these things, right? Me o-or Tim, maybe Sasha-”

Jon snorts. “Tell you when I’m making lunch?”

Martin’s face remains serious.  “If that’s what you want to call it, sure.”

Jon doesn’t want to have this conversation so he nods in a clear dismissal, sighing in relief as a cab pulls up outside. Martin reaches for the car door, helping him in before hurrying to the other side. Jon’s about to tell the driver to take them back to work when Martin interrupts in a no-nonsense tone, rattling off an address with a please and thank you.

It’s Jon’s address.

How does he know my address? Has he been following me? He is the one who found Gertrude’s body, after all. What if- what if-

“I can see your mind going a mile a minute, Jon. What’s wrong?” He startles, moving as far away from Martin as possible and hitting the car door with a wince. Martin continues, his eyes betraying nothing but concern as Jon’s mind spirals. “You’re not going back to work. You just got stitches-”

“How do you know my address?” The words are meant to be an accusation, but they just sound like the bark of a small dog. Martin seems to agree with this assessment because he rolls his eyes, running a hand through his hair. It takes him a moment to gather himself, and every second makes Jon’s heart beat faster until it’s rabbiting in his chest. What does he know, what did he do?

“You don’t remember, do you?” Martin sounds sad, disappointed. It hurts more than Jon would like to admit.

“R-Remember what?”

“You don’t remember the three times I had to do this, back when you were supposed to be on sick leave?” Jon blinks.

He doesn’t remember much of that time. He remembers the pain, the paranoia, the fear- all of it tuned up to a fever-pitch. Trying to go back to work and being promptly shooed out by Martin, who took one look at his limp and still-bleeding wounds and shoved him back in a cab. Was he covering his tracks? Is that why he didn’t want me around? He has the faintest memory of arms scooping him unceremoniously from the trap door to the tunnels at night, this time accompanying him in the cab and making sure he got home, since Jon had exited the cab early and snuck back several times before. It’s embarrassing and disconcerting, these gaps in his memory. Gaps that Martin has to fill. Martin, who he can’t trust. Martin, who’s talking right now. 

“- really, Jon- if you don’t rest, you won’t get any better. Tim tells me you’ve been skipping physical therapy, skulking about-”

“I don’t skulk-”

“Well, it’s sure as hell not sneaking if you leave a trail of blood wherever you go!” Martin’s voice raises in frustration, though it immediately quiets as Jon flinches, again. He heaves a massive sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose as if fighting off a headache. “We’re worried, Jon. We’re all worried. About you, about Gertrude, this whole mess- but you’ve got to talk to us. You’ve got to let the police do their job. And for the love of god, let us help you. Because-” he swallows, his next words earnest and spent. “-because we’re scared too. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Martin’s worried. Martin’s scared. Martin found Gertrude’s body. Martin’s always outside his office. Tim’s tired, Tim’s getting angry. Sasha smiles when she shouldn’t smile. Elias is up in his office, telling him everything’s fine and to rest but something’s watching, something’s wrong, Gertrude’s dead and someone killed her and someone’s coming for you next-

The next thing he knows he’s standing outside the door to his flat, Martin at his side. The door looks like a normal door, but Helen went through a door and didn’t come out. She didn’t come out, and Michael laughed, and there’s a war coming and he’s so stupid, so ignorant-

“Are you going to be okay?”

Jon takes the key from his coat pocket with shaking hands, shoving it in the lock. He doesn’t want to go in but he can’t stay out here, not with Martin who found Gertrude, who knows where he lives. “Y-Yes. You can go. Thank you.”

He’s inside before Martin can protest any further, slamming the door shut and leaning against it wearily. It looks like his flat, he hopes it’s his flat. Martin’s talking on the other side, asking him to call if he needs anything. Jon’s not going to do that, of course. He waits for the inevitable sigh, listens until Martin’s footsteps fade away. He’s safe, for now.

He locks the deadbolt.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28073586

[sasa-gay-yo]

Just Us (Chapter Three: Normal)

← Chapter Two

“A false sense of calm. Of hope. That’s all that it was.” 

Everything had been published in the papers rooting for the Scouts and people in the streets were also in high spirits when they heard they were coming back from a monthly expedition. People had lined up in front of the café and this time I decided to join them and not wait for the newspapers. I could see if Levi made it out alive by just stepping outside of my door. 

Jonas had given me the box he was standing on, yet I still had to go on my tiptoes to just get a look over everyone else’s heads. I had asked Jonas how people knew the Scouts would come back and he said they would just take the whole day to stand and wait. It was almost beautiful to see the number of people here to support them and it made me feel warm inside. I never forgot the look Levi gave me when I told them the Scouts gave me hope, but I hoped that this display from the people of Trost could convince him.

“They’re here!” There were soft cheers as the horses neared in everyone’s vision. This was the first time I got to see Erwin in person and the portraits of him gave his eyebrows no justice. Even from far away you could see his herculean presence. People cheered more and more and I searched around for him on as they came closer and closer. 

Then the cheering stopped. The first of the line to see what was behind Erwin shut completely up and I was straining so hard to see why. Erwin’s expression was unreadable.

“Elias, get on my shoulders.” I grabbed the little boy from Jonas and hoisted him up as a lookout, “Can you see why they stopped cheering?” 

The smile on the boy’s face dropped.

“Elias?” Before he could say anything, the crowd started for him. 

“I thought for once we had a chance! Now, look!”

“My tax dollars down the drain again.”

“Ugh, useless.” I felt Elias’s grip on my hand tighten as he heard the remarks. He was little and probably couldn’t understand the criticism of the people he wanted to be when he grew up. Even I couldn’t understand until I finally saw what everyone was muttering about. Scout after Scout limped by.

They had halved easily. They were filled with people who were bandaged, crippled, walking with no horse, or lying unconscious in a cart. This made me instantly seize up with worry. Where was Levi?

“Miss. Eva… Where did they all go?” His tiny voice was filled with so much sadness. I hadn’t been there to see them off like the rest, but I knew from the somber faces that it was bad. My eyes darted back and forth from the people in the carts to those on horseback. Shouldn’t Levi be near Erwin if they were both officers? That means he had to be walking somewhere. 

I handed Elias back to Jonas and pushed my way to the front. It was rather easy now that people were starting to turn around and go back home after the big disappointment of the Scouts. I didn’t care about the numbers now, I just wanted to see one soldier for who I had just bought more peppermint tea. 

When I reached the front, the sight was even more heartbreaking. I could see their eyes. I could see the sadness and fear. It was something I had only seen in the humans of the underground. Then remember why I had stopped coming to bid the Scouts a ‘Welcome home!’ It was too much for current and past me to see humans deal with. 

A hand went on my shoulder and I turned to see Jonas. His face was harsh and solemn. I knew what his judgment of the Scouts was. They all walked by and slowly a sense of dread filled me. There was no way… Humanity’s Strongest couldn’t have… 

“Where is he?” The line wasn’t long and there were little to no people left. The chance of him showing up in the next few seconds was slim, but I put my hands together squeezing. Hoping.

“Levi.” 

It was a mere, breathy whisper, but his head snapped over from on top of his horse. Once he met my eyes, he looked forward like he had before. Not sparing me another glance. He was at the very back of the line, probably to protect the weak from lingering titans. It was a sick joke of a formation, but my stress level instantly went down. He didn’t look hurt, there were no bandages on him, but his expression was darker than I had ever seen it. It was probably selfish for me to only care about him right now, but as they walked by and out of the gates of Trost, I just wanted him to turn around and come in for a cup of tea. I wanted to hear him explain to me what happened. I wanted him to not hear the townspeople who were hurling insults left and right, not caring if the Scouts heard them. 

Usually, we just get nasty looks.

No, Levi, my look wasn’t nasty. It was concerned, anxious, filled with stress; I wanted to give you some tea. 

“Come on. I’m sure people will want a pick me up after seeing that.” I looked at the ground, at the leftover wagon wheel tracks. I hope he didn’t think I was looking at him that way. 

“Miss. Flynn, I hope you have some coffee ready. Those of us who don’t drink will need it.” I looked over to see June and Elias’s father, a grim expression on his face too. Everyone’s emotions were putting me down too.

“Yes, sir. Right away.” 

He didn’t come in the rest of the day and the few days after that. I inquired with some people and learned that Scouts get a week off before they have to go back and the officers only a few days. Seeing some Scouts meet their parents again or come into the café made me doubtful of Levi’s return. Everyone was so dark and grim, and without Levi to come and break that, I started to sink into that emotion as well. So much so that a few people had commented on it. 

“A breakup with a boyfriend?” 

“Did you have a friend in the Scouts that died?” 

“You seem unlike yourself today, Eva.” 

It was those people who made my attitude worse. If only he would come in and let me talk to him, maybe I would feel better. The fact that he could be willingly not coming in was probably what made my thoughts worse. I even kept a kettle of hot water ready for when he came, but he never showed. 

“I know how much you revere the Scouts, Eva, but you can’t let that do this to you. A false sense of calm. Of hope. That’s all that it was.” I shook my head at Jonas as he wrapped my fingers with the balm treated bandages. I guess the atmosphere was making me physically deteriorate too. I was grinding coffee when the first part of my skin split. My right ring finger. I didn’t think anything of it, but as I worked and worked to suppress feelings, my hands started to suffer more and more. 

“It wasn’t false, Jonas. I still have hope in the Scouts. It was one expedition. It’s just the way everyone is acting is just putting me down too.” 

“We were all stupid to think that the titans had backed down, even for a little bit. I know it hurts, but it might be better to put your faith in other things… other people.” I pulled my hand away from him and stood up. What did he mean by that?

“My thinking is fine, Jonas. Don’t you have something to deliver.” That was his cue to stop talking and leave. It was nicer than I wanted to say to him, but I couldn’t be that rude to someone who comes back everyday. However, there were sometimes that I could yell at him or be short, but I didn’t care. Everyone deserved some hate for what they gave to the Scouts. That was my philosophy. 

I went about cleaning, making sure that every table was spotless, and taking extra care of his table. He was already stressed about death, if he came in, I didn’t want him to be stressed by dirt either. 

If he came in. 

The hours ticked by and I found myself still sitting in the dark café after closing. Today was the last day of the regular cadet’s break. Maybe they were nice to officers and gave them the same. That’s what I was telling myself. 

Finally, when the sun went down, I told myself it was time to go. I reluctantly grabbed the leftovers to put in a bag and put my coat on. Even if it was a short walk up some steps to get to my home, it was getting colder as the end of fall was approaching. The city’s atmosphere somehow made the cold more depressing. 

Turning to lock the front door, I heard some footsteps walking up to the café. 

“Sorry, I know it’s looked like we were open, but we’re closed for the day. You can come back tomorrow at six in the morn-”

“I didn’t come because I don’t want you to be burdened by me.” My eyes widened and I dropped the keys on the ground. Quickly, I composed myself and the beating of my heart.

“Burdened?” I picked the keys up and saw his figure standing on the side of the alleyway. He was in regular clothes, but it still didn’t hide his stature of a captain. Anyone walking by would know it was him.

“You said the Scouts gave you hope. Then, we come back and I see your expression. I couldn’t even look at you because I ruined that. I didn’t want to come here, just for you to look at me and feel hopeless and lost and all these negative emotions and-” 

“You talk a lot for someone who’s wrong.” That stopped his rant and admittedly that is the most he’s ever talked to me, but I needed it to end. He was digging himself into a bigger hole. 

“What?” It wasn’t harsh this time as all of his one-word phrases were. 

“Whatever look I had on my face, when you were all marching through Trost, it wasn’t me losing hope. It was me, worried about their wellbeing. It was me, hearing what people were around them saying, hoping that you didn’t hear them. I think the look on my face was from a place of concern or even pity.” He moved to lean against the brick, arms folded. 

“I didn’t want to come here because then I’d involve you in all… in all of the emotions and all the death. A civilian shouldn’t have to deal with a soldier. They should be kept ignorant so they can live happily.” 

“So what was it then? You didn’t want to ruin my hope or you didn’t want to ruin my innocence?” He took a deep breath in and I noticed some people looking our way. This was a great way to have rumors spread like wildfire. If I go back to the café, there were windows that couldn’t be closed. I’m sure Captain here wouldn’t want civilians to witness his “soldier emotions”.

“I don’t…” He glanced to the side as well, seeing the people who stopped walking.

“Follow me or at least try to get yourself onto the second-floor apartment if you’re worried about them.” I turned away from him and went up the stairs on the side of the building, opening my front door. To my surprise, he did just follow behind me. Another order I’ve gotten him to follow.

“Do you want tea, Captain? I only have green tea up here.” He just stood by the closed door and stared at me. It’s like he was scared about coming into my house. Was this the first time he’s ever come home with a woman? There’s some humor in this situation I guess. 

“No… I’m fine.” I put the bag of bread on the kitchen counter and pulled out the tea leaves. I’d make him one anyway. 

It was quiet again, but quiet like the first time we met. It was full of awkwardness and questions we wanted to ask. The air was too thick to swallow. To think, this is only the third time I’ve met him and he’s in my house. Maybe it’s just entertaining for him to see how civilians live. That’s why he followed.

“So, I’ll ask again. You didn’t come because you didn’t want to-” 

“I didn’t come because I was scared to face you.” I stopped stirring the honey into my tea. I even let go of the spoon to look up at him, still standing by the door. So he was scared of me. Captain Levi was scared of me? No, that couldn’t be. He just didn’t know how to define what he was feeling. 

“Scared?” He nodded and leaned against the door frame, pinching the bridge of his nose. It was like he was mad at himself for saying all of this. Maybe he was. Revealing those solider emotions again.

“When I came in on my horse, I saw your face and I saw the face of the boy next to you. I didn’t care about him, but yours… I thought that my failure on this expedition had broken the hope you had for the Scouts. If I came to your café, you would just treat me like everyone else does? Just like everyone treats the Scouts. I had found someone who understands the underground and who seems to understand the Scouts, and then that look on your face… it was like it was over.”  

“My look was concern. I told you that.”

“But in a town full of people looking up at you with anger and hatred in their eyes, how do you tell the difference?” I’d give him that. I was surrounded by people swearing and glaring up at him. I was just a bit hurt that he misread my emotions after I told him what I thought. He wasn’t scared, but he was bad at precepting people’s feelings. That could add to the rumor of him being emotionless. He wasn’t emotionless, he just didn’t have to ability to deal with the mass amount of emotions he gets.

You’ve only talked to him one and a half times, Eva. How are you talking like you know him?

“What made you come here then? You came when you knew I had closed. Was it to avoid everyone?”

“I was here earlier, I just didn’t have the courage to face you and everyone in that café. Especially that one boy you always have next to you.” That made me laugh out loud. Humanity’s Strongest was annoyed at Jonas and scared of me. What kind of power do I have over him? The tea he likes? Why was he so worried about Jonas? 

“That boy’s name is Jonas and he’s a delivery boy for Reeve’s Company. He’s around me a lot because he’s the delivery boy for that area of Trost and he likes to talk a lot. He also lives around here too.” 

“Your hand?” He reached out a slim finger to point at my bandages and I held my hand up. He had probably seen Jonas bandage it again today. 

“My skin splits from being so dry. I get it from work. I haven’t found a good balm to heal it though.” He closed his eyes.

“I come back from an expedition and you’re the one who’s hurt.” That hit something in my core. I looked up at him from the tea and his eyes were staring again. No look to the side and not from the peripheral. It was like when I was cleaning the tables. This feeling… with a Captain of the Scouts. That was dangerous for my sanity. I wondered if he felt the same.

I walked over and sat down on the couch that was facing him and set the tea down, one cup across from the other. 

“Again, to make sure you understand in that over-calculating brain of yours, Captain. My hope isn’t broken. There will be bad expeditions and there will be good ones, but to me, having bad ones will always be better than not having any. My look was concern for you. You were at the very back, but I thought you would be near Commander Erwin. I couldn’t find you anywhere, so I was the one who was scared. When I saw you, the way that you looked, I was concerned for how you felt, physically and mentally.” That made him lower his gaze to the ground again. I wished I swept last night. 

“Who are you to feel concern for me?” If I didn’t know where he came from, I would have been offended by his question. Truthfully, I was a little hurt that he said it that way, but I knew what he meant. In the underground, those who cared about you were those who used you or were in the same boat as you. I wasn’t a Scout and he knew I couldn’t possibly use him in this situation. He was confused why I had given him any thought, as his normal life would have nothing to do with me. Why didn’t I shy away from him and revere him as an scary, emotionless Scout?

“I’m someone who cares. Someone who’s still confused about you, personally. Why did he come into my café? Why does he keep coming? Someone who knows only a fraction of what it’s like to live in this world and someone who knows nothing about what you have to go through everyday. I’m not a Scout, I’m not a soldier, hell, I don’t think I could punch anyone hard enough to hurt them, but I do know what it feels to lose people and what it feels like to be judged by them too. So, I guess I’m someone who’s game for understanding you, too. You’re concerned about me too. My hands.” He didn’t answer, he just kept looking at his shoes on the floor. What’s so interesting about them? 

“I am concerned, yes. I don’t know why I feel so concerned about the opinions and condition of someone I’ve only talked to on two separate occasions. I’m not a civilian, nor do I live a normal life, but I guess I’m someone who is also game for creating normal. Starting with your tea. I went to your café on a recommendation from a friend and I came back because you gave me some thread of normalcy to hold onto. Sitting here and in that café, I don’t feel like Captain Levi. I just feel like Levi, whoever that is. No titans, no paperwork; just tea.” I smiled up at him and maybe my cheeks were a little warm too. It was just the tea being too hot, that’s what it was. 

“Well, Mr. Levi. Come drink some tea and sink into normalcy. We can talk about anything you want.” He stood up from the wall, contemplating if he was to join me on the couch. If he did, he knew he’d just signed himself up for a lifetime deal. He’d have to come to the café every month at least and he couldn’t die. That would ruin his normal and my understanding. I wasn’t all that surprised when he sat down, but still my heart felt like it was going to burst. Maybe for the first time in his life, he picked to sit instead of to stand. 

“Tea. I don’t know much about it, but I drink it from habit. What teas are good for what? You recommended me mint tea that first time.” I moved my legs up so I could sit crisscross and comfortable. 

“You’ve just asked a very, very loaded question, Levi.” 

We talked late into the night about tea and owning a café. Many cups of tea had kept us up and I had completely gotten lost in conversation that I forgot he would’ve had to leave. He didn’t leave that night, but I don’t remember who slept first or when. He just sat there, leaning with one arm of the back of his chair and one leg crossed, listening and commenting on the various teas I recommended and on what I should do to change the cafe’s layout for a better person-per-square-meter ratio. 

At one point, we had just stopped talking, each taking sips of our respective cups. There weren’t thoughts of titans, of the Scouts, or of failed exhibitions. I also got a lesson in math, so it let me understand that even without a proper education, Levi was a genius at certain things. We sat there soaking in the present. That’s probably why he forgot he had to go back to HQ or why I forgot to prep the starter dough for the morning. We didn’t care much for the future consequences. 

When I woke up, he was gone. The blanket I had given him, saying I’d go sleep in my own bed, was over me and the tea cups were clean and hung up on their rack. It was satisfying to wake up like this. Everything was light and peaceful again as opposed to waking up with Trost’s grim atmosphere. It was seven in the morning, and I was late to open the café, but I didn’t care or feel any rush. As I walked out of the door to a, probably, annoyed crowd, I felt a note in the breast pocket of my coat.

Left at 5AM to get back to HQ. See you after the next expedition.

                                                                                   -L 

Chapter Four→

Chapter Masterlist

[rosarenn]

All things are ephemeral

I've been thinking a lot about the illusion of certainty and the way it holds us back from achieving great things.

There's this idea that if something is temporary, transient, that it isn't worth putting any effort into. That something is only worth your time if it endures, if it's permanent. That the investment must be followed by a payoff or why bother.

I am very much talking out of my own experience here, as a white settler/colonizer raised in a more or less middle class family. I know my experience is not universal, and I am still going to talk about "we" and "us" because I want to include myself in this group, and I'm noticing a pattern that I want to talk about. If you have never experienced certainty, or are in a stable position for the first time in your life, this is probably not about you, for example. Take what you need and compost the rest.

I'm reading Nine-Tenths of the Law: Property and Resistance in the United States by Hannah Dobbz, which discusses squatting in the US. One of the themes that comes up over an over again is the idea that because a squat is temporary, because the police could kick you out at any moment, because you don't have ownership or equity or any kind of title on your side and you could lose everything in a moment's notice, that it doesn't make any sense to improve the home you're living in. That the work would be wasted, and who wants to work their ass off and not reap the benefits? Why would you bother?

And this, to me, is so incredibly short-sighted, and represents an internalization of the logic of capitalism. Why would you bother? Because you are fucking living there. You're living there, you're passing your limited time on this planet in this space, and why would you live in a dump if you don't have to, if you don't like living in a dump, if you would feel better, be happier, enjoy your time there just a little bit more than if you didn't clean it up. It's the same reason I've painted countless rental apartments - even though I don't know how long I'll be there, while I'm there I eventually get sick at looking at plain white walls. It's why I'm planning to paint a mural in my rental apartment - it will bring me daily joy for as long as I am here. It's why I decorated my office when I still had an office. Because if this is where I am passing my time, I want it to be a little more pleasant.

We've so internalized the logic of the state and the market that we have this illusion that home-owning provides certainty, that it makes sense to invest in a home you own because it can't be taken away at a moment's notice. But it's a lie. The bank could repossess your home. The sewer could back up. A flood or a wildfire could make your home vanish in a moment. With climate change these events are only going to increase in frequency, as will the unrest and failed states and all the other forms of violent dispossession that that entails. The entire stock market could blow itself to pieces tomorrow, the currency we've all agreed to use could become worthless pieces of paper, anything can happen. I could die tomorrow. I could die today. There is no certainty, any where, ever. Anything I work for could be for nothing - nothing except for what I make of it here and now. I want to live before I die.

I think about the way I've been indoctrinated to delay gratification to the extreme. That's what the promise of capitalism to the middle class is, after all. Work tirelessly for all of your productive years, save your coins prudently, invest them in the stock market for the future and never take out your principle because compound interest is magic and you'd be a fool to forego that sweet, sweet "free" interest income. And then, and only then, you can retire for a few years and live a tiny sliver of your life free from the constant grind of daily waged labour. If someone is not able to make ends meet, I was taught, it's because they are too loose with their spending, they aren't able to delay gratification long enough for the real payout, the poor dears. Scrupulously saving, denying ourselves the momentary joys of right now in order to chase a possible future prosperity, is positioned as a moral good.

Of course this is a lie, and a terrible way to live (even as it is incredibly privileged). I lived this way for years and I'm only now beginning to come to terms with it. There's so much grief there. How much did I miss out on? Think of all the joy, vitality, and the things that make life worth living that I denied myself - and for what? To chase certainty in the future, because I couldn't accept the ephemerality of today.

There's a delicate balance needed here, of course. There's an argument to be made that what we need is more delayed gratification, not less. The constant churning consumption, the endless extraction from the earth and our bodies, putting today's profits ahead of tomorrow's, or even above the survival of our own children - these are features of capitalism and they are destroying us.

But they need to sell us this lie, that if we work hard today we can be happy tomorrow, to keep us working. Because if we truly looked at horrors of this reality, if we truly knew in our bones that everything we have today could be gone tomorrow, that everything in life is fleeting - would you still go to work, day after day after day? I know I sure wouldn't. Even though I don't know what I would do to survive instead. Even though stepping into that unknown is terrifying. Even though I have no answers, I would have to take that leap.

I think, too, about the way I sometimes see people talk about revolution - and I include myself in this group. That until we are ready to make a global revolution, until we are all but guaranteed success, until the moment we reach critical mass, all we can do is wait. Maybe we agitate, maybe we form unions and organizations and try to spread the word, but until success is certain we can't act, not truly. I see this more in communist circles than in anarchist ones, and it was especially present in the critiques of the temporary autonomous zones that popped up in the midst of last summer's uprisings - they would never succeed, they would be quickly dismantled, and thus were doomed to failure and shouldn't even be attempted. As if there was no value in the experiences, however fleeting. As if the way we live our lives is irrelevant. As if a thing bringing you joy is not enough justification in itself.

Even though I skew more towards anarchism, I can still feel this attitude infecting my own thinking. I don't want to try to unionize my workplace because it will fail and I'll get fired and it won't matter, really, anyways. I don't want to talk openly about my politics when I know people don't agree with me, because what's the point when I already know I can't change their minds. What's the point of guerrilla gardening when the city can just come by with a weed whacker and destroy our labour. So on and so on ad nauseum, every endeavour doomed to be temporary and thus, automatically, a failure.

I think of my friend who spent the past two summers building up an incredible garden, who now has to move, suddenly, before the end of the growing season. My first reaction was that it was such a waste, that she had put in so much effort and time and money and now wouldn't even be there to collect the final harvest, that it would be better if she hadn't done the planting, somehow. As if she hasn't taken immense pleasure and pride in her garden for the past two years. As if she hasn't harvested throughout the whole summer. As if the harvest she planted suddenly winks out of existence if the benefits go to someone other than her. As if this somehow invalidates everything that came before. But this line of thinking is horseshit. Someone will still eat those vegetables. If nothing else, the birds and the beasties will love eating what she has grown. She learned so much and will be able to carry that knowledge forward with her. On and on, there was great value in this venture even if she will not be there to reap every last piece of the harvest. And if it wasn't a sudden move, it could have been a drought, or a violent storm, or an infestation, or theft. Or or or. The possibilities are endless, results are never guaranteed, and if we are only working to achieve an ends, we might need to take a good long look at what we're up to.

I wonder if the roots of this ideology stretch all the way back to the agricultural revolution. Ephemerality would have been the day to day lived experience of hunter-gatherers. Here today, gone tomorrow, pick the berries now, while they're ripe and before the birds get them. But agriculture? Prepare the field, plant the seeds, water, tend, wait. wait. wait. then finally harvest. Finally finally your labour has paid off and you can eat. Careful though because there won't be another harvest until next year, so be careful, ration, wait. Would you plant the field if you didn't know if you'd be around to harvest it? That's a tough sell, for sure.

I think of flatwormposting, on instagram, who announced suddenly that they would delete their account today. That they felt like they had accomplished what they wanted to accomplish, that they were complete, and ready to move on. The immediate response, of course, was no, don't go, or if you must go, please don't delete the account. Leave it up, to sit in perpetuity, an archive of your work and legacy. Please, you did good work, please let us keep it. As if deleting their account deletes their work. As if they won't carry it forward with them. As if people who interacted with the account while it was up weren't changed in some small way. As if a thing that is temporary - which is all things - is somehow less important than a permanent thing.

And their response was simply, all things are ephemeral. All things are ephemeral, everything could be gone tomorrow. If they didn't delete this account, instagram could. A hacker could take it. Nothing is certain, everything is a constant renegotiation. Given that, what now?

What now? How do we want to live before we die? What choices might we make if nothing was certain? What risks would we take? How would we live our lives if we knew, deeply, truly, in an embodied way, that another world is possible, as the Nap Bishop constantly reminds us? That the continuation of this one as it is, that the status quo is not and has never been certain? That each day we wake up we make this world again, and we could simply chose to make it differently, to paraphrase David Graeber. If we no longer privileged that which is over that which could be. If we no longer held onto the illusion of certainty and control and permanence.

All things are ephemeral. What now?

[mooniehsh]

Just like he was before

Lucifer meeting his daughter for the first time

Obey Me! Lucifer

 (OC’s daughter just to be clear) 

Warnings: A little bit of angst, just a tiny portion of it... yeah... 

(I’m really sorry if the characters doesn’t seem like themselves. It’s the first time i tried to write something with them, and I’m not that sure that i make everyone accurate) 

I'm 99.9999% sure that i might write about this again. It’s such a fun concept, and i apologize about my grammar. English is not my first language. 

Enjoy! 

- Made by: Ace (MT)

Gif not mine

Lucifer was livid, but that was not the exact word to describe how he was feeling at this moment even though it was close to it. He was anxious, waiting, and walking towards Diavolo’s chambers with stress and curiosity running through his veins and messy heart. Anticipating on firsthand that the prince was calling only to inform him about a problem with his brothers, or maybe a usual meeting about work, and that was the main topic he had on his mind when he called him... but no, luck doesn’t exist for him. So when Diavolo spoke about his lover as the central problem in this call he was speechless.

Not to say that he was terrified in a way...

But he decided to calm down, thinking of a reasonable cause of why the young prince had called him specifically about her.  And when he reached some possible motives, he decided to shut up and not bring expectations to the matter.

 Let it be a surprise", he thought immediately when fateful scenarios crossed his mind, she is not in danger I know it. Did he believe in his own words? This time: no, he did not. But as he said before, let fate decided for him and not bring speculations to an uncertain future. 

And the great moment had to come. He walked towards the entrance, heart on the mouth, begging himself to behave and not lose his mind in the process. 

“She is a strong woman. whatever is the matter I’m sure is not that complicated” 

But only if he knew exactly what was behind the doors he definitely would be beyond terrified, maybe even confused

And what a lovely surprise, that’s exactly how Diavolo view everything in the room: confusion and pure excitement of the creature sitting on the edge of his sofa, waiting for a word to be spoken.

But it was the other way around, he wanted to hear her voice, know more of the girl who reminds him of an old friend… how strange, he thought her parents liked to talk. 

- My lord, I think we should call Lucifer a second time

 - There is no need. He will be here soon, fear not my friend-The butler nodded with his head, looking over the woman in silence one more time. And he smiled, laughing inside for the similar looks she shared with the new guest coming to the palace in no time. – So, you said your mother wasn’t coming to meet us. Is she sick? -Diavolo asked for the third time, making the young girl exhale for the curious question. She did not want to talk, but she did not have to answer with words, so a simple shake of her head was enough.

But was Diavolo satisfied with it? Of course not. So, with that in mind, he asked again -Does she knows that you’re here? -She let escape a simple laugh from her lips, opening her mouth, making the prince wait anxiously for her voice to be heard once again.

- She’s occupied with mortal duties -She responds, gaining a sly grin from Barbatos, who was curious to know if the girl was frightened of Diavolo thanks to the fact that she had not made eye contact with the man in this whole time, except when they introduced themselves of course. But deep inside, he believed that it was more out of respect. Lucifer sometimes does that, so it would make so much sense if it were the actual reason…

How thrilling the day was going to be…

- She is a doctor, am I right? It is a good profession, more with these difficult times, don’t you agree? – She nodded, playing with her phone, cursing under her breath at the moment she noticed that it was completely dead, no battery that would help distract her from the intense gaze of the demons over her body

Mother was right about this; it was going to be a little uncomfortable…

- Mortal phones do not work down here, I’m sorry for not telling you sooner. -She threw an apologetic smile at him, making eye contact for the first time in that long-languishing moment. And with that, Diavolo chuckle filled the room, spreading the humor towards his butler and creating a weird tension on her shoulders

She did not understand how her dear mother passed one whole year with these kinds of things… she was a warrior with no doubt

-  Has anyone ever told you how much you look like your father? – He had no idea… hearing the same thing from close people with knowledge of the realms was overwhelming and frustrating. But it was something she learned to normalize, until now, of course. She was there to discover for herself the truth in those words, to see if they were lying or not.

Her father was a great enigma that never had a beautiful or tragic response, and if no one dared to respond it then she was willing to sacrifice her life to search for the long-waited question 

And the same thing goes for Lucifer, whose palms were sweating from the nervous heat he was feeling inside, but that didn’t stop him from knocking on the door three times. He waited, standing in front of the golden gate, quieting his mind with delayed work, supposing this was something insignificant and momentary

But the surprise was more than alarming to him than the call that the prince dared to make minutes ago. His eyes grew bigger in honest astonishment, locking his lungs with the thin air at the simple sight of a woman, whose steps were getting closer to him in the same moment when Diavolo said something about taking her to the house of lamentation.

Lucifer was not listening to one word that fell from the mouth of his dear friend. For the first time in millennials, he never expected to find someone so intriguing yet so dangerous to meet. And his mind finally exploded when Barbatos said something about a beautiful family reunion, pointing out how much of siblings they could be if the daughter- father thing never existed between them.

- You call me for this…? -  His tone lacks the true feelings he had inside, making him sound so cold and sour that the girl couldn’t help but mock him with a confused grin. So, he was her father? 

The great lucifer was nothing other than a tired and young man whose first impression was to criticize the meeting they were having? No wonder why uncle Sol used to talk so bad about him…

 -It was a surprise, I’m sorry if made you panic but I believed it was something very important… Lucifer, meet Miss Van Doren, your lovely daughter- And the world stopped only for him to digest that tiny information.

It was her; it looked like her, but somewhat different from what he expected… 

His beloved told him about the pregnancy long ago, something he agreed to have but for details like work and difference between worlds he never got the chance to see the beautiful newborn that he created with the love of his life. He only saw through photos her baby face, how pretty she was with so little age that made him question if it was his child. 

But when his work started piling up, Lucifer had little time to check his telephone, decreasing the chats he used to have with his lover, and with it, the photos of her daughter… 

Sometimes he even forgot that he had a phone in the first place

And so, he never got to know what his beloved daughter looked like today. Until now… 

-Luci? Are you listening to me? 

-Yes! Yes, I am… -He was not, Diavolo knew that immediately. Anyways, he repeated the same instruction twice, making sure the man in front of him was paying close attention. And this time, Lucifer heard everything - You want me to take her to the house of lamentation? - Diavolo nodded with a smile, barely touching the back of the girl, pushing her closer to her father and the man was more than astounded right now. 

Who would think that a demon like him gave life to someone that radiates the aura of an angel? She was a Nephilim, of course, but he was so sure that she could be easily mistaken by an actual angel with just one glance at her 

She was the vivid image of him, and it was scary. How her eyes were so dark but yet full of light, looking at his reflection in them, knowing that she was doing the same in those ruby orbs of him. And her hair, falling almost over her shoulders with gracious black curls, just like the ink in the books he used to read to her mother. The length not too long or too short, resembling a little like her mama at least. 

It was like looking at the mirror, looking at his figure when he was part of the celestial realm. Is this possible? He was a demon now, but here she is, radiating such a pure aura and soul… 

-The others might want to meet their niece, so it’s a good opportunity to know each other. But save some space for tonight, I need to know more about her… you never told me about your affair with Jules- Because he never craved to mix personal stuff with work, but it looks like he needs to do it now thanks to this little secret. -Anyways, I hope you have a wonderful day. -And with anything else to add, they started walking towards the exit, being the palace a place so quiet that even their breaths sounded like huge lightning bolts. 

Lucifer initiated the conversation, not even daring to see the girl at his side, and it looked like she didn’t want to do the same. 

-Your mother… why did you come alone? How did you enter? 

- My uncle helped me… -Her velvet voice took him by surprise, but her words charged against him so fast that he stopped, analyzing the phrase with a confused look in his factions. 

- Uncle? - He raised a brow, while his daughter stopped her steps a few meters away from him but with a low voice she assured him that this help didn’t come from his brothers. 

- Solomon, you know him, right? -Of course, the shady magician always comes to help this tiny family. First, it was Jules when she messed up something with chemicals, and now, his child. 

- You have no idea… -Should she ask? In her mind, that attitude was kind of similar to the man mentioned before. Do these two men hold a grudge against each other? She never questions Solomon about these types of things, more because he never answered… -And your mother? Did she agree to you coming here? All by yourself? -She inhales thin air, looking at his figure getting closer and closer. In every book or website, they described this man as intimidating, but he wasn’t. Hell, she even thinks her mother can do the same thing and she would be terrified knowing it was a sign of frustration… 

- … I sneak out, so no, she doesn’t know that I’m here. - And a side of him appeared at the terror her mother must go through if she found out. That was somewhat inconsiderate on her part, to leave without telling her where she was heading 

- Do you have any idea of how frightened your mother must be? You cannot come to the Devildom like this, it is very irresponsible. You could have been attacked by another demon or worst, your aura would easily attract them, and nobody would know you were here. -She wasn’t awaiting him to scold her in their first meeting, but due to the circumstances sooner or later it would be expected to happen. 

So she waited until he had finished. And when his lips sealed in a line, looking with the ruby eyes the dark ones she smiled somewhat uncomfortable 

- Mom is working right now, in urgencies… she never goes home until 7 pm, so I got my chance- It wasn’t enough reason, but for now, he let it slip, knowing that Diavolo and Barbatos were lurking in the shadows only to hear everything they discussed. They needed privacy, so he guides the girl until the breeze of Devildom hit them. 

Lucifer put one of his hands on her back, a little hesitant, he doesn’t know if she would like it or not, he is cautious as always. Although seeing how she didn’t mind, he kept it there, still guiding her through the desolated streets of Devildom 

- Even if your mother is busy, you shouldn’t do things like this. It is dangerous, any demon could have their way with you if you are not careful… - She lightly snorted, interrupting his speech, making him feel annoyed by her action

- Father, I’m not dumb. I did not ask anyone who passed in front of me to help me. Sol would never put me at risk and besides, I appeared with Lord Diavolo… I know what I’m doing here, so do you. -And before he even dared to say something more, she continued, hugging herself because of the weather. It was cold, and her little jacket wasn’t enough to cover her body. She wishes she had listened to Solomon before she agreed to just go in without a word. - And you can lecture me with mom at your heart’s content, but I was tired of waiting for this day to come… -Lucifer squinted his eyes just a little, not sure she was trying to say. Her facial expressions were completely the opposite of her words, making her voice appear like she was struggling with something but the moves she made didn’t say the same. She seemed calm, oddly calm 

- How so…? - But he was the same, curiosity in the voice of the demon but serenity in his posture. She had to admit, they were similar in some things… - You couldn’t wait to come and risk your life without telling anybody?

- Mother said we were coming in summer, that I would meet the great Lucifer and finally get the answers I deserved. Guess what? It’s already Autumn. She made that promised more than once, and every time I was ready to go and meet you, she got a call from the hospital. How convenient… -She whispered something, an insult maybe, he couldn’t listen properly, and her body failed to hide the frustration she had inside. - I couldn’t bear to stay and keep this waiting on and on… 

-You don’t have much patience, do you? 

- I do have patience, but everything has its limits - Her footsteps were pretty slow until she stood in the middle of the sidewalk, with expectations low of what he could tell her. This demon saw in her the same posture he had when the world burned down under his feet, right at the moment, he rebelled against his father for something he thought was wrong to do. The difference? She didn’t radiate rebellion or wrath, just interest, curiosity, maybe a little of exasperation. 

What a surprise… 

-I waited almost 17 years just to see you, so don’t give me a lecture for wanting to meet my own father. - Lucifer grinned, taking his coat and putting it on her shoulders, blocking his gaze with hers. The world talked, both of them discussing something incomprehensible like past and future, so odd to everybody else, but for them?

 It was just like looking at the mirror, one that never ages, the reflection that would never let the memories escape. And the similarities with the celestial Lucifer didn’t stop coming to his exhausted mind. She wasn’t corrupted, she didn’t have desires that could identify her as hostile or something related to that keyword. She was half-human, with a soul that any demon would love to devour, with ordinary wishes like any other person in her world… she was just like he was before 

- To be this our first encounter, you don’t look like someone afraid to defy me. - Just like her mama taught her, this man is not easy to talk to. She would play his cards, even if she doesn’t know what she is doing, even if she is not conscious of it. - It reminds me of someone… 

- Mom? - The sweet and velvet voice appeared, and he took her hands, walking towards home, glazing at her from time to time. - or it is you father? - that word was still foreign to her tongue, something she had never used even if somebody demands her to pronounce it. But here she is, trying to accustom her mind to do it one more time. Deep inside she liked the idea to finally call someone like that. And luck was on her side… 

- Both, more your mother than anyone else to be precise. She was more curious than Solomon if I remember right… -And she asked again inside of her head if the man fought with her uncle. However, she should save that question for another time - She was always intrigued even by the little things that life throw at her. I don’t know how she survived so many things. It wouldn’t be a surprise if you have the same strength Louise -and her heart stopped beating, making her feel the cold of Devildom get through her clothes. Lucifer took her features for a single moment, wondering what happened to make her look so startled.

- you know my name… 

- You thought I didn’t? -She nodded, so determined that it surprises him. Did Jules never tell her about him? - I gave you the name, right when you were born… she never talked about me? 

- Not much… but mom always loved to do it, the problem is that she is very busy with work and I don’t like to interrupt her with my curiosity… sometimes - He sighed, noticing the way her eyes inspected the trees, how her hair becomes a mess, making it hard to distinguish her locks from the coat. Meanwhile, the girl called Louise was with an infinity of questions haunting her mind.

Was he the one who gave her that name? It wasn’t a joke? Oh, god, she did not know whether to thank or question Lucifer even more...

- So you know very little 

- I wouldn’t put it that way… it’s more like I know who you are, what you do but I don’t know why you leave my mother, why did you leave me? - The big question comes to his ears, making him get away from her only to open the gate of the House of Lamentation. And the name was exactly what he felt: he lamented not being there for her mother or Louise. She was a woman now, not entirely but she was older enough to understand trivial matters of the realms. - She told me you were a workaholic, but I don’t think that’s a good excuse to not come and see us… right? -The silence weren’t deadly, but her patience surely took that attribute until the lips of her creator parted to explain himself. 

- Your time is very different from mine. The clock goes slower than yours, and I’m… -His pause was something he didn’t want to express. And his pride was a rare feeling he hated right now, where deep down he tried to fight it, but it was useless -I’m the same man your mother tried to tell you about… There’s a lot of things that requires my attention, and I’m just one solitary demon. -There was something behind it, she could feel it, she didn’t buy it. 

- That’s your excuse? - Lucifer groans reach her ears, making her back up immediately, not trusting his movements one bit - Mother suffer every time I see her calling you or texting you, we deserve something more than that cheap apology… -She was walking in dangerous territory, and still feels right to her to fight the devil himself. Man or demon who wanted so badly to let her know with the exact words how true the past was for him, how things went down hill so easily. 

- I love your mother, I really do. So sorry to disappoint your expectation in my answer, but I never lie when it comes to her, you should understand that. Some things escape my possibilities… - Louise hugged the coat, even more, drifting her gaze away from him. And Lucifer sighed, making sure no one was around, not even his brothers spying through the windows. 

With another apology, he tried the last thing he would ever do in front of others, being the avatar of pride and a man who craved for a gentle touch but always deny the act when is in front of him. He hugged her, causing the girl to gasp when she felt the embrace surround her. So sweet but bitter, like cold natural lemonade made at home. She finally felt the love of a father, making the wishes she kept inside her mind for so long a dream come true, achieving something both mirrors craved so much. 

- Life is cruel, that’s how it works in our lives ,dearest one… - Louise had a strong grip on him, not wanting to let go of this moment, clinging to his father fearing this would be the last time even though is the first. And Lucifer never wanted to protect someone of corruption so much as he does right now, being her daughter so precious that he desired to see her live peacefully, not worrying about demons and wars between species… but he knew that would be impossible. Still, he would protect her and her mother just the same way he wanted to protect Lilith, and he would not make the same mistake twice 

- I never wanted this meeting to be so depressing -Lucifer offered her a wide smile, being so close to open the front door, to show her this other life she never got the chance to meet 

- Let’s call it a heartbreaking reunion, not depressing -She nodded, agreeing with his words, returning the smile but in a smaller way. And with everything settle, he greeted her inside of the House of Lamentation with hidden enthusiasm, making some of his brothers appear and see the arrival of the oldest.

They were more in shock than Lucifer when they saw her, instantly loading the girl with questions or simply trying to guess what she was. 

Surely her soul was something from an old world. Nephilims were resurfacing, it was expected to the others feel this little and simple curiosity, but being so close to the girl, inspecting her to head to toes were a little… extreme 

But still, she let them do what they wanted to do with this curiosity. She let them say whatever they wanted to say. It was fun for her to listen to stupid theories, to look at them right in the eye and see them struggle while trying to decipher who she was and why she was there 

It was fun until someone broke the tension over the brothers, being Lucifer the judge of this behavior towards his daughter. She didn’t mind if we put aside the number of times some of them dared to get too touchy with her. She even smiled when one of the brothers said something towards Lucifer about her mother 

-Angel or not, you shouldn’t be so concerned about this girl. She is not Jules, we know how to behave -Asmodeus smiled with his words falling in the air as he speaks. Louise’s laugh reached the ears of the brothers, making the action contagious to her father, being the two of them a rare pair. 

-Of course, but being his daughter might complicate some things- Levi choked with his saliva, Beel gasped, Mammon screamed some completely incomprehensible things, and the others only remained in silence. Her eyes laid upon the blonde demon who wanted so badly to say something, being interrupted by others every time he had the chance to express his mind- And no, I’m not an angel

-I knew Jules had a child, but I thought it was with Solomon… -Louise was the one now who choked, looking at Asmo and Lucifer a few times, noticing that the raven-haired demon looked a little concerned about this new information 

-...I don’t have brothers. Noah is adopted, and my mother never had another lover -Asmo mouth formed a perfect ‘o’ , and Satan finally spoke with such an intensity in his eyes. She waved at him, receiving a tiny smile from his part. And every pair of eyes laid on him

-She is gonna get mad, you know that Louise? -Of course, he was going to say the same thing Lucifer did. She knew what she was doing, she knew the risks, she was not a stupid mortal who acted on impulsive decisions all the time. 

-You know her?! Since when?! -Lucifer’s curiosity grew bigger, knowing exactly what was going on in his house, taking a few steps closer to the avatar of wrath. Please, Louise begged, do not start a conflict

-He had been visiting Jules, am I right? - The older spoke, and Satan wanted to laugh, but he remained in silence, with his gaze on the girl who expresses between her eyes and hands, that he must  leave the wave of a fight at this moment. 

-I’m not like my other brothers who forgot to go and pay a visit to our favorite doctor. Even if she was busy… -The others started with the questions one more time, shushing immediately by Satan or Lucifer. Louise only understood that some of them were with little time to see her, and others like Beel and Asmo knew about this girl. Funny, she doesn’t remember when did they go...

Maybe she was very little at that moment, she would ask her mother later if she survives… 

-… So, just to be clear: you are telling me that this girl named Louise is your daughter, and Solomon got a son which he adopted, and now she came to see you because she wanted to meet you, and Satan knew all this time and never say anything to Lucifer for respect to what Jules decided to do with her love life. And we never got to know this information until now- When Levi put the words from his perspective it seemed like a total disaster, her mind would be if Louise were him.

-It is partially your fault, for not wanting to go and see Jules. It is cruel of your part Levi -The demon made a pout when Satan spoke about him, while Mammon looked at the girl with wide eyes, realizing that it was obvious the family she was part of. 

-Hell, you are really Lucifer’s daughter. You don’t even look like your mother at all… why you never said anything?! -Lucifer groaned, crossing his arms over his chest, annoyed by all this questioning and discussion. He thinks it would be worst with Jules, knowing that if both of them arrived like a big surprise the brothers would be screaming like maniacs about this matter… 

They were yelling, that’s correct, but in a more calming way… sort of. 

-At least she got her beauty - Louise’s cheeks tainted a faint red over them, looking adorable to Asmodeus, the demon who spoke seconds ago. - Yes! She has her beauty! Oh, you look like an angel -And like an instinct, she hides behind her father, who grabbed her hand and took her upstairs while the other demons tried to stop him 

-We are not done here Lucifer! Why Jules never said something about her? It’s her daughter! 

-Mammon, that’s enough! All of you should at least give her space and not asphyxiate the poor girl! -The oldest of the brothers yelled with no effort, reflecting his molested attitude and tired mind in this discussion - You want answers? Ask Satan, I’m trying to find them as well -And with nothing else to add, he kept walking with Louise right behind him 

-Why not ask Jules? She will arrive in this home in less than an hour, so it’s a good opportunity to explain all this mess. Right, Luci? -His grin grew bigger, and the girl shivers with the simple idea of the disastrous war her mother would do when she sees her. 

-How are you so sure? -A low voice that took everybody by surprise, asking for the truth in the words of Satan. The man stood there for a few seconds, getting closer and closer to Louise, putting his hands right on her shoulders, gaining a warning from Lucifer. He didn’t care, he had more connection with this girl than he, so why bother? 

-Louise, your plan failed in just one simple error. You didn’t tell Noah about your escape right?- She had everything under control huh? Yeah, that was lie… a big one - ‘Cause I don’t know you, but he is always with you when your mother leaves you alone at home. Sometimes he even invites you to see what he had created with Solomon… -And she always calls him if she doesn’t respond to her messages. She totally forgot about him...

-She called him, fuck, she did… - A mortal who sounded and looked like an angel cursed with the simple idea of forgetting a tiny detail. Satan laughed, biting his lips while his brothers looked around kind of confused, except for Lucifer who desired to shut everything off only to have time alone with his daughter. It was annoying as always, his inexistent bad luck trying to steal precious time with his new family

- … But… you know what? I think it was a good idea that I forgot about Noah… -And Satan’s eyes went wide with her words -She owns me an explanation after all, and in this place, no work would not let her get away without telling me the truth…. So let her come -She had questions just like these brothers, and she finally would get those precious answers she deserved. 

But she wouldn't create a war for it, on the contrary, she just wanted peace and to live with both of her parents present in her life. It was the correct thing to do… 

And Lucifer could only think how oddly similar it was, how her determination put her in such a high place where there’s no visible fright for defying her creator. Just like he was before the falling… 

[psychovigilantewrites]

Baby Bird- Rewrite

Pairing: Jason Todd/Reader

Genre: SMUT

Word count:  5296

Summary: This is a rewrite of my first ever fic! I didn’t really incorporate the whole Baby Bird thing in this one, and i did change a lot of it, though the story is still very similar to each other. I’m pretty proud of it! Let me know what you guys think!

You can find the original on my Masterlist

Read it on Ao3

Kofi

You had a relatively good relationship with most of your brothers.

You loved watching rom-coms with Dick when you both got the time, and he was always there to lend you an ear. He was the first person whom you truly loved unconditionally, as he brought you out of your shell when Bruce first found you and took you in.

Tim was a bit harder, but mostly because he was shy. You didn’t really have many things in common with Tim except that the both of you were more business savvy than the rest. The two of you were the main attractions during Wayne Enterprises’ functions, and you would even share projects together.

Damian was a tough nut to crack, but after he came in, it only took you a couple months before he started showing you that he didn’t mind you. Scratch that- you were pretty sure that you were his favorite. Everyone else treated him like he wanted to be treated, an adult. But you maintained a perfect balance of shaking his hand business-like when you meet him, and spoiling him with hugs and kisses he pretends to hate.

You never had brothers before, but you were sure that the ones you had now were as perfect as brothers could ever be.

But then there was Jason.

You didn’t see him as someone you loved brotherly, someone you relied on, or someone you shared hugs and kisses with. That’s because for some reason, he hated you.

Well, hate was a strong word. Maybe he just really disliked you.

In fact- he disliked you so much that he would try to avoid you as much as possible. You tried so hard to get on his good side. Read the same books he did just so you could have something to talk about, even took his side whenever he argued with the boys or Bruce.

In which he would respond with a gruff “I don’t need your help.”

You were at a loss. All you wanted was to be close to him. Maybe cuddle up with him on the sofa, leaning against his hard body. Maybe feel his large, thick, magnificent hands resting on your thigh whenever he sat next to you during dinners. Maybe brush your lips against his chapped, pink-

Whatever his problem was, it made you frustrated.

***

“Where are you going?” Jason glared at you from the living room. He was lying down on the sofa with his feet up, peeking at you from behind his book.

You blinked your eyes in surprise. He hardly ever initiated conversation with you. Perhaps he was finally warming up to you? You tried to hide your smile as you walked closer to him from the staircase.

“I’m going to see someone,” you answered and smiled sweetly at him, trying your best not to agitate him in any way.

“Who?” he frowned, sitting upright.

You tried to hide your surprise again. Two questions in a row? He must be in a good mood.

“Uhm, Ray,” you replied, “We take the same class in college.”

“Why are you wearing that?” he shot a dirty look.

This time, you frowned and looked down at yourself. You were only wearing a tight baby doll t-shirt with a skater skirt that went up to your mid-thigh.

“Uh, I always wear stuff like this,” you told him.

“No, you don’t,” he narrowed his eyes at you, judging you from top to bottom.

You felt a bit offended. Was he really questioning your sense in fashion?

You wanted to bite back, but refrained from doing so. You really didn’t want to get even further on his bad side.

“You’re right,” you forced a grin, “Maybe my choice in fashion tonight is a bit odd. I think I’ll change my sneakers to flats. What do you think?”

“It’s not the shoes,” he rolled his eyes, “Whatever. Do what you want.”

And he went back to his book.

You stood there in silence, mouth slightly ajar, confused as to what happened. Before you could gather your thoughts and say something, your phone rang.

“That’s me,” you announced, “I’m going now.”

Jason didn’t answer.

***

The date went well. Ray was a cute guy. His olive eyes complimented his tanned skin, his chestnut hair falling in soft locks around his sharp, angular face. He was polite as well, even walking you up to the door from his car.

“I had a good time, Ray, thank you,” you giggled, slightly buzzed from the cocktails he bought you.

“Me too,” he smiled, flashing a set of perfect white teeth. “You look so pretty tonight, did I mention that?”

“Yes, like five times,” you laughed, slapping his chest. “I’m glad you think so. My brother basically snorted at my fashion choice.”

“What, this skirt?” he widened his eyes, pulling you closer by the waist. “This skirt drove me crazy all night.”

“Your damn flirting drove me crazy all night,” you purred, snaking your arms behind his neck.

“I’ve been thinking of kissing you,” he admitted, his voice turning low. “Can I kiss you?”

You didn’t reply. Instead, you tiptoed and crashed your lips against his, eliciting a deep and guttural moan from him. His hands slid from your waist down to your ass, bunching up your skirt with every squeeze.

Suddenly, he was gone.

You blinked a couple of times before realising what had happened.

“Get the fuck off her,” you heard a familiar snarl.

Jason had ripped Ray off from you, causing him to stumble backwards. You were speechless, mouth gaping like a fish out of water.

“Jason!” you hissed, “Ray, I’m so sorry. This is my brother, Jason.”

“Yeah, I figured,” he chuckled nervously.

“Adoptive brother,” he corrected you.

That made your chest tighten.

“Ray is my date tonight,” you told Jason, ignoring his previous statement, “He was just saying goodbye.”

“Well?” Jason crossed his arms, “Say goodbye, then.”

“Uh, it’d be nice if we had some privacy,” you tried to tell him.

“No,” he simply stated, looking straight at Ray as if sizing him up, daring him to do something.

“Jason-”

“Get scarce, or I’ll break your jaw,” he growled.

“O-okay,” Ray surrendered, “Going now. Bye, I guess.”

And he half walked half ran to his car without waiting for your answer.

You just watched him silence as he drove off, and then turned to Jason angrily.

“What the hell was that?” you barked, shoving him aside to enter the manor.

“He had his hands all over you,” he replied coldly.

“So?” you argued, “I’m an adult, Jason. I can sleep around with guys if I want to.”

You thought you saw his jaw clench.

“You can’t,” he grit.

“Excuse me?”

“You. Can’t,” he repeated.

Now, you know Jason had some anger problems, what with the Pit and daddy issues and all that. And you have seen him throw his tantrums. Whether it was breaking chairs, or beating people up. If you lived with Jason Peter Todd, you knew how destructive he could be.

And you knew it wasn’t his fault. You knew that he was constantly trying to be better, which was why he moved back into the manor in the first place. To be with family, hoping that the company and care and attention would help his mental state.

Yet, against all your inner voices screaming at you to stop, against all you rationality, you couldn’t help but provoke him even more, because you were just fucking sick and tired with him treating you like shit when you had tried so hard to be nice to him.

“All this while you refuse to acknowledge me as your sister, you ignore me, push me away, fucking criticize my choice of clothes,” you seethed, “And now you’re telling me that I can’t do whatever the fuck I want with my own body?”

“You can do whatever you want,” he replied, “I just won’t let you.”

“Let me?” you repeated, “Let me?! Who the fuck are you? Because you’re obviously trying very hard to not be my brother!”

“Fucking hell, listen to yourself!” he groaned, “Spouting all this brother, sister crap! I know you try your goddamn best to fill whatever void you have with this family shit, but you want to know the hard and honest truth?”

He stalked towards you, jaw set and mouth in a thin line before leaning in close and saying the harsh words in a dead voice, “I will never think of you as my sister.”

Your breath stuttered then. If it was any other situation, it would have been because he was so close to you that you could feel his warm breath on your face. But this time, it was because you were trying hard to force back the tears into your eyes.

Did he really hate you that much?

Instead of asking him that direct question, you tested his patience even more.

“Just because your own mother betrayed you, doesn’t mean the rest of the world will,” you lashed out, “But you know what? I can see why she did it.”

And you regretted every single word you said the moment it came out of your mouth.

You saw Jason’s expression change, from the stable frustration before, into a flash of white hot anger. He was shaking, his nose flaring, his hands in fists.

“I- I-” you stuttered, “I didn’t mean-”

Before you registered what had happened, you jumped when you heard a loud bang!

In the raging anger he felt, Jason punched a large crack into the old wooden wall of the mansion, and then stormed off, kicking a vase down in the process of walking up the stairs. The final noise you heard from Jason was his door slamming shut.

Fuck.

You were a horrible person for saying that. The guilt crept in as you realised how harsh your words were.

Well, it wasn’t like he was nice to you either.

Still, he didn’t stoop so low as to bring up your painful past and use it against you.

Sighing, you argued with yourself in your head as you walked up the staircase to go to your own room. Jason’s room was just down the hall from yours, and you hesitated in front of your room, considering that maybe you should go and apologize.

With a deep breath, you head over to his door and raised your knuckles to knock, but midway, just a split second before you hit the wood, you noticed that the door was open by a teeny tiny crack.

And a tired moan coming from inside.

You froze, fist still in the air, eyes wide like a deer caught in the headlights of a truck.

Another moan, and the sound of the springs of his bed creaking.

No. No, no, no, you weren’t supposed to be there. You weren’t supposed to be listening in on his private, intimate moment.

You felt a tingle between your thighs.

Fuck, and you most definitely were not supposed to get turned on either.

Yet, at the back of your head you couldn’t help but add this piece of information like you would a note on a calendar.

Jason Peter Todd jacked off when he was angry.

Your brain told you to run, because what you were doing was wrong, an invasion, perverted. But despite your rational thinking, your feet were still glued right in front of his door, ears hypersensitive, straining to pick up every sound you could.

You closed your eyes and breathed in deep. Okay. You recollected yourself. Now it was time to go and maybe release your frustrations in the same way- but in your own bed with your door locked.

But as soon as you made to move, something else held you back that made you lose all your senses.

Another moan coming from Jason’s room, but this time it was your name.

He moaned your name.

You froze on the spot then, morals thrown out the window, you carefully inched closer to the gap between the door, straining your ear even more.

“Fuck, fucking bitch, fuck,” he panted.

Jason wasn’t terribly loud, but it was obvious that he was trying to restrain himself from being too noisy. After all, you all lived in a house full of vigilantes with trained heightened senses.

Now you were scared of being heard, because though you were only listening in, you could feel your breaths getting heavier and heavier, not unlike Jason’s.

And you kept on listening.

“Oh, fuck,” he breathed out loud, “Teasing people with that- hnngh- fucking skirt. Fuck!”

You accidentally let out a soft giggle, before clamping your palm against your mouth. You wanted to run away in fear that you were heard, but once you ran away, you knew you wouldn’t find it in you to come back and listen.

So you stayed your ground.

“Tight fucking shirt,” he continued, and you knew you were safe.

Huh.

Jason Peter Todd also liked to ramble while he jacked off.

At least now you knew why he hated your outfit so much. Who knew it was because he felt like he was being teased?

You were becoming more amused by the second, because hell- this was the guy who had his walls up so high, the same guy who refused to share anything remotely personal with anyone, and to see him crumble down and fuck his fist-

He let out a long, deep groan- and fuck.

Fuck.

Did the sounds of his cock get even wetter?

You needed to see him.

You decided to get on your hands and knees on the floor, thinking that standing up would cast more shadows and make it a bit more obvious that someone was outside the door listening in. So you crouched and tried to make yourself seem as small as possible.

You pushed the door very very lightly, hoping that the hinges didn’t creak.

Now you had a view of Jason, who was lying down on his back, his dark blue t-shirt riding up to his chest. Your eyes trailed down to the deep V that went down to his body, a small patch of his happy trail, his grey sweatpants hitched down to his knees, and his perfect, thick, swollen cock hard in his fist, glistening wet.

You sucked in a sharp breath at the view, feeling your panties getting soiled by the second.

Have you ever been that horny in your life? Probably not.

Jason was brutally fucking his fist, and fuck, even though the view was less than perfect because you were too scared to push the door open wider, you could see how fucking tight he was gripping his shaft.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathed, “Wanna fuck you so bad.”

The rustling of his movements, the heavy stuttering breathing, the slick sounds.

You tried to resist, you really did.

But then, he raised his palm to his mouth and fucking spat onto it loudly, fucking filthily before going back down to continue.

That’s it. You couldn’t take it anymore.

You lifted up your skirt and pushed your panties aside, sliding a finger in between your folds and biting your lip so you don’t moan.

So you don’t run inside his room and beg him to take you right then and there.

Your eyes travelled back up to his face and was hardly surprised to see that he didn’t exactly look like he was pleasuring himself.

His eyes were shut tight, his eyebrows stitched together, his expression in an angry scowl, occasionally biting his lower lip, occasionally parted to take in deep breaths, occasionally whispering your name.

He looked furious as he stroked his cock.

“Fucking Christ,” he rasped, “Wanna fuck. Wanna fuck you. Fuck.”

And of course Jason Peter Todd would take the Lord’s name in vain while he had his dick in his hand.

What was wrong with your brain? The man was technically confessing that he wanted to fuck you in depraved growls, for fuck’s sake. Why were you focusing on the stupid little details?

Like how long has it been since he started? Did he immediately take off his pants and start masturbating right after your fight, the minute he slammed the door shut, while you were downstairs wallowing in guilt?

Kinky son of a bitch.

You started rubbing circles on your clit, feeling the shoot of pleasure spread in your body, heightening your heart rate even more.

If he really did jerk off right after your fight, does that mean he does it every time he got angry?

You added a note at the back of your head again: Make Jason Peter Todd angry more often.

Fuck, but didn’t that mean he had been going at it for awhile now? Was he going to come soon?

You resisted a groan that almost escaped your lips at the thought of being able to see him spurt his cum on his washboard abs.

You picked up the pace of your own, matching it to Jason’s.

But your back and knees were getting kind of sore already, so you tried to shift around a bit. In that process, you lost your balance. And to regain your balance, your unoccupied hand went straight for the door.

And accidentally pushed it open, stumbling into his room.

“What the fuck!” you heard him gasp.

You froze on the spot, your hand still down your skirt, making eye contact with Jason who was already standing up, cock tucked back in his sweatpants- though that didn’t make a difference because phew, a hard dick in a pair of grey sweatpants was a sight.

You cleared your head and scrambled back to your feet, heart thumping loudly and face heating up at the embarrassment of being caught.

“Uh- I- uh- I thought of saying sorry,” you panicked, “And uh- I didn’t- I didn’t hear- see! Ididn’tseeanythingsorrybye-”

You turned to run away, to lock yourself up in your room and never ever come out. You didn’t even see Jason cross the room and snatch your wrist, pulling you inside and closing the door behind you.

He had you against the door now, his grip on your wrist tight, his body just inches away from yours and god you wanted to feel his hard on against you.

“I think,” you started, “I think you broke the lock when you slammed the door hard. It’s okay I’m sure Alfred can-”

“Why are your fingers wet?” he asked in a low voice.

“Wha?”

You noticed that the hand he was gripping was the one you were using to touch yourself, and he was gripping it high up to his face.

You gulped.

“I was just- uh- washing!” you rambled, “I was washing my hands and didn’t dry them off. Oopsie daisy.”

You let out a nervous laugh, but then was cut short when Jason tilted his face towards your wrist, his nose touching and breathing onto your skin. He took a deep breath, smelling your hand as he travelled from the fleshy part below your thumb up to your two wet fingers.

You clenched your thighs.

“Washing, were you?” he smirked, his eyes hooded and dark.

“Mhmm,” you nodded furiously.

He closed his eyes and continued smelling your fingers.

What the fuck?

Then, and you admit that a piece of you died a little and went to heaven at that point, he let out a small lick at the tip of your index finger.

And fucking groaned, the kind of groan the reverberated back into your bones, the kind of groan that made you feel everything he was feeling.

Your brain basically short-circuited.

When you thought that he couldn’t get any hotter, and any more embarrassing, he took your whole two fingers into his mouth.

Your jaw dropped.

He started sucking on your fingers, his eyes now opened and staring at you intensely, and fuck you could feel his tongue swirling on your fingers, wet and hot and desperate.

“Jason,” you breathed.

He let your fingers out with a pop, and the released your hand.

“Touch yourself,” he instructed.

And you weren’t going to fucking argue with that.

You hiked your skirt up, pushed your panties aside again, and with the fingers that had just been in his mouth, you started rubbing your clit.

Your mouth fell into a little “O”, and Jason?

Jason just watched.

With his breathing hard, his warm breath fanning across your face, he didn’t even look down to where you were touching. No, he just stared deep into your eyes as you continued.

Then, he rested his forehead against yours and let out a soft moan. You heard rustling again, and you looked down, and saw him fisting his cock near your lower belly, as you kept on going at your clit.

“Oh my god, fuck,” you looked up at him, breaths mingling with each other, tips of your noses brushing against one another, as you both touched yourselves.

“You made me angry, baby,” he purred, his other hand going up to cradle the back of your head.

You watched as his thick biceps flexed and rippled as he jerked his fist.

It was funny to you. Just a few minutes ago, he told you that he would never think of you as his sister, and now here he was calling you baby.

Oh. Oh.

Boy, were you stupid.

“Do you always masturbate when you’re angry?” you whispered.

“Sometimes,” he breathed back.

“I just made a mental reminder to make you angry more,” you told him.

“Hmm?” he smirked, “And why would you do that?”

“So I can spy on you,” you blurted.

Jason chuckled the hottest fucking chuckle you’ve ever heard. “You don’t need to spy on me. All you gotta do is ask.”

“But,” you argued mid-wanking, “That takes the fun out of everything.”

“Oh, really?” he said, taking steps back.

His fist kept on going non-stop while he walked backwards towards his bed, and you didn’t notice it before, but his pants were completely gone.

He walked until his knees hit the edge of the bed, and then he sat down, all the while never stopping his strokes.

“So you think this,” to make a point, he started fucking his cock faster and harder for a bit, “Isn’t fun?”

You didn’t understand how someone could be so hot.

“Okay, fine,” you conceded, leaning back against the door because you were worried your knees were going to go out anytime, “You’re right.”

“Of course I am,” he scoffed, “Comere.”

“There?” you hesitated, suddenly nervous at his invitation.

Even in the midst of horny bliss, you suddenly remembered that Jason was never close to you. You didn’t know a thing about him, and you never really connected.

“Yeah,” he frowned, his fist stilling, “Unless you don’t want to.”

“No!” you hurriedly said, “I do. God, trust me, I do. But it’s just…”

“But?”

“I always thought you hated me, Jason,” you stopped your fingers as well, standing upright, “I don’t want this to be a one time thing, and then you go back to hating me.”

“I don’t hate you,” he shook his head in surprise, “I never hated you.”

“Really? Because somehow I find that hard to believe.”

“Look,” he sighed, “The reason why I was so mean to you is because I didn’t know how to act around you. And being mean was the only thing I know how to do. But I never hated you. It’s the opposite, in fact.”

“You like me?” you asked, hopeful.

“Sure I do,” he shrugged nonchalantly, but you noticed his ears slowly turning pink.

“Wow.”

“What?”

“I never imagined that Jason Peter Todd would tell me he liked me while he was sitting on his bed without any pants,” you giggled.

“You wanna come here or not?” he huffed.

You smiled and walked over to him, stopping right in front of him, between his opened thighs. You looked down into his eyes, blue and fierce, and always so intense. He took off his shirt, so he was there, right there, in all his naked glory.

“Take off your clothes,” he murmured.

You didn’t know what to say back except to just do what he had instructed you to do. So you firstly peeled off your tight baby doll shirt, and then slid down your skirt.

What do you know, you thought you noticed him gulping.

“All of it, sweetheart,” he demanded, “I want to see all of you.”

You nodded, and reached behind to unhook your bra, letting your breasts fall. You saw Jason’s immediate change in expression. His jaw went slack, and was looking at you in awe. You were just going to slip down your panties until-

“Too slow,” he said, and then gripped you by the waist and threw you onto the bed on your back.

He immediately went to attack your breasts, sucking and biting and nipping onto your nipple, pinching the other one with his free hand, squeezing and tugging.

“Jason,” you moaned, his warm tongue drawing circles on your nipples. He travelled further below, leaving a trail of opened mouth kisses on your skin.

And finally he reached the place you wanted him to be at the most, his hot breath hovering over your panties. He proceeded to start licking your folds over them, drenching your already wet panties even more with his mouth.

He continued to mouth at your core, teasing you with occasional nips, but never directly stimulating your clit.

He was good at driving a girl crazy in more ways than one.

“Jason,” you whined, “More.”

“More?” he smirked.

“Yes, stop teasing,” you complained.

He laughed and pulled your panties down swiftly, but he didn’t go back in between your thighs, where you arguably thought he belonged.

He came up to you and kissed you deeply, for the first time. He sucked on your lower lip, playing at the entrance of your mouth with the tip of his tongue, prodding but never really entering.

Unfortunately, he was also doing the same with his cock.

You had your legs spread as wide as they could, presenting yourself to him, yet there he was still teasing you by pushing up his tip against your entrance, but then going to your clit to circle on it, and then brushing down your slick folds to tease you some more.

“Now you know how I feel when you wear those short skirts out,” he growled against your lips, “Fucking cock tease.”

“They weren’t even that short,” you pouted.

“If I can get glimpses of your panties when you bend down, then they’re short,” he argued back, “God, the things you do to me.”

He went to your neck to suck on the delicate skin, no doubt leaving marks to be questioned by everyone in the morning.

“Y-y-you,” you stuttered into a sigh when he started tapping his cock against your clit, “Your arms are nice.”

Stupid, stupid.

He burst into laughter, muffling himself using the crook of your neck.

“My arms are nice?”

“Yeah, I want you to choke hold me with them.”

He suddenly met your eyes, surprised.

“What?” you asked.

“Holy fuck,” he simply muttered, and then crashed his lips into yours again, this time shoving his whole tongue inside to taste you.

And thank God, he did the same with his cock.

He slowly pushed in at your entrance, stretching you deliciously apart.

The both of you groaned in unison, finally able to really feel each other.

His pace was slow, but it soon build, all the while you were thrashing about, trying to grip onto something, because his cock had filled you up so fucking perfectly, you knew you were going to feel it for days after.

“Fuck, Jason,” you closed your eyes tight.

“Yeah, baby?” he panted in your ear, “You like my cock in your pussy?”

“Yes,” you whispered, unable to voice out more in fear of being incoherent.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned out loud, his pace increasing even more, “Feel so good around my cock, baby.”

You only heard his dirty, sexy voice, the wet sounds amplifying with every thrust, his stuttered laboured breathing and his sharp intakes of breaths, and fuck that was enough to tip you over the edge.

“Jason,” you moaned, unable to say anything else.

“Take my cock, sweetheart,” he gasped, “Fuck, so much better than I imagined.”

He gripped both your thighs in each of his hands, and then pushed them back towards you, so he could fuck you at a better angle, a better pace.

And he pummeled into your pussy, fucking you into the goddamn mattress as you did nothing but cry and whine and whimper and moaned, his cock hitting every pleasure spot inside you.

You felt yourself climbing, going higher and higher into ecstasy with every “fuck” coming from Jason, every loud groan you knew someone in the house would hear, every breath he took that was becoming more irregular.

“You want to come, sweetheart?” he asked, “I can feel you getting tighter, fuck.”

You nodded furiously, trying so much to reach that high.

Then, he leaned in, and whispered in your ear with the lowest, huskiest, desperate voice you’ve ever heard.

“Too fucking bad.”

He stopped his motions altogether.

Your eyes shot open.

“What?” you nearly shouted, “Jason!”

“You made me angry, didn’t you,” he gave you a shit eating grin, “Did you really think I was going to help you get off after that?”

“But-but-” you started, “I already said sorry!”

“Sorry’s not enough, baby,” he tutted, “I want you to beg for it.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” he raised an eyebrow, “Beg.”

Thrust.

“For.”

Thrust.

“This.”

Thrust.

“Cock.”

Fuck, you were going absolutely insane.

“Jason,” you whined, “Jason, please. Please, I need your cock, Jason. I need you to fuck me. Please.”

You threw away every single dignity you had.

Hey, the man’s got a good cock.

“Why should I fuck a girl who likes to piss me off?” he growled, jaw clenched.

“Because, sir,” you tested. “I promise to be good next time. And if I’m not, then…”

You trailed off.

“Then?” he prompted.

“Then you can punish me,” you finished.

“Fuck,” he started fucking you again, “Fine.”

That didn’t take much. Jason obviously had a thing for begging and being called sir.

This time, he pounded into you with a force that knocked your breath out, and he continued to do so until you were climbing again.

And this time, he didn’t stop.

“Baby,” he rasped, “Baby, come with me.”

“Jason.”

You felt his thrusts getting faster and faster, though more sloppy and irregular, desperate to chase his own orgasm.

“Fuck, I can feel you,” he gasped, “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

You felt it, the moment Jason let go, you reached your peak, feeling yourself sliding into the realm of pure pleasure as your pussy fluttered around his cock.

He quickly pulled out and came all over your stomach, some reaching your breasts, some hitting your fucking chin. Then, he collapsed next to you, breathing hard.

“Fuck,” you breathed.

“Fuck,” he agreed.

The both of you burst into laughter, the first laughter you ever shared together.

And you knew from then on, it was okay if he didn’t see you as his sister, because you most definitely could not see him as your brother- and you realised you never did.

You were just so desperate to get close to him that you’d use any excuse you could find.

But you’ve successfully closed the gap between you and Jason Peter Todd, and you knew you were currently witnessing his walls slowly crumbling down, bit by bit, right in front of you.

[vpyre]

No Matter How Tremulous the Flame, the Ice Will Always Melt

William hadn’t seen Grelle today, which wouldn’t have been out of the ordinary had she been like any other employee; but with Grelle being Grelle, usually not a day went by without some sort of dramatic entrance or other loud indication of her presence. The last time it had been this quiet was when she’d landed herself in the infirmary in critical condition for reasons he would rather not dwell on at the moment. He tended to avoid thinking about things that involved demons, after all (or was it that there was something else about the memory that he didn’t want to acknowledge…?).

Giving himself a mental slap to refocus, he skirted around that train of thought and back to the here and now. In the here and now, he had paperwork to collect. With a beleaguered sigh, he got up out of his comfortable desk chair, strode towards the dark wooden door of his office, and stepped out into the corridor. He checked that his door was locked before making his way down the hall. While the management division employees were granted private offices in deference to their primary role of checking paperwork and doing other administrative-type things; retrieval division workers had a much more temporary, rudimentary setup, as they were rarely in one place for long.

He walked past rows and rows of cramped and messy cubicles, heading for the filing area in the back where finished work was left to be collected. He was so focused on his task he nearly missed the waving hand from the cubicle he was passing, but he caught it out of the corner of his eye at the last moment. The reaper he was facing was not one he knew well, though he was sure he'd seen him around before. When William was within a conversational distance of him, the reaper (Will thought his name might be Miles) spoke up.

"Any idea what's wrong with Sutcliff? He's been very quiet today, and-"

"She," William cut in automatically, almost distractedly, like he hadn't quite realized he'd spoken; but he didn’t waver or elaborate.

”Fine. She has been very quiet today, and I was wondering if you knew anything about it, seeing as you’re his- er, her favorite reaper and therefore the most likely to hear something. Now, normally I wouldn’t be asking, but the silence’s just throwing me off a bit, to tell you the truth.”

Will frowned. Maybe something really was wrong. He told Miles he’d check up on her, then bade him farewell; he did still have a job to do. He’d pick up his papers, then stop by her cubicle on the way out.

He strode down the wide, cluttered aisle towards the back, pondering what he had heard. Someone walked by, but it took him a good few seconds to drag himself from his thoughts enough to process who it was. To his utter surprise, he found he had actually passed Grelle without noticing her right away. That was unheard of! Her very presence demanded the undivided attention of everyone in the room, without exception. However, it seemed that somehow an exception had been made. He watched her as she continued trudging on in the opposite direction without a word of greeting or even acknowledgement. This was also abnormal. She never ignored him; in fact, it was a constant struggle getting her to leave him be. And he had never seen her hunched into herself like that before, like she hoped she would disappear.

He felt his concern for her well up from where he tried to keep it stuffed away; that deep, dark place on the very fringes of his consciousness. That treacherous pit filled with things and thoughts and feelings he didn't want to face, not that he even knew how to face them to begin with. He hated demons, and that included his own. But that day had changed something in him, and he had let himself feel for the first time in more than a century. Now, he tentatively embraced his worry, though he absolutely refused to show it outwardly in front of all these other reapers. That was where he drew the line.

Despite his reservations, he had to make certain she was alright. Abandoning his bid for the paperwork in the back of the room, he turned and made a beeline for Grelle’s cubicle instead, anxiety pricking at him all the way. What if he said something to make it worse somehow? What if he had spent so long as a cold, emotionless statue of ice that he no longer knew how to comfort someone else? He took a steadying breath. He would try. She’d understand that he was doing his best; she was a thoughtful woman, after all. At the rate he had been going, he likely never would have opened up to emotion at all had it not been for her, and that thought soothed his worry slightly. He just wished he'd been kinder to her before, wished it hadn't taken her nearly dying to defend him to make him realize how much she genuinely cared. He was still in awe of her bravery and selflessness in that moment, in the face of such a terrible foe; an enemy that he despised.

He stopped in what qualified as the doorway of her makeshift office, and when she didn't seem to notice him standing there, he spoke up.

"Sutcliff."

She tensed almost imperceptibly, then looked up at him from her seat at her well-kept desk. "Oh. Hi, Will," she said, a little hoarsely and much quieter than he had ever heard her speak. She cleared her throat, then gave him a smile that might have been convincing had her eyes not given her away. Aside from the redness and ever-so-slight puffiness that her makeup couldn't quite hide, the nature of the thoughts and feelings behind them was impossible to disguise. He could see the pain and exhaustion in them. He could feel it stagnating in the confines of her tiny, constricting cubicle; hanging in the air and darkening her countenance like fog blocking out the sun. No amount of makeup could ever hope to obscure anything when Grelle's emotions, whether positive or negative, were always so powerful. She was like the sun: her warmth radiated out from her, touching everyone in sight; but when that warmth was covered by clouds, leaving only cold and rain, everyone in sight felt the loss.

William was shaken from his musings by her voice. "Is there something you need?"

He sighed. "To be perfectly honest, Grelle, I'm concerned for you. You've been unordinarily quiet today, and I can tell from just being near you that you are not feeling well. If you need a sick day, that can be arranged."

For a moment, she looked surprised- she wasn't used to him caring- then slumped down and let out a sigh of her own. "I'm not sick."

When she didn't elaborate, he asked, "Then what's wrong?"

She looked away and fell silent, but he could feel the tension crackling in the air as her emotions swelled to the surface, despite her efforts to keep them down. Finally, she breathed out, "I'm tired," and it felt like empty space itself had frozen.

Her wavering voice shot lines of striking grey exhaustion through the silence and the stillness, slicing through it like razor wire; like fragile threads of lightning before a sky-cracking boom of thunder. Will felt that if it had been raining, the drops would have hung suspended in space, a manifestation of stopped time. She turned to face him again, and he felt a jolt go through his body when he saw wetness in her eyes. It wasn't from surprise. No, the jolt came from the sheer pervasive power of her pain. It pierced through him in a way he had only ever experienced once before, and he was struck dumb.

This is just like that day, this depth of feeling. I never suspected that her pain was so overwhelming, just as I never thought her affection for me ran so deeply that she would be willing to sacrifice her life to defend me from that demon. What a nightmare that was. I thought she was dead; there was so much blood. She was in the infirmary on the verge of a second death for two days, and in recovery for a week. I never have and never will forget how quiet and empty dispatch felt without her. The whole ordeal shook some humanity back into me, and for that, I will forever be grateful; I just don't ever want to see her suffer again.

But here she was, suffering. She was in pain, and he didn't know what to do; just like that day. The tears in her eyes silently welled up and spilled over, leaving thin tracks as they rolled down her cheeks. He stood uselessly in the doorway, mind frantically racing to think of some way to help her, to make her hurt go away. His thoughts were blurring together, clashing and roiling, whiting out his senses. They were building and building; soon he would burst. When it all got to be too much, he threw logic out the window and gave in to instinct instead. He strode forward, wrapped his arms around her, and just held her. Her body stiffened and her eyes widened, but then she relaxed and sank into his embrace. She broke down and the tension broke with her; the taut cords of repressed emotion snapped, the suspended drops began to fall, the thunder cracked the charged stillness in twain. She buried her face in his shoulder and hugged him closer, squeezing her eyes shut and clenching his suit coat in her fists with the force only granted to someone in the throes of sorrow. He sat still and let her cry; God knows she needed to let it all out somehow. Through her tears, she told him how she was tired of her drawn-out existence, how every time someone mistook her for a man she felt like it chipped a piece off of her soul, how her past haunted her and dogged her every step. She let it all spill out, and William couldn't help but admire the ease with which she expressed her feelings. He admired it, and he hoped that one day he would be able to do the same. If she were anyone else, he doubted he would have even begun to get back in touch with himself, and for that, he would be forever grateful to her.

Gradually, she quieted, sobs turning to quiet tears, tears turning to the occasional sniff. She pulled away and gave him a small smile through red eyes. "I'm surprised that you stayed through all that. I honestly didn't think you would." She looked away, then quietly added, "But I'm glad you cared enough to. Thank you."

He hesitantly laid a hand on her shoulder, and she looked back up at him. He held her gaze and said, "I should be thanking you. You brought me out of my stagnation because you cared enough to; and for that, you have my gratitude- and my friendship if you should so desire. I cannot excuse my prior callous treatment of you, but I can try to make up for it by being here for you now. You are the flame of the dispatch, Grelle. You keep us moving, even if no one else realises that. We wouldn't be functional without you, and neither would I. So thank you."

She sat still for a moment, making nary a sound, and he worried that it was all too much. Then, slowly, her face lit up with a grin and she threw her arms around him again. He felt her returning warmth in her embrace, and he genuinely smiled for the first time in more than a century.

[the-darkfactory]

A SICK GIRL.

This text was written and published in November 2018. This is the first time I translate to English. Hope it reaches those who need to read it most. Much love.

I was born dying. I was dragged from my mom's belly straight to the intensive care unit and spent a month in the incubator until I could breathe without machines. I was also born whole and no one ever told me that, one day, my mind was going to split in two.

I was very little when I first felt strange. Very strange. I was already 5’6 feet tall when I started my last year in primary school, finding clothes that fit me was torture. However, for my graduation party, I found a purple dress that seemed perfect. When I tried it on, under that all-showing light in the changing room, I felt fat. That was the first time I was disgusted by my reflection.

After a summer tinged with school farewell melodrama, I started high school. I spent most of my free time studying, listening to the Backstreet Boys or reading Harry Potter. At the end of the first semester, I got the best grades in my class. While everyone at home was happily celebrating, I made a pact with a friend: I was going to stop eating.

My thinness brought about new habits and what I remember the most is how cold I was: during school recess, my friends would go out to play and I would stay in the classroom wearing every sweatshirt I could find. It would take me forty-five minutes to eat an apple and before going to sleep, I would go over each food item I’ve had in the day and calculate the calories. I also learned that I had to get up slowly to avoid the dizziness that turned my room into a washing machine.

One day my family and I went to one of those “all you can eat” restaurants. After two sandwiches and a bit of cake, I started crying because I had an intense stomach ache, but it was all a premeditated drama I staged so they wouldn't make me have dinner. Two days later, my mom dragged me to a clinic. I had to take off my clothes and stand on an ice-cold scale. "You weigh 39 kilos," the doctor announced. "You're anorexic."

I was taken to a hospital that had a team specializing in treating people like me. We waited for hours until my name was called and I was met by an anti-anorexic army: a nutritionist, a clinical doctor, a psychiatrist, a psychologist and others I never understood who they were. They made my parents leave and Anorexia and I were interrogated. They asked us if we vomited, if we had thought about committing suicide and if we had ever been abused. When we talked about my parents' divorce, we burst into tears. Then they faced the back of two chairs and asked us to separate them according to how far apart we felt they had to be from each other in order for us to fit between them. We did it and passed the test: we knew we were tiny. The doctors said I was on the verge of hospitalization. I was a sick girl.

Once our relationship was made official, we went to the hospital three times a week. Long waiting, weighing, talking. We were forbidden to be physically active and we had to write down how much of what we ate a day. Mom sometimes comforted us and sometimes shouted at us. One night she yelled a lot because we had only had a piece of fruit for dinner, but how could I explain to her that eating made Anorexia hurt and so it hurt me too? We were sent to a psychologist we stared at in silence for an hour. We finished our junior year with straight As, enslaved at home and undernourished.

Anorexia and I did everything together. I would start a sentence and she would finish it. When I moved my hand to grab something, she was the one who forced my fingers closed, and if something bothered her, I did whatever was necessary to calm her down. One afternoon, we went cycling with our friends and we were carried on the handlebars so we wouldn't move. Everything was going beautifully until a sudden stop made us fall face first to the ground. We got up spitting teeth and blood. We broke our four incisors, skin came off our lips and we split the right side of our face. That night before showering, I stared at our skeletal, beaten up reflection. Days shy of my fourteenth birthday, I cried my heart out asking Anorexia what the fuck had she done.

I wanted her to go away. The only thing I could do to get her to leave was eat. Sometimes she won, sometimes I won. Once, she lost 100 grams and I went home after the medical check up feeling a killer urge. Another day, I gained 200 and that night she didn’t let me sleep. It was war. If Anorexia told me to hide food, I ran off to snack with my brother. If she hated sandwiches, I'd buy a dozen of my favorites. For every complaint of hers, a food bite of mine, and so, bite by bite, I filled her mouth with silence until I could no longer hear her speak.

I started my second year of high school with a seemingly healthy weight. I went to the hospital once a week. Eventually, I was told I could go once a fortnight, once every twenty-one days and, somehow, I stopped going altogether. I don’t remember how or when that decision was made. The only thing I do know is that during all that time I ate almost nothing from Monday to Friday and a lot from Saturday to Sunday in order to weigh more at the Monday check-ups. The thing was that once the pact between Anorexia and I had been made, she would try and talk to me every day. People didn't notice but I knew she was still there. We were still the best students, we lifted weights after eating a salad and we never got our periods. We were stopped on the streets to be offered jobs at modeling agencies and we realized that our bond had the aesthetic approval of society. I forgave her for all she had done and gave her, again, space in my body to grow.

When we turned seventeen, Anorexia changed. She screamed at me and didn't feel like doing anything. We quit the gym, gained weight and developed insomnia. One drunken night, we came home and went straight to the kitchen. We opened the fridge and devoured, on our knees, all the leftovers from dinner. We then shoved our fingers down our throats. That's how Bulimia arrived.

Bulimia was fiercely hungry. My cheeks, arms, and chin grew like a fatty bubble. I was disgusted by my body and I got dressed in the dark. I stopped studying, I couldn't concentrate on anything else. At prom I had two drinks and passed out. I woke up in hospital with an IV in my arm and my worried mother by my side. I didn't know how to explain that for weeks and in order to be skinny that night, everything I ate, Bulimia vomited.

I wanted to feel normal. I was very weak and exhausted, but Bulimia was young and confident. She never shut up, she would even eat raw polenta in spoonfuls and vomit it all, leaving me tired and confused lying in my bed. Her arrival was abrupt because Anorexia had already drilled holes in my head: they were different versions of the same thing and a pattern of destructive habits that infected everything. They turned my life into a living hell.

We vomited so much that we spent hours burying our heads in the toilet seat and we would only stop when we saw the first thing we had eaten leaving our body. We did it five, six times a day. We used every bathroom we set foot in. The ones at school, my friends' houses, restaurants, my grandmother's, my dad's. I developed arrhythmia and thought that Bulimia was going to get me killed. Some nights, while dreaming that I was violently bingeing, I would wake up desperate and ready to stick my fingers in my mouth until I realized that, that one time, the binge had been a dream. That feeling of “fake need to vomit” was the closest thing to peace I felt during those times.

Bulimia didn't want me around anyone. She made me think I was crazy and that I would never be able to be separated from her. I stayed away from my friends. I stopped having dinner with my family and we would lock ourselves up in my room. Mom would bring me trays of food that Bulimia kept in plastic bags. I once found a rotten chicken inside the closet. It was full of maggots. We were almost found out when my brother saw a glass of vomit in the bathroom that we had forgotten to flush down the toilet. He brought it to me and said, "Is this yours?" while retching. We nodded and took it away from him as if it had been a misplaced shoe.

I don't know how I managed to free myself from anorexia and bulimia, but for the last three years I have hardly felt their presence. Sometimes I wonder if I started traveling around the world to confuse them and leave them stranded in another part of the planet. Maybe they got bored of my criticism and couldn't stand my will to not share my body with them. One thing I’m sure of is that love played a major part. It was crucial to understand that I did not choose to live with them and that asking a person with compulsive thoughts to stop having them is like asking a paralytic to simply stand up and walk.

Anorexia and bulimia stole my time and energy. I gave them my will to live, my projects and motivations. In return, they gave me anxiety, panic attacks, depression and suicidal thoughts. They still whisper to me every now and then but I can ignore them. It’s not always easy. I don’t know, this coexistence has been very strange but they definitely don’t own me anymore. Looking for the reasons I developed this disorder is complex. I know that I was affected by the pressure I felt from a very young age to be perfect, the weirdness that arose in my family dynamics after the divorce and feeling that for society I was worth more as a woman the skinnier I was. The final trigger must have been a genetic predisposition and a bit of mystery: there is still a lot that science doesn't know about all this. Once my disease was established, it became a vicious, out-of-control cycle that was perpetuated by the worst evil of all: silence. I felt a deep shame, thought it was my fault and that, hence, I deserved what was happening to me. That made me sicker and I vowed to hide it, which was possible because these disorders are invisible: they lock themselves inside bodies of all types, gender, background, shape and turn them into slaves.

When I stopped vomiting and regained control of my hands, I wrote this. It feels weird. After seventeen years of being in a symbiotic relationship, there is something I still don't understand: if I am no longer a sick girl, then who am I?