#Not launching anything until all signs of illness are GONE

[wardenswateringhole]

Of course when I start recovering from all the blood loss, Illness starts tearing through my household.

Holding lysol cans up at my s/o like I'm holding a crucifix up at a vampire.

[girlmeetsliv3]

Sandman II

Hyung Line X Reader

Genre: Mystery, Psychological Thriller, Horror

Rated: M

Word Count: 4.2K

Release Date: February 26, 2021 @ 5 p.m. (GMT-5)

“Three years ago, the town was rocked by the disappearance of YN YLN. A bright young girl who had dreams of attending university and becoming a nurse. YN was a kind, shy, studious girl who kept to herself and never caused any troubles associated with teens her age. So imagine her loved ones surprised when she disappears one night from bed - never to be seen again. The strangest part was that all her belongings had been taken, all the photos with her disappeared, and all her social medias deleted. But perhaps most peculiar was the wet sand found at the foot of her bed.”

Warning: Brief mention of death and suicide.

             The first words out of Kim Seokjin's mouth when they reached the car, after having been escorted through the back entrance to avoid the press, were "I'm sorry." YN hadn't even known how to react before Seokjin launched into a full-blown ramble, "I'm so sorry about that YN. I just - I have been so worried. We've all been, and we thought you - but now you're here. They didn't even tell us even though we're listed and to just think about how alone you've been. How confused you must feel -"

           YN placed her hands on top of his which rested on the shift gear, “It’s okay Jin. I understand.” She smiled at him tenderly before her sister’s words flashed through her mind, ‘Isn’t Seokjin the best?! He’s the only man you can truly rely on.’ Instantly YN took her hands off him, folding them on her lap. Now was not the time to dwell on those things. If Seokjin noticed the sudden shift in the air he didn’t comment on it, simply stating: “You’ve always been so understanding.” Before focusing on the road and turning the engine on, driving away. As they exited the parking lot, YN saw all the vans from the news outlets parked outside. Some she recognized, others she didn’t, but what she did notice was a large sign being held up by one of the reporters. It read: Sandman victim finally returns.

           It was as much a shock to me as it was to everyone when Seokjin and I started dating. He wasn’t my type. I can’t say for sure what it was that drew us together - maybe loneliness - or maybe I just liked the way people stared in shock at the fact that someone like him was with someone like me. That didn’t matter though, Seokjin and the others were always there. They were whatever I needed them to be. They would do anything to make me happy, but I wasn’t the only one they treated as special.

           When the car approached the front gate of Nagwon villas YN frowned, “Weren’t we going to the hospital?” The thought of being poked and prodded like a rag doll wasn’t a pleasing one, but she knew disappearing for three years and not remembering anything didn’t bode well. The only thing that could give a hint at what she’d endured, and why she’d forgotten, was her body. Seokjin shrugged, “I know you aren’t a big fan of doctors, so I asked Namjoon for a favor.” Namjoon? She wasn't sure she was ready to see Namjoon or any of them for that matter. She hadn't even thought about seeing Jin until he showed up. ‘He’s like something out of a fairy tale, isn’t he? A knight in shining armor.’ YN shook her head, don't think about her or you'll start crying like a child again. Everyone in her family had always called her a crybaby, teased her for not being able to hold her emotions in. Right now, though, she felt less like a newborn and more like an overflowed dam. About to break at any second.

           “Are the others going to be there?” Is he going to be there?

           “No, Hoseok is out of town. He should be coming back tomorrow though; I wasn’t sure if you wanted him to know you were back but it's all over the news.”

That wasn't who she was talking about and they both knew it. Still, if Seokjin was being ignorant then it was for a reason; so she went along with it. "Shouldn't it be Namjoon's dad?"

Seokjin glanced at her from the corner of his eye, “Namjoons a doctor now, babe. It’ll be him you’re seeing.” Perhaps still sensing her hesitance he continued, “Don’t worry his family has a private practice in their house for situations like this.”

“You’re all still friends?” She asked, looking outside the window at the passing houses. They passed several houses she recognized, having been inside a couple of them. Nagwon kids always threw the best parties; likely due to their houses being huge and the large amounts they could spend on booze. Her sister would always drag YN to one when she was stuck babysitting, at first she’d just sit around on her phone. Things became easier when they started hanging out with the guys though: there was always Hoseok to crack jokes, Namjoon to talk random things about, and Seokjin to offer whatever it was she needed. Yoongi was always there too, but they wouldn’t talk much just sit in silence.

“Of course, why wouldn’t we be? The best of friends.” There was no sarcasm or humor in his voice, he meant it. Maybe he truly didn’t care? Or three years was a long time to hold onto a grudge especially when the two at-fault for their problems disappeared from their lives. That’s probably why. With YN and her sister out of the way, things had gone back to normal for the men. Nonetheless, it felt like nothing between Seokjin and YN had changed, but that couldn't be true. It's been three years. That statement was difficult for her to wrap her head around, but it didn’t make it any less true. It had been three years and yet Seokjin acted like they hadn’t spent a single day apart. Her mind filled with questions and doubts, so much so she couldn’t help but ask.

“Did we hang out the night I disappeared?”

Seokjin took his hands off the wheel, she hadn’t even noticed the car had stopped, the look he gave her was a mixture of incredulity and hurt. “No, we didn’t. You told me you didn’t want to see me again.” His voice was tense, ears getting red the way they did whenever he was upset. “Don’t you remember?”

I did tell him that. She hadn't meant it of course, but YN tended to lash out when she felt cornered. Thinking back now, she remembered her cruel words how she had blamed Seokjin for something that was both their fault. The pain on his face and the desperation in his tone as he begged for her to forgive him, only for YN to kick him out and shut the door.

"I forgot. I'm sorry, Jin." She pressed her fingers into her palm, hoping the pain would take things off her mind.

“Hey.” Jin’s fingers gently gripped the bottom of her chin, “It’s okay. I forgive you, let’s just not talk about it again okay?” He pressed a quick kiss to the side of her head.

YN breathed deeply before unlocking the door and getting out. The Kim's large beige mansion stared down at her - it was the first time she’d been there, and the nerves were eating her up. Namjoon will probably have a lot of questions too. She had barely managed to get through one of Officer Taehyung’s questions before having a panic attack, YN had no idea how she would brave against Namjoon. With nerves clouding her senses she failed to notice the black motorcycle parked on the curve, slightly obscured by the shrubs. Had she YN would have avoided walking into a trap.

"Heard you got your ass whooped by Min." Jungkook laughed, as he sat on the edge of Taehyung's desk. "Did he take you over his knee and make you count to ten?" At that, a couple of others nearby chuckled. Taehyung rolled his eyes, "If he hears you, he'll take you over his knee." Jungkook shoved him softly, though 'softly' in this case meant Taehyung almost fell off his chair. Deciding to ignore him this time, he focused once again on the small font on his computer. Several minutes passed before Jungkook spoke again, "Is this about YN? If you're looking through the case files you won't find anything useful. Trust me, everyone in this room has gone through it multiple times."

There was a reason there was press lined up outside, nothing sold quite like a morbid story. ‘Girl disappears from her bed in the middle of the night with no trace behind’ had a nice hook to it. Taehyung had already been in the academy when it happened, but he was still shocked - especially once he found out it had happened in his hometown. Nothing ever happened in this town, they called it paradise for a reason. Yet someone had broken into the YLN family home and stolen a girl straight from her bed, nothing left behind but a bit of wet sand.

“It doesn’t hurt to look again, plus now we might get somewhere that she’s back. Find out who did it.” Taehyung scrolled down and started looking at all the pictures, he’d have to swing by the evidence locker later to see what they still had left physically.

“I’m just surprised the sister didn’t do it, given everything -”

Taehyung spun around quickly in his chair, “Don’t say that. Minsuh loved that kid, she’d never do anything to hurt her.”

“Yeah well that’s not what I heard,” Jungkook said matter-of-factly. “I know it isn’t good to speak ill of the dead, but Minsuh wasn’t as dignified as her name suggested.”

Taehyung turned away from the young cop, “Look you’re wasting my time and I have to focus on this case. YN’s going to come back tomorrow and we need to build a timeline, can’t do that without all the facts so just go away.”

Jungkook sighed, “Sorry man. I know the two of you were close,” Jungkook had seen how uncomfortable Taehyung had gotten when YN brought up him dating her sister. “But you know I’m not the only one that thinks so. Regardless, everyone knows it's not true now so there’s that.”

It doesn’t matter, Taehyung wanted to say, she died with everyone in this town thinking she was a murderer. Nothing will ever change that. Instead, he remained quiet, eyes focused on the computer screen. Gaze focused intensely on the pictures of YN’s bedroom as if they would wield together a logical story that would explain where she’d been this whole time.

Everyone in school had a crush on Namjoon. Smart Namjoon. Sweet Namjoon. Dimpled cheeks Namjoon. Girls and guys would swoon over him, talking about how they would love to feel his chest or sit on his thighs. They were all fools. Ah, yes, Kim Namjoon may look harmless but it's always the quiet ones you have to look out for.

It truly was a private practice, equipped with all sorts of equipment one might find in a typical emergency room. YN wondered why they would ever need something like that. Maybe high clientele? Though the closest things to celebrities that lived in this town were both Seokjin and Namjoon's families, then Jung's, and the Min's. Namjoon wasn't there when they first arrived but appeared quickly enough, the gentle smile on his face reminded YN of simpler times. "How are you?" It dawned on her then that was the first time she'd been asked the question. She'd been plagued by 'where were you?' 'how are you alive?' and 'I'm sorrys' since she'd woken up. No one ever thought to ask how she was.

“I’ve been better.” YN answered softly, afraid that if she spoke anymore, she would break down again. The men in the room seemed to read between the lines without her elaborating further. Seokjin squeezed her hand, “Well, I’ll give you two some privacy. I’ll be right outside if anything happens, okay?” Before YN could respond Jin once again kissed her forehead before walking away. Leaving her alone in the stark white room with Namjoon, who leaned against a medical bed. His left hand patting the space beside him, “Let’s talk YN.” She grimaced slightly. “You’re in a safe space YN. You know me I would never do anything to hurt you and Seokjin is right outside if you need him. We’re your family.”

Family. They had been a sort of family, the five of them: always hanging out, sharing stories, meals, and memories. It didn't matter that she was much younger or that the only reason she was tolerated was that Minsuh was dating Seokjin. They had always been kind, always been loving, always been there. Even when her actual family wasn't. They’re all I’ve got… at least until dad comes. Once she sat down the doctor offered a genuine smile, it reminded her of all the times the two would stay up late studying at the library. A warmth that eased away from the chill she'd had all day lead to the first genuine smile on her face, “Thanks Namjoon.”

“I told you to call me Joon remember?” His broad shoulder playfully brushed YN’s, before he began conducting his examinations.

      “You know being clandestine isn’t your strong suit.” Kim Seokjin leaned against the black LeoVince Racer waiting for his friend to exit from the back of Namjoon's private practice. Min Yoongi looked like he hadn't slept for days and had the corners of his lips turned upward in a way that was half-way between a snarl and a smirk. "I'd beg to differ." Yoongi responded, approaching the man as he adjusted white medical papers into his jacket's hidden pockets.

Seokjin eyed them carefully, “If you’re caught with those you could face serious trouble.”

Yoongi laughed, “Who’s going to catch me? The sheriff?”

           Seokjin rolled his eyes, empty threats and warnings weren’t going to change anything. “What do the papers say?” He tried to grab them, but Yoongi blocked his hand easily. Maneuvering Seokjin off his bike so he could get on it.

           "Ask the doc or her. She doesn't keep secrets from you." Yoongi's eyes were cold and his voice lacked the playfulness present before. Seokjin knew better than to press his buttons any further, "Go before she sees you." Not that it mattered much, YN would be face to face with all of them soon - a reunion was inevitable. Nonetheless, Yoongi was a sore spot for her; the more Seokjin could delay their meeting the more things could go according to plan.

        “So you’re officially a doctor?” YN asked as Namjoon finished up drawing the last of her blood. They'd done all types of x-rays, physical, and psychological examinations to check her well-being. No words had been shared between the two, but the silence was beginning to bother her.

“Well, yes and no. Still must finish my residency, but I have most of the hours done.” Namjoon replied nonchalantly.

Whenever the subject had come up before Namjoon had dreaded having to take over the family business, feeling it was a role he was being pushed into. Guess things have changed. “I thought you didn’t want to be a doctor.”

He shrugged in response, “I guess I finally understood why my dad loved it so much. Medicine, biology, psychology, chemistry are all things that are useful.”

“You became a doctor became because it was useful? That doesn’t make much sense.” YN chuckled as Namjoon placed a bandage on the inside of her arm. He chose not to reply immediately, instead, holding up a lollipop that was inside his pocket. She took it with little thought. “Little makes sense in life. Human beings are just inherent paradoxes.” Minsuh always said that. It was one of the things the two sisters never agreed on. Minsuh always argued that people could still technically be considered ‘good’ no matter what they did. YN disagreed. Can’t do bad things and still be a good person. Namjoon clapped his hands together, signaling they were done and proceeded to help YN off the bed.

“Thanks, Joon.” She shot him a smile which she hoped looked more sincere than it felt. Though tensions didn’t run as high with Namjoon as they did with the others, it didn’t mean it was smooth sailing. Namjoon, like always, understood exactly what she meant and didn’t push. “Of course, YN. Anything for you.” With the promise her results would be ready in a couple of days, he sent her back on her way.

When she exited Seokjin was waiting outside with a furrow on his brow. Now what? YN didn’t know where else to go from here, what else to do, it felt like she’d hit a roadblock. I could go back home. Was that place even home anymore? Without her family, furniture, memories – could she return, or would it be too painful? Was she even allowed to return? It had looked abandoned when she’d been inside, so certainly YN wasn’t trespassing.

“It’s okay YN. You can stay at mine until we figure something out. I wouldn’t want you out of my sight anyway, it’s dangerous.”

It didn’t sit right with her to rely on Seokjin so much – or be under the same roof as him – but she would be lying if she said it didn’t ease her anxiety. “You’ve already done so much. I couldn’t ask that of you.” Her hands were shaking as she said the words, but even if she wanted to say yes immediately. YN couldn’t be selfish.

“No, I haven’t. Trust me.”

Before YN could ask what he meant Seokjin took hold of her wrist gently pulling her to the car.

Jung Hoseok. Lovely Hoseok. Funny Hoseok. Sweet Hoseok. The boy whose smile lights up the sky and everyone just gravitates towards him. No one could ever dislike him. Mr. Popular always putting others before himself. Dear sweet Hobi is an angel sent from heaven, but he isn’t as innocent as he seems. People tend to forget Lucifer was god’s favorite before he fell from the sky.

“Honestly was it really necessary to put on this whole show?” Hoseok wiggled his wrists causing the handcuffs to jingle against the table. Taehyung’s face remained stoic as he proceeded to read from the file. “A bit strange isn’t that YLN YN returns when you just so happen to out of town, Mr. Jung.” His eyebrow arched highly, Hoseok would’ve laughed if not for the situation he was in. “No it isn’t. I take a family trip around this time every single year detective. I told this to the sheriff three years ago and I’ll repeat this now.” He leaned forward the mirth gone from his mouth, “I had nothing to do with what happened to YN. I wouldn’t hurt her or anyone else for that matter.” Hoseok sighed, leaning back on the uncomfortable chair. “Look officer, I know its procedure and the prime suspect is always the boyfriend, but it wasn’t me.”

Even if Taehyung doubted that with every fiber of his being, he had nothing else to go off on. Jung Hoseok’s alibis were airtight, had always been, not to mention it would be extremely out of character for him to harm a bug – much less orchestrate something to this degree. It had been reckless to ask for him to be picked up from the city, but today had been a long day and there were just too many coincidences for the investigator to ignore. “Very well Mr. Jung. You’re free to go but I suggest you don’t leave town on another family vacation any time soon.” He reached towards his belt, taking out the keys and uncuffing Hoseok. Taehyung was on a tight schedule anyway; it would only be a matter of time before the sheriff returned from his lunch break. Seeing his son’s best friend in handcuffs would only cause Taehyung to be even more reprimanded.

With the cuffs off him, Hoseok stood up, stretching his lithe limbs. "You used to call me Hyung remember? Back when you were desperate for Minsuh and you to be a thing." Taehyung recalled having felt the need to please her friends to get her to look twice at him. Where’s this coming from? Hoseok looked down at him with cold eyes, "You know we never blamed you for how you reacted to things ending Tae. Heartbreak can make a man go crazy after all." The tension in the room was palpable when suddenly a smile broke out on Hoseok's face. "Sorry, it was silly of me to bring that up. We were all kids after all." With that he walked away from the desk and opened the door, turning around just enough to wink at Taehyung before the door closed completely.

Hoseok felt his phone vibrate inside his pants and rolled his eyes, without even looking he knew who it was. Taking the phone out, he swiped right and immediately spoke. “Yah, you won’t believe what just fucking happened. Where are you anyway?”

“Sorry it isn’t much.” Seokjin apologized as he handed YN the pile of clothes. “Tomorrow we’ll go shopping for essentials.” YN shook her head, “Thanks, I don’t need much. My dad shouldn’t take too long in coming to get me anyway.” She placed the clothes on the banister in the bathroom, content to finally be able to shower and become clean. It had been a long day, some soap and water might not wash the pain away, but she could pretend it would. There was another thing weighing on her mind, a thought that would simply not go away. For as kind as Seokjin had always been with her, even he had his limits. This behavior felt a bit out of character with the person she knew – the one she remembered.

“Why are you doing all this Jin?”

The man in question froze as if stunned, "What do you mean?" His dark brows furrowed, his lips turning down into a grimace.

“Going to see me, Namjoon, letting me stay over. All of this,” she gestured to the bathroom which had been prepared with candles, bath bombs, and calming music. It’s out of character for you. Kim Seokjin had never really been the romantic type, caring yes, but not sentimental. “Is it out of guilt?” Is it out of pity? YN may not remember what happened the night she disappeared, but that summer would forever remain ingrained in her head. "Do you blame yourself for what happened?" Or are you doing this because you feel responsible? Which one was it? Maybe all of them combined?

Seokjin ran a hand through his hair, “Yes.” Without elaborating anymore, he walked out of the bathroom shutting the door behind him.

             When YN walked out of the bathroom she felt much better. All of the day’s events had worn her thin and she was ready to head straight to bed, but not without seeking Seokjin out and confronting him. Yes? Yes, to what exactly? Everything? She hadn’t been able to find the house slippers she’d borrowed, so she traveled through the house and down the stairs barefoot. Barely making any sound. She could hear loud audio coming from the living room and voices on the other side where the library was. Though she could recognize Seokjin as one of the voices, her feet dragged her to the living room, nonetheless. Deeming it better to wait until he was done than interrupting what sounded like an important conversation.

           The couch had been changed into a leather sectional angled towards the screen as had more of the décor. It looked less like a family home and more like a bachelor pad now if YN was honest. Seokjin the bachelor. He had always had someone attached to his side whether it be a dancer, cheerleader, private school girl, and eventually her sister. What about you? YN shook her head, wanting the thought to disappear as quickly as it had appeared. The television distracted her once she picked up on what was being said. It was a newsreel showing a bleached blonde with shiny hair and pouty lips holding a microphone. Behind him was YN’s home, or what used to be, in the dead of the night it looked eerie. After basic introductions the news anchor began speaking:

           “Three years ago, the town was rocked by the disappearance of YN YLN. A bright young girl who had dreams of attending university and becoming a nurse. YN was a kind, shy, studious girl who kept to herself and never caused any troubles associated with teens her age. Imagine her loved ones surprised when she disappears one night from bed - never to be seen again. The strangest part was that all her belongings had been taken, all the photos with her present disappeared, and all her social medias were deleted. Perhaps most peculiar was the only substantial evidence found by investigators was wet sand found at the foot of her bed.”

           “Try as they investigators could find nothing that could tell them what had happened to YN. Then a year later tragedy struck once more when on the anniversary of YN’s disappearance, YLN Minsuh – her older sister - took her and her mother’s life in a murder suicide. YN’s father who was present that night managed to survive. Many people took this to be an admission of guilt on the sister’s part, for the two had never had the best relationship. Though with no note, the case had no choice to remain open. Thankfully for a miracle would occur. Almost three years to the day, YN has returned to the exact spot of her disappearance. Residents and audiences nationally are overjoyed, and hope justice can now be served. Stay tuned as this tragic twisted tale continues to unfold. We’ll now switch back over to Bo for sports.”

           A piercing wail left YN’s mouth as she collapsed to the floor. Immediately, she was scooped off the ground into a warm embrace. “Jin?” She cried, but when she met the eyes of her savior the round hazel she was expecting was instead met with sharp feline ones. "Yoongi?!"

Tag List:

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@cherriejams @electr1c-angel @uppiespuppy @illnevertrustmyselfagain

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[saintheartwing]

So...I’ve Begun Reading Artemis Fowl...It IS Really Good

So, I decided to check out the movie and...ugh.Not good. So I began to think “How badly did they screw this up” and began reading the books.

They’re REALLY good. The thing you need to know about Artemis Fowl is he starts off as...well, a smug snake. He’s a big jerk in a lot of ways who, after his dad supposedly dies out trying to get into a new market in Russia which the Russian mafia doesn’t take kind to, his mom goes nutso. She doesn’t recognize him half the time. His only friend is his butler...and he doesn’t even know Butler’s real name. He’s also a super brilliant young man. Add all that up, and you get a very selfish, self-centered, pretentious young man who doesn’t find ANYBODY his equal. 

He decides upon doing some investigation into the more strange and occultish things in the world to get hold of a ton of money through a SEEMINGLY insane, ludicrous way...through the fairy world. Yes, there’s actual elves. He got into it, evidently, by trolling through the ancient stories and there always seemed to be commonalities among them from ancient races. 

Artemis slightly lucks out. He’s able to get hold of basically the Fairy Bible, the Book of the People. It provides insider knowledge of how they do things, and through that, he makes a plan. He’ll kidnap a fairy, overcoming their magic, and ransom them for gold. It’ll be difficult, they need to get one that’s low on magic. And they have to wear special sunglasses that will be reflective, for fairies can MESMERIZE people, hypnotizing them.  They’ll catch one doing the necessary ritual for magic recharge. 

The good news is fairies are fairly commonly popping out of the Underground they live in in Ireland...where the Fowl manor is located. And the ritual is best done near an ancient oak and a riverbend and even better, under a full moon. Well, there’s one not too far from Fowl Manor...and after some staking out...Fowl catches one. A fairy named Holly Short, the only female fairy on the recon unit that the fair folk have. 

He, Butler, and his butler’s sister Juliet lock her in a room with a bed. They’ve got their hostage. They use the helmet armor she’s got to communicate with her boss. The fairies figure out where Fowl Manor is, but though they can slow down time, pretty much stop it...Artemis now has fairy tech because he caught Holly, and this means Butler can move freely through the time bubble. He kicks the butts of EVERY recon agent sent to save her. So Holly’s boss, Commander Root, has to come in for negotiations. 

Artemis wants gold. A ton of twenty four carat gold. And a ton of gold is, evidently,  64.3 million dollars. A looot of money. Root says that Artemis can’t win. They have a “bio bomb”. It destroys all organic matter used on it, and if they’re caught in a time field, as they are right now, they can’t just race out the front door to get away. There’s only one helmet, and there’s three of them. They’re trapped.

Right?

Well, Artemis says he knows how to escape it. And he’s thought of everything ELSE the fairies would do so far. So...they send in a wild card. Professional Thief Mulch Diggums, a dwarf. Dwarves are natural diggers, they tunnel by unhinging their jaws, eating through the dirt, and expelling it out their rump.

...yeaaah...THAT particular scene from the movie’s pretty accurate. So Mulch is called on to tunnel into the Fowl estate to try and help free Holly. At the same time, Holly’s got a way to break free. She’s been using the bed to break into the floor and beneath the floor...is some earth. And she’s got an acorn on her. With that acorn and the proper words and access to real Earth...she can recharge her magic. Not even reflective lenses can keep her from mesmerizing Juliet. And Mulch finds Artemis’s copy of the Book of the People, thus taking away his big advantage over the fairies. Holly’s now free, but she can’t leave the house. Fairies have rules to adhere to if they wanna keep their magic, and when captured by Artemis, one of his rules was “You absolutely can’t leave the house”. Now...she COULD leave her room. He didn’t say she couldn’t do that. But the house? Nope.

No matter. Root’s gonna send in the gold, get Holly out...then bio bomb the place, stroll in, and claim the ransom.

Unfortuntely his second in command and friend, Cudgeon, has a better idea. They’ve got a troll Holly recently caught. Cudgeon suggested to the fairy’s ruling council to just launch the troll in. Have it wreck the place, the humans will be screaming for help, and then the fairies can just bust in and kick Fowl’s little ass up and down the halls. And if Holly’s hurt, well...too bad. 

It goes badly. Butler is strong and skilled but he was trying to get Juliet to safety and he wasn’t expecting a TROLL. Holly tries to help fight it off but she can’t get her helmet to work properly, it’s been damaged, and the weapon she used on the troll earlier to beat it was IN the helmet. She only manages to make it reel back, but she’s badly hurt. BUT...not so hurt she can’t use magic to heal Butler. Who is NOT. PLAYING.

He rises up, puts some nearby knight armor from a standing knight stand on...and has a mace. BAM! BAM! BAM! He has a Sig Saurer submachine gun. BAM-BAM-BAM! Nobody touches his sister. But...Holly asks him not to kill the troll. It’s beaten. And it’s just a dumb animal, please show mercy. So he doesn’t kill it, kicks it out, and Artemis and Juliet and Butler get contacted by Root, who agrees to send the money in, apologizing for the troll. 

Holly feels bad that Juliet’s about to get killed, she doesn’t feel bad about Artemis, but she doesn’t want Juliet killed. She says “I have magic, please, isn’t there anything I can do, you’re gonna be killed!” Artemis says there’s nothing she can do. He knows there’s a real danger coming but he’s sure he can beat it.

Although...there is ONE thing Holly could do with her magic. 

Then...sure enough...Holly is allowed to leave the house with half the gold. Payment for services rendered. The fairies launch the bio bomb as Artemis and Butler and Juliet drink drugged champagne.

And THAT...is how they beat the time field and the bio bomb. By knocking themselves unconcious, they can weasel out of the time field’s effects. When the fairy recon team comes in...yep. Sure enough, no bodies lying around. Artemis has escaped. So he gets to keep half a ton of gold. 

And...well, Holly did some magic for Artemis. She cured his mother of her mental illness. And that’s the first book.

Artemis is kinda unlikable, but having Holly freeing herself basically, not being a true damsel in distress, AND her saving Butler, who’s a lot more uneasy and disliking of Artemis’s plan, makes the story engaging. Artemis may not be a nice kid you can like, but the other characters make up for that. And there’s great worldbuilding and humor, with some nice, dry wit. 

The “Artic Incident” shows that Artemis’s mom is having him see a shrink. THe issue is he doesn’t respect anybody else. Nobody alive. Sure, he respects people like Einstein and Archimedes, but nobody PRESENT. And his dad’s still gone.

...or so he thought. A video has come in. Slightly blurry. But a man is tied up to a pole in a Russian winter and a sign on him reads...Hello Son. 

...Artemis is sure it’s him. And the FAIRIES are sure Artemis has teamed up with one of the most problematic, and STUPIDEST races of all...goblins. Nasty little things who can breath fire and who are super dumb...but now they’re using human tech to attack the fair folk underground. Who else but Artemis would do it? It’s sinister, evil, clever, it’s totally him.

The joke, though, is it isn’t him  who’s sold the tech to the goblins. Holly brings him in to be interrogated by Commander Root, and the scientist centaur, Foaly, who’s a brilliant mind and who makes fascianting devices like iris cams, little cameras that can slip onto your eyes as easily as a contact lens. Artemis isn’t behind what the goblins are doing BUT...he’s willing to help find out who is...

If they help him get his dad back. Well, Root agrees. Holly at first doesn’t believe Artemis actually cares until more time goes on and she realizes “Oh, wow, he’s serious, he DOES care about his dad, he’s not as cold and cruel as I thought”. They find out though that...well...they’ve got problems. While going to Russia, and trekking through the artic to where his dad is being held...goblins attack, and their weapons have been sabotaged! Somebody on the inside has screwed them over. 

But no, it’s not Foaly or Commander Root or the like. It’s Cudgeon. He’s teamed up with the pixie Opal Kaboi, a brilliant young woman who “upgraded” all the fairy folk police weaponry...as part of a plan for Cudgeon to take over the fairy lands. He’s sold weapons to the goblins, and he’s depowered the fair folks weapons...but then he’ll come riding in, JUST in time to save them. The weapons of the fair folk will be restored, the goblin rebellion put down, and they’ll all be so grateful he saved them he’ll get into a position of power. And then he’ll make Opal Kaboi meet with a tragic accident. Maybe several. And, of course, he’ll kill off Commander Root and Holly and Foaly and those “mud men”, as he calls Artemis and Butler. Heck, all the fairies call humans mud men. Racist pricks. 

Artemis is able to help stop the rebellion. He exposes cudgeon to Opal, Butler and Root kick goblin ass, and in the end, they uphold their end of the bargain and go back to Russia to free Artemis’s dad, faking him being shot. Artemis thanks Holly...rather profusely, at that. He’s SUPER grateful. She’s given him back his family, she’s saved his life once, and she’s just an amazing woman and-

Yeaaah, it’s sorta implied he KINDA has feelings for her. And Holly’s grateful too, not just for the “helping to stop the goblin rebellion and conspiracy” thing. She had lost her finger in an incident involving a train earlier when travelling through the artic with him. A door had slammed and cut her finger off, but Artemis was able to get it back on and to use the magic ritual to heal her, meaning she didn’t have to lose her trigger finger. She gives him a gold coin that she shoots through, a trophy, and says that beneath that exterior, there’s a “spark of decency. Blow on it sometime”.

The next story has Artemis trying to be a bit more...well, less criminal. He’s got some technology he salvaged from that helmet Holly left behind at his house. He’s used the tech and made a fancy computer cube, YEAAAARS beyond anything humanity has. No, he’s not putting it on the market. Not yet. He wants a businessman, Jon Spiro, to invest in his company he’s gonna be making. He’ll keep the cube off the market, Jon Spiro can sell his stocks, and invest in a real winner. After all nobody else has this kind of tech.

Spiro, however, is like “I could just kill you and take your fancy computer here you just showed me”. And Artemis is like “Oh give me a break, I arranged to meet you in a public restaurant, in broad daylight, and with my bodyguard who’s like three times your size, you can’t threaten me.”

Well. actually...he can. Spiro had the ENTIRE PLACE filled with his assassins before Artemis arrived. All the “customers” are his men. He takes the cube and leaves Artemis to get plugged by his bodyguards. Not good! The good news is Artemis rigged a sonic grenade underneath the table and they set it off. So all the bodyguards are beaten down!

Bad news is that one of the bodyguards actually was prepared for such a thing...well, mostly. His teeth are all blown out but he’s still concious enough...to try and shoot Artemis right in the chest. 

Butler barely saves him, taking the shot, and managing to shoot THAT guy, knocking him out. But Butler...Butler’s wound is basically fatal, and he reveals his true name, Domovoi, before he goes limp.

Artemis is DESPERATE. He has only one recourse. He sticks Butler in the nearby frozen fish ice tank in the restaurant to keep the body cool, and calls in a favor, getting a cryo pod delivered to keep Butler’s body cool. He then makes a call. A public phone call...that talks about stuff ONLY the fair folk would know, all to get the attention of the fairies. And lucky him...Holly shows up. He begs her to heal Butler. 

“Please, Holly. I can’t just let him go. It’s BUTLER...”

“...alright, Mud Boy.” Holly agrees. She owes Butler, after all. He’s saved her life several times and he’s a good man. Foaly the centaur is unsure the magical procedure will work, it’s NEVER really been done before. Artemis keeping the body cool has helped, but...it’s a shot in the dark.

But...the magic ritual works. Holly heals him. But she’s also sorta...took  some of his life force. The process made him age a bit. He’s now got a beard! But, still, he’s alive.

Artemis admits what happened with the cube computer, and Jon Spiro. And the cube is SO powerful and SO beyond normal human tech, in Spiro’s hands, it’d be a nightmare for all parties. He can easily, if he cracks the code on it, find out about the fairy folk. So Artemis offers to clean up his mess if he can get some help from Holly. Commander Root says sure...if he agrees to a mind wipe. He, Juliet, and Butler. They’ll remove all memory of the People from him, he won’t remember anything about fairies and the like, and they’ll fill in the gaps since, after all, he’s known about them for several years now. 

Artemis agrees, and they come up with a plan. Jon Spiro can’t get INTO the cube. So Artemis will agree to come to him in exchange for Spiro not going after him and his family, and he’ll crack the code he put on the cube to allow Spiro to make use of it. But it’s a trick. He’s wired with some fairy tech to spy on Spiro through it all as they make a plan. He’ll “fix” the cube, crack it open...but make it so it won’t actually tell Spiro about The People. On top  of that, he knows full well Spiro wants to use the cube to get even with his rivals...

And what better way to do that than to break into their own corporate HQ with the cube and hack their security and steal all their stuff right from out of their noses? Artemis is like “I don’t think that’s a good ideaaaa” in a sort of more subtle “Stop, don’t, come back” bit from Willy Wonka. He’s COUNTING on Spiro being a “rub his face in it” type...and Spiro really, REALLY is that type. Super petty, super smug. And super screwed. Artemis and the gang manage to trap him, get the cops to show up, and they steal the cube back, with Artemis tricking Spiro handily. He even fiddled with the cameras in the facility that Spiro tried to break into to make it look like HE wasn’t even there at all!

With the adventure done, the gang has to have their memories wiped. Artemis gives Mulch Diggums, who helped with everything, the gold coin memento Holly gave him saying “it means a lot to me, and I’d like you to have it”. He also thanks Holly for everything. He has both his family and now real friends thanks to the People. He wishes he didn’t have to forget that. 

Soon, the memory wipe is done. Artemis tried to leave behind some memory triggers to get AROUND the wipe, like unsent emails, online storage, and even a time capsule buried in the yard. But...well, that gold coin he gave to Mulch the dwarf isn’t ACTUALLY the coin.

It’s a computer disc. With a few memory triggers on it. He also has a note attached to it. “Wait a few years and come find me...we’re gonna do a TON of business together”, basically. Artemis, meanwhile, realizes a short time after the mind wipe that..something isn’t right. He was washing his face...when a tiny lens fell from his eyes. A corroded contact lens with a mirrored  layer behind it. And Juliet and Butler had them too. But they don’t remember putting those lenses there...clearly, something’s up. And he’s determined to find out what. 

Meanwhile, Holly and Foaly are rather sad about wiping Artemis’s memory. They were really beginning to like him. They’re worried, too, that maybe wiping his memory has taken away all the progress he’s made. Maybe he’s back to being that cold, cruel criminal Holly met those few years ago...

Well, the People will soon end up needing him. Because the pixie Opal Kaboi, sinister mastermind and sociopathic inventor, has been faking a coma, and she’s got two servants of hers to break her out. She switches herself with a clone of her that’s brain dead to fake the coma, and she’s got a plan. She’s disguised herself as a human, the child of a billionaire environmentalist, and she’s going to make herself human...and have her dad do a special project. A project...to tunnel down into the Earth to tap into the core.

And, well...fairies live underground. The two races are sure to meet thanks to this project, and Opal is sure they’ll be war, and with her sinister technology and skills, she intends to wipe out the fair folk and have humans win, and then work her way up from there, getting more and more power so she can finally take over the world. 

Artemis, meanwhile, is engaging in some theft of a very special painting...the Fairy Thief. He’s now gonna be the youngest thief in the entire world, and as he admires the painting, he realizes something about this Pascal Herve painting. The fairy is lingering at the window because she can’t come in unless INVITED. How does he know that? 

At the same time, Holly and Commander Root are trying to track down a goblin general who was able to sneak out of prison. Root has recommended Holly to basically take over the division she’s a part of, to be, well, a commander herself. And he also wants her to know how proud he is of what she’s become. He’s become a secondary father to her after she lost her own dad twenty years back. 

...I think...you can guess what I’m going to say next. No, he’s not three days until retirement. But he and Holly walk into a trap set up by Opal Kaboi. The goblin general is wired. When Root tries to grab the goblin...a special bomb is strapped to him. One that’s messing with the electronics in the room they’re currently stuck in. Foaly, watching everything from Holly’s camera, can’t hear what’s being said, and all he sees is her pointing a gun at her commanding officer, he can’t even see the bomb because the bomb’s made of a special stealth ore. 

Root is gonna explode. But Opal says “Hey, if you shoot this ONE SPECIFIC PART of the bomb...MAYBE you’ll stop the countdownn, but you really should go off and save those mud men, because the Fairy Thief painting they’re after has a tracking chip in it. And I’ve sent a bio bomb after them to blow them up.” 

Holly is SURE she can make the shot and stop the countdown but...

...well, she doesn’t. Poor Root is violently blown up. It’s a horrifying, terrible scene. And shortly after as Holly BARRELS desperately to try and save them, the bio bomb soars at Artemis and Butler! The good news is Butler leaps out the window with Artemis, using a bed to cushion the fall.

The bad news is they barely survive. Holly manages to save Artemis, carrrying him off, intending to come back to help Butler later, he’s just WAY too heavy to carry, and after healing Artemis, and he awakens, she explains what’s going on. 

You might think he doesn’t believe her. But no, he does. He remembers the strange lenses he’d put in his eyes, and her story lines up with them. He found out shortly after discovering those lenses HE ordered them, and he could only have done so to cheat a fairy mesmer. So he belives Holly...but he doesn’t remember her one iota. 

Butler, meanwhile, is visited by Mulch Diggum, who’s broken out of prison upon hearing Julius Root is dead and Holly is suspect number one. They’re his friends...and he HAS to help them! So he’s gone to Fowl Manor...with the memory trigger disc. He plays it for Butler...and Butler remembers everything. Good thing too...

Because Opal Kaboi has just found Artemis and Holly and intends to PERSONALLY have them killed as NASTILY as possible cuz they avoided being killed by her little bombs earlier. She’s gonna have trolls tear them apart. And she rubs salt in the wound by telling Holly that hey, funny story...that sweet spot I told you about? On the bomb on Root? That I said if you shot, it’d stop the countdown? Well, there wasn’t one. I lied just to frame you. The good news is, Artemis had his phone on and was leaving a message at Fowl Manor, and Butler and Mulch heard the whole thing, so they know where Opal is gonna be sending them. And they hurry over as Artemis begins to get more of his memories back, and they try to escape from being torn apart by trolls.

Soon Artemis has his whole memory back...and he’s torn by guilt over what he did to Holly when he first met her. He feels scummy. And he also swears to stop Opal Kaboi. And he knows exactly how. 

They know where Opal is going to be because she’s bragged so much. Mulch is able to sneak onto her ship...steal the bombs she intended to trigger that would be part of her plan to damage the home of the fairies and make them even MORE vulnerable to the drilling plan her “adopted human father” was planning...and put them in her ship. In fact, right where she was keeping her chocolate truffles. Just to add insult to injury. Opal had been all “You’re so dumb if you thought stealing the bombs would stop me, I’ll just detonate them and your whole ship will blow up”. Well, Opal, they did steal them from your ship...but they just moved it to another part of the ship you didn’t think to check...

Until it’s too late. Opal’s ship blows up, she BARELY escapes to the surface...and just as her  magic has run out, leaving her stranded in Italy and forced to work in a vineyard, digging holes for grapes and the like. Artemis and the gang reunite with Foaly and explain to him and the fairy authorities what happened, and after an investigation and Commander Julius Root’s funeral, Holly is cleared. She and Mulch decide to work together as private detectives, the Fairy Folk now consider Artemis and Butler a true friend of the people, Mulch has his criminal record expunged completely, and Artemis, in a show of generosity, decides to secretly donate “The Fairy Thief” painting he stole (which,t to be fair, was taken from ANOTHER thief...) to the Louvre.

The fourth story is definitely the height of the series. Some dramatic changes, Artemis at his very best, the interplay with the gang, the high stakes...so I can recommend the series. Well, to a point. THIS point. After this, the books begin to go downhill. It just comes across as spinning  it’s wheels, and then for the last book, well...

Well, uh...see, there’s this plan Opal has to cause chaos and because a TON of her technology is now being used up on the surface world, all the technology she had friggin blows up. We’re talking stuff like dialysis machines and other medical equipment made useless. Pacemakers? BOOM! Right in your chest! Submarines no longer functioning! People on boats? Stranded! People begin looting. PLANES FALL FROM THE SKY. 

Oh but hey, at least they’re not distracted by TV anymore. No really, that’s...like, nobody really dwells on what’s clearly a horrific, apocalyptic scenario and god knows how many people died...

Look, I love the series. But I think I can best recommend it...in the graphic novel format it came in. So check those out. They go all the way, at least currently, up to the fourth book. So just read those if you can. They’re a ton of fun and super creative. :)

[tsarisfanfiction]

Too Far

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Family/Hurt/Comfort Characters: Virgil Tracy, Scott Tracy

So I was rewatching some episodes, minding my own business, when this muse blindsided me out of nowhere.  It’s a lot of Virgil, specifically delving into Virgil’s head and motivations, and this is a playground that is normally locked and barred to me so I have no idea at this point how well it’s ended up from a characterisation standpoint.  Who knows, maybe one day I’ll understand this boy.

It’s not normally Virgil that Scott has to pull up for misconduct.  Episode tag for 3.06 Life Signs.

“Virgil, can you come to the den, please?”

Scott’s voice emerged from his comm with no warning, not even a greeting, and he looked down at his wrist in surprise.

“Is it a rescue?” he asked, eyeing the task he was halfway through and already starting to calculate the fastest way to finish it.  “I’m doing some maintenance on Two, so it’ll take me a couple of minutes to get her ready for launch.”

“There’s no rescue.” Scott sounded… off, but not in any of the ways Virgil was used to hearing.  It was, at least, partially familiar, but he couldn’t place it.  That was concerning, but he couldn’t just leave Thunderbird Two with her dashboard strewn across the cockpit.  Rescues had a habit of cropping up at the most inconvenient times, and that certainly qualified.

“Then… can it wait until I’ve put the panels back?”

The weighty pause on the line gave him the answer even before Scott spoke.  Whatever Scott needed, it was urgent.

“Five minutes, Virgil.”

But not so urgent it couldn’t wait?  Thoroughly mystified and more than a little worried, Virgil hurried through putting his girl back together as quickly as he could whilst still being sure he wasn’t messing anything up.  It was lucky he could do it in his sleep, because his mind was firmly fixed on Scott’s odd request.

Except it wasn’t a request, was it?  As he screwed the last panel back in place, he realised where he knew that tone of voice from.  It was the tone Scott used on Gordon and Alan when they’d done something big brother didn’t approve of.  He hadn’t instantly recognised it because Scott hadn’t directed it at him in…

Virgil couldn’t actually remember.  Normally when Scott was preparing to lecture him, he was laid up in the medbay with an injury Scott thought could have been avoided and there was a strong undercurrent of thinly veiled worry.  That undercurrent was missing, this time, and despite himself Virgil hesitated.

What had he done to get Scott on his back like that?

Reluctantly, he left his girl to answer Scott’s summons – and that was what it was, just like Dad used to summon them if they were in trouble; after Mars and the high of Captain Taylor saying Dad would have been proud of them, the reminder of Dad’s stricter side nestled unpleasantly in his chest.  Scott had even gone so far as to wait for him in the den, rather than seeking him out.

Just like Dad.

Virgil wasn’t scared of his brother, but the little brother in him was scared at the idea of disappointing Scott, and it was that part that dragged his feet along the ground, reluctant to face whatever was waiting for him in the den.

Scott was sat at Dad’s desk, glowering intently at a hologram in front of him.  Virgil couldn’t see what was on it, barring a lot of text, but that wasn’t important.  What was important was the strong, imposing figure at the desk, distinct from his memories of Dad only because Scott was leaning forwards, elbows on the table.

Dad had never sat like that. Sometimes, it seemed like that was the only difference between Dad and his big brother.  Today, with a heavy atmosphere and otherwise empty den – no doubt cleared on purpose for this talk – was one of those times.

But for all that they reminded Virgil of each other and memories threatened to overlap reality, it was still Scott at that desk.  Virgil trusted Scott with every fibre of his being, and it was that trust that shoved his reluctant feet into the den to face whatever Scott wanted to talk about.

“You called?”

Muscle memory – old, old muscle memory that hadn’t been exercised in eight years – led him to stand in front of the desk.  With Scott sat in the chair and him still on his feet, he was taller.  He didn’t feel taller.

The desk did funny things to perception, skewed them away from reality.

The blue eyes that suddenly pinned him in place left him feeling a foot tall, and he didn’t even know what this was about, yet.  There was love in them, because it was Scott and there was always love in his eyes, even after Gordon had poured itching powder in his bed when he was ten and the sheer amount had him reacting so badly he’d had to see a doctor, but it was overshadowed by other, darker, things.

Anger. Frustration.  Disappointment.

Disappointment had a way of affecting the colour that no other emotion could quite replicate.  It was the only shade of blue that made Virgil feel ill to look at.

Scott didn’t say anything, making solid eye contact that Virgil wanted to break but couldn’t.

If the disappointment was heart-breaking, the silence was nerve-wracking.  Virgil didn’t like silence at the best of times, and took to filling it with whatever he could, whether it was music, the sounds that accompanied engineering, or simply lingering in earshot of whichever brother was the liveliest at that moment.

But Scott knew that, and no matter how upset or disappointed he was, he wasn’t cruel.  The silence lingered for barely a few seconds before he jabbed at something on his tablet.

An awful choking sound emitted from the desk’s built-in speakers, as though someone was trying to breathe but just couldn’t.  It was one Virgil had heard many times before – too many times before – but this one was different.

A wave of cold – icy, Antarctica-cold – swallowed him up with the creeping inevitability of realisation, dousing him until his organs felt like they’d all stopped working and the blood had drained from his body.

He didn’t need the sound of Alan’s panicked “Virgil!?” to identify it, and his entire body cringed as he heard his own voice, too full of adrenaline-packed amusement, reply.

The finger that jabbed the pause button was full of judgement.

“I-” he started, trying to find words – an explanation, an apology…

Those blue eyes gave him a look and he quailed into silence.  An excuse.  That’s what he’d been leaping to, but there were no excuses.  Not for that.

“Our communications lines are supposed to be used for mission-relevant information only,” Scott finally said.  The disappointment Virgil had identified in the initial summons had nothing on what was dripping from his big brother’s words now.  “Strictly speaking, there should be no jokes or banter while we’re on a mission, but for the sake of boosting morale, I let that slide.”

He did more than let it slide – Scott was almost as bad as Gordon and Alan for it sometimes, but Virgil knew better than to pedantically correct his eldest brother when he was like this.  Hell, even John tended to let Scott say his piece without interrupting if he got this bad.

“Still,” Scott continued, “there are some jokes that go too far, Virgil, and quite honestly I can’t believe I’m having to remind you, of all people.”

He winced involuntarily. “I know, Scott, I’m sorry.  That was out of line.”  It hadn’t seemed it at the time, not with the adrenaline rushing and a sudden desire to lighten the mood in the collapsed tunnel, but in hindsight, Virgil could see exactly how stupid a prank that had been.

And to do it to Alan, of all people.  His youngest brother who had just admitted to him that he was forgetting Dad and worried about them dying on a mission.  For them to have one of their closest calls to date was bad enough, where it had been a very real possibility that not all of them were going to make it out alive, but then he’d gone and compounded it…

“Virgil.”  Scott pulled him back to the present, and Virgil never wanted to hear his big brother say his name like that ever again.  His admittance had done nothing to dilute the disappointment.  “I’m not the one you need to apologise to.”  Scott at least had enough mercy not mention Alan by name, even if it hung unspoken and heavy between them.  “But we need to talk about this.”

Need to talk?  Virgil knew he was in the wrong, and normally when Scott knew he knew he was in the wrong, he let it rest after pointing it out. Actually having to talk about it – worse, having to stand there and face the disappointed shade of blue – filled Virgil with something not too dissimilar to shame and apprehension.

The thought crossed his mind that he was going to be grounded.  Punished.

“Virgil, why did you do that?”

“I-” he started, but broke off.  Why did he do it?  Adrenaline wasn’t the reason, even if it had played a part in him actually doing it. Fear, too.  Fear that he really was going to die; that he’d just killed himself and abandoned Alan to dig out his dead body.  But that still wasn’t the reason, was it?  Not really.

Scott didn’t push him. For all he was disappointed, and other displeased emotions swirled around behind the disappointment, he gave him time to answer.  But then, perhaps Scott knew he didn’t know and was waiting for him to work it out.  His eldest brother could be a mind reader at times.

Virgil swallowed.  “I…  I wanted to be like Dad.”

The words surprised him as much as they did Scott.  Blue eyes widened, and finally Virgil saw something else, something he was used to, flicker in there as well.

Worry.

“Like Dad?  But, Virg-”

“Captain Taylor’s always going on about Dad, and how Dad never let fear get in the way,” he interrupted his brother, words tumbling out with no conscious thought behind them.  “How Dad always had a plan, and the scrapes they’d get into.  How they always got out of them by the skin of their teeth – writing the book on lunar survival and the asteroid belt’s buckle and landing on Mars in the first place.” He took a deep breath, considered looking away but Scott’s wide, rapidly changing eyes locked his gaze in place.  “And Alan was talking about Dad on the way, all the little things he used to do.”  He didn’t mention what Alan had told him – that had been said in confidence, and there were some things he couldn’t break, not even for Scott.

Instead, he paused to get his rushing thoughts under control.  Scott’s disappointment had faded into astonished disbelief, and that hurt in its own way.

He also still looked like Dad.

“Captain Taylor was talking about Dad, and everyone knows you’re Dad’s son.  And John, and Alan.  Hell, even Gordon.  I just wanted Captain Taylor to see I am, too.”

He knew everyone looked at him and saw Mom.  Even if they didn’t look alike, he’d inherited her temperament and love of music.  They never looked at him and saw Dad.

“I just wanted to be Dad’s son,” he admitted.  “I wanted to do what Dad always did in the stories and lighten the mood, keep the morale up. It was stupid; I know that now.  I terrified Alan.  It was unprofessional and Dad would never have done that at anyone’s expense.”

His cheeks felt cramped, and his vision blurred.

“Virgil…”  There was movement in front of him and then a weight on his shoulder.  He knew that weight – he’d felt it time and time again.

“It was stupid,” he repeated, the words thick in his throat.  “I shouldn’t have done it.  But… Captain Taylor said he’d be proud of me.”

The hand on his shoulder shifted, and then there was a firm warmth around him.

“Of course Dad would be proud of you,” Scott said, mouth a little way above his ear.  Virgil let his head fall forwards until it was resting on his brother’s shoulder.  “Don’t ever think that he wouldn’t be.  You don’t have to be like him, Virgil.  You just have to be like you.”

On another day, in another conversation, Virgil would turn that back around at Scott, who had spent the last eight years trying to emulate Dad.

But Scott had him in a warm, comfortable embrace and the little brother who had been terrified of those disappointed blues lapped up the reassurance that was being offered in their place.  This wasn’t about Scott; this was about him and his stupid spur-of-the-moment idiocy.

And the brother he had no doubt terrified more than he’d realised.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled into the blue shirt.  “I messed up.”

“You’re only human,” Scott reminded him.  “We mess up, and we learn from it.”

Slowly, Virgil nodded. That was certainly a mistake he was never, ever going to make again.

Scott’s embrace was still comforting, but with the little brother no longer terrified, it was the big brother’s turn to make an appearance.  He couldn’t put this behind him, lesson fully learnt and absorbed so intently it was imprinted on his brain for all eternity, until he soothed it over with Alan, too. Reluctantly, he pulled back, out of his brother’s hold, and Scott let him.  Hands lingered on his shoulders just a touch longer, before they fell back to Scott’s sides.

Now that Scott was standing, not sat at the desk projecting Dad, he was actually taller than Virgil, and yet Virgil didn’t feel quite so small anymore.

“I need to talk to Alan,” he said, hoping Scott didn’t notice his voice cracking on their youngest brother’s name.  Blue eyes – no longer disappointment-blue, but back to their default love-and-concern shade – looked him over, before Scott gave him what could almost be classified as an approving smile.

It was definitely approving, even if the twitch of his dimples wasn’t quite enough to qualify it as a smile, and that alone lifted a weight from Virgil’s shoulders.

“You should,” he agreed. “But you should probably clean up a bit, or you’ll scare him.”  It was light-hearted, almost back to the teasing banter of a big brother rather than the Dad-mirage, and Virgil took it for the olive branch it was.

Nodding, he turned to leave the den.

“And Virgil?”  There was something slightly melancholy about that tone, and he turned half back around again.  Scott was looking at him, with a small smile on his face that wasn’t really happy, even if it wasn’t sad.  Just honest. “Even Dad was only human.”

[autisticdindjarin]

The Guard of the Mand’alor

Chapter Two: Foundlings and the Future

(AO3)

Summary: Omera was a foundling, taken in by Mandalorians when her family was slaughtered. She never met a certain Mandalorian on Sorgan, but when the Mandalorian throne is claimed by Din Djarin, he is in need of an honor guard. Omera steps up to the challenge. Rating: T Pairing: Din Djarin x Omera Warnings: None. Notes:   We're continuing this I guess!! Haha, just had a lot of feelings about Din and foundlings and found family and the guard.

(Masterlist)

(Chapter One)(Chapter Three)

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

“ … and Clan Wren is expected for the banquet tomorrow evening,” Bo-Katan continued. Omera stood tall opposite of Koska, and the two of them framed the throne of the Mand’alor, their beskar spears held vertically, while two others guarded the entryway.

Omera often tuned out during these reports, instead focusing on the entryways for any signs of danger, but that last part caught her attention. She’d have to let Myrah know - her fellow guard was off duty at the moment. Myra would be eager to see Sabine.

    Her attention turned back to Din as Bo-Katan finished up her daily briefing with the Mand’alor, and Din relaxed back into the throne more as the head of Clan Kryze left. Bo-Katan seemed intent on treating Din like a misguided little brother, and Omera could smother from the atmosphere in the room as Din stubbornly continued on his own path  - an admirable quality.

    With Bo-Katan gone, all left in the throne room were the Mand’alor and his guards, so Din soon signaled for them to stand at ease. He felt comfortable around them, and it pleased Omera to note that. The strain left his shoulders and he appeared calm - less overwhelmed. 

The familiarity between Din and his guard only continued to strengthen - while they protected him, he returned the favor, being more involved in his guard’s routine than one would expect from a king. Hells, he even sparred with them in the training room, sharpening their skills with the beskar spears.

    “I only know Sabine of Clan Wren. Are the rest of them as pleasant, or should I be on guard?” Din asked.

    “They’re alright,” Koska shrugged to the side, slipping her helmet off, an action that Omera and the other two guards - Kad and Novoc - mirrored. Omera raised an eyebrow over at Koska as she realized her fellow guard was not going to elaborate.

    “Clan Wren was ostracized during the reign of the Empire. But they regained their honor in helping to free Mandalore from Imperial control. Sabine is the figurehead of the clan now, but her brother and mother are also well known. Her brother can be … antagonistic,” Omera said, as politely as she could. “While Ursa can also be prickly, she has good sense to her. Her husband, Alrich, is a quieter man - he doesn’t like to play in the world of politics.”

    Din nodded at this, though he didn’t ask any more questions to clarify or dig deeper. Omera was used to that - their king was a man of few words. But she knew it was because he spent most of his time thinking, and planning strategy, which he had a knack for.

    “Well,” Din stood up, readjusting his cape. “No more appointments today. I’m heading over to the Sanctuary,” he said, as if they hadn’t already guessed.

Omera nodded, and the rest of the guards straightened up. They put their helmets back in place, and followed Din out of the throne room. Omera smiled under her helmet as she watched the flow of his cape behind him. His stride wasn’t one that Bo-Katan had to teach him - it had always been kingly, a determined step to it that made others immediately fall aside. Her eyes fell to his left hand, the one she was closest to, where it rested at his side, and she held back that urge to grab it and hold it.

    It’d been over a month now since their excursion to Tatooine, dealing with Boba Fett. A month since sharing a Keldabe kiss, and while Omera could appreciate taking things slow, it was also incredibly frustrating. Being so close to him all the time but also feeling so far away tested her patience but strengthened her desire.

    Din continued his regal way through the courtyard, guiding them towards the far end of the expansive Mandalorian palace. The courtyard led into a garden with serene pools, where children were playing and splashing in the warm sun that filtered down through the leaves of willows.

    A caregiver sat off to the side, observing the children but not hovering. He stood as they approached, putting down a datapad and giving a small bow in their direction. The reaction from the children was much different as they began running up, all smiles and yells of excitement. They bombarded Din, and Omera stepped back out of the way in a practiced move when he fell to the ground with a pile of kids surrounding him. He let out a grunt, but then he laughed and sat up, clasping tiny shoulders and patting small backs.

    “You’ve proven my guard to be useless,” Din said, his tone mocking stern. Kad and Koska had remained at the entrance of the garden, distancing themselves from the ruckus, while Omera and Novoc lingered at Din’s side.

    “We’ve defeated the Mand’alor!” one of the boys proclaimed, his dark eyes gleaming with a mischief Omera was well acquainted with in her own daughter. She laughed behind her helmet, shaking her head. Din played along with it, as some of the younger girls had gathered sticks to use as imagined laser swords, pointing them at Din’s chest and throat.

    “Surrender!” A little hybrid girl squeaked out, one who would just barely be able to reach Din’s knee when he stood up. Her skin faded into blue around the edges of her face and ears, and thick black hair ran down in a braid along her back.

    “I yield, you’ve got me,” Din held his hands up. But soon enough they became bored of their little game, and sat in a circle around Din, asking for stories.

    “Hm. I think you’ve heard them all,” the Mandalorian king chuckled where he now sat cross legged, cape laid out beside him with a group of kids sitting on it. Another had leaned up against his opposite shoulder, and the little hybrid girl made herself at home perched on his lap. The cape was getting damp as some of the kids had been swimming, but Din either didn’t notice or didn’t care, and Omera would bet it was the latter.

    The kids finally convinced him and he was launching into a grand story involving a krayt dragon and a small town marshal. Omera’s eyes wandered, watching the garden for any disturbances, noting Koska and Kad snarking back and forth at one another in the distance.

    “ … and then it started going back in …” Din’s voice flowed through the garden, and it made her cheeks feel too warm. It made her whole body feel too warm, seeing this gentle nurturing side of him around kids, making her think of how he’d been when first meeting Winta, wondering if she would see more of it in the future.

    The sun had begun to say its goodbyes when Din finished the story off. The hybrid girl had fallen asleep against his chest, and a few more of the kids surrounding him weren’t far off from passing out as well. Din squeezed the shoulder of one of the foundlings using his cloak as a blanket, saying his goodbyes to small sounds of protest. He lifted the hybrid girl up with him, carefully, though she didn’t stir beyond pressing her face further into the space between his pauldron and chestplate.

    “I’ll take her, Mand’alor,” said the previously silent caretaker, reaching forwards. Din nodded, gently passing over the sleepy foundling.

    “How are things going?” Din asked the caretaker.

    “Well enough. We’ve had several more adoptions this week, and we’ve had two more come in, twin boys who lost their guardian to illness. They’re adjusting.”

    “Don’t let them be separated,” Din said softly.

    “Of course not. There’s plenty who are willing to take in both, Mand’alor,” the caretaker smiled, shrugging his shoulders. Din shook his hand, gripping at his forearm in thanks.

    “If they need anything -”

    “I’ll let you know,” the caregiver said, having heard the request many times before, but Din always felt the need to repeat it.

    “The foundlings are the future,” Din said quietly, and the caretaker nodded in agreement.

    “This is the way.”

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

    “You are very focused on the foundlings,” Omera said when they found themselves alone after night had fallen. Kad stood guard outside Din’s chamber, and had only tilted his head in curiosity when Din had requested her inside.

    “They’re important,” Din shrugged, sitting down on one of the chairs by the fireplace, beginning to unclasp his boots.

    “They are,” Omera agreed, softly. “I’ve just noticed too - most of your personal guard is made up of foundlings.”

    Din paused at that, looking up at her. “I hadn’t realized.”

    “Hm, well. Koska, Myrah, and Paz are the only ones with Mandalorian blood parents. Though perhaps foundlings make some of the best warriors - eager to prove themselves,” she shrugged.

    “You can sit,” Din gestured beside him when he realized she was still standing. Omera did so while he launched a question at her. “Were you? Eager to prove yourself?”

    Omera hesitated. “In a way, yes. But I was just a baby, not even a toddler, when I was adopted by Clan Thorne. It was all I knew. I guess I did feel like I had to work harder for my place, with not being blood related, but they never made me feel like I didn’t belong. They trained me well and I worked hard but -” she hesitated. “I didn’t really start honing my skills, not truly, until after I was widowed,” she looked away.

    Din just listened, and she appreciated that. So often her telling of her past came to probing questions. While he did question her some, it was never past what she felt comfortable with. It was almost like he could read her.

    Leaning back against the chair, she slipped her helmet off, braid falling over her shoulder. She wiped her face and placed the helmet beside her chair, then looked over at him.

    “I tried to work twice as hard as anyone else in the Fighting Corps,” Din’s low voice rumbled. “Not just to prove myself, but … to forget, in a way. I finally got chewed out after fainting during a practice drill,” he chuckled. “The alor was not happy. That’s the day I was told that you could be as physically balanced as possible, but being balanced in spirit is just as important. I didn’t learn it until decades later, though.”

    She listened to his musings, sensing he needed to let some things out. Perhaps things he’d never told to anyone else, and it touched something within her to know that he wanted to share it with her.

    “Not until Grogu,” he added. His voice softened considerably at the mention of his foundling.

    “You miss him,” Omera noted the obvious. Din nodded.

    “I do,” he answered, his voice catching before he cleared his throat. He looked to the side, remaining silent for a moment before speaking again. “I would like … If we could- could spend more time, togeth- I mean, talking,” he stumbled. “Not while you’re on duty, I mean, just - just outside of all this,” he gestured vaguely at their surroundings. “I’d like to know … get to know Winta better,” Din looked down. Omera smiled and reached forward, putting a hand over his.

“She’d love that,” she acknowledged, “and I would too.”

Din hummed at that, then seemed to hesitate before leaning forwards. Omera quickly caught on, and she moved forwards to let him gently rest his helmet against her forehead.

“Cyar’ika,” she mumbled. Darling. Din made a small noise, like he’s sucked too much air in at once. His hand turned palm up to grip hers, squeezing.

“Gar gana ner karta,” he replied. You have my heart.

(Chapter Three)

[funkzpiel]

Geralt wonders why he can never get rid of Jaskier. One night Jaskier is drunk and telling Geralt stories of his childhood. How his mother was once saved from a monster before he was born. The man took no coin in thanks, only claimed the Law of Surprise. His father died in the attack, and later his mother discovered that she was pregnant with Jaskier. His mother never saw the man again. Jaskier chuckles to himself, not noticing how Geralt has suddenly gone silent and wide-eyed.

I changed the background of the ‘how’ a bit, but I hope you still enjoy it.

Together

“There’s nowhere you can be that isn’t where you are meant to be.”- John Lennon

Jaskier, by the definition of his very personality, was Geralt’s polar opposite; and yet, for a man so utterly unlike the witcher, the bard had an uncanny ability with comfort. That was how Geralt found himself sitting at a bar with company rather than alone. It had been a few months since ‘fate’ had begun to reappear into his life – little tendrils of coincidences and off-hand remarks from various people and events that were constantly reminding him that the clock was ticking. His child surprise was coming for him.

With every warning and every sign of the inevitable, Geralt felt his jaw clench tighter and tighter until a dull pain had rooted into his temples, constant and burning. Everyone had an opinion. Everyone felt the need to tell him what to do; to just give in. Fate was, after-all, unavoidable - or so they insist on telling him. But “fate” was a ruse made by weak-willed men who wanted to hide their deeds behind excuses like ‘inevitable’ and such, and Geralt wanted nothing to do with it. There was no such thing as fate, he was definitely not about to take in a child-ward any time soon, and that was all there was to it.

“You’re grinding again,” Jaskier said easily, slipping back into his spot across the table from Geralt as he slid another full pint toward the man. He gestured at his own jaw with a twirl of a finger and elaborated, “Your teeth,” when Geralt didn’t immediately stop – as if he had merely misunderstood.

Geralt pursed his lips with a grunt, took the flagon, and imbibed a hearty sip. He wiped the froth from his lip with the back of his hand and continued looking sour. They had just finished a contract – Jaskier being Jaskier all the while – with a sorceress who had, at the end, tried to ‘pay him’ by becoming ‘possessed by Fate’ with a capital ‘F’. Reminding him of his duty to his child, of course, how the fuck did everyone know about that. As if this girl, this princess, were his daughter. Geralt felt his jaw tighten again.

He blamed Jaskier. There was no doubt in his mind that the man had created some pub shanty about his child-surprise without him knowing about it and even he had the good sense not to sing it around Geralt.

Jaskier whistled. He was a bit noodlely at the moment. Knowing Geralt as well as he did, it was Jaskier who had insisted they take a load off and wind down at the tavern to celebrate a job well done, a heavier purse, and the fact that they were very much the masters of their own fates, thank you. It was the last bit in particular that got Geralt’s interest; not that he had ever been a man opposed to a good drink. Jaskier had merely made the point that ‘to drink would be to spit in “fate’s” face, after all – and it brings us no nearer your child surprise, right?’ and it was a done deal.

So they drank. They drank, and Jaskier had done his damnedest to keep up with Geralt out of what the witcher could only assume was some spirit of camaraderie. The idiot. So the bard was rather noodlely and loose. There had been a distinct moment when he had first stood to refresh their cups that Geralt had been certain the bard would collapse. But despite the tilt to his gait, Jaskier had managed – and was, in fact, still remarkably cognizant for a man Geralt had no plan of letting walk again for at least an hour or so.  

Geralt himself had the beginning of a pleasant buzz beginning to burn throughout his body, numbing his ire toward fate and destiny and village folk who were constantly trying to rip him out of his money for doing jobs no sane man would do. Perhaps Jaskier had been right. He did need a night to drink, to spit in destiny’s face, and be neither father-to-be or witcher, but merely a man in a bar drinking with a friend.

He forced himself to loosen his jaw and Jaskier stopped his babbling from across the table with cheer and said, “That’a’boy, Geralt!”

They played Gwent; a game that Jaskier’s fingers struggled to keep up with but his mind, surprisingly, had no trouble with at all. Allowing Geralt to put his own mind into a pleasant round of distractions as he kept Jaskier’s frontline from utterly devastating his own with all manner of range and weather cards. When the time came, it was Geralt who refreshed their cups next (and had a private word with the bar keep to perhaps water Jaskier’s down just a little).

The evening went on like that – pleasant and mundane and mild – until suddenly it was anything but. Because Jaskier, the fucking bard that he was, just had to make things personal. And in Geralt’s experience, nothing good ever came from getting personal.

“Honestly, Geralt, I’m on your side with all this fate rubbish,” Jaskier finally said, evidently confident enough in the good turn of mood in the witcher to further discuss the topic. As though the matter were a wet sheet to be aired, dried, folded and finally dealt with. Geralt felt a twitch run through his jaw but the booze by and far helped stop him from setting his teeth to grinding again. He kept his gaze on his cards, hoping his focused expression might spare him from the conversation at hand as he slowly laid down his move and rumbled, “Funny. You seem too romantic to be on my side.”

Jaskier chuckled, hands fumbling clumsily through his own cards as he smiled and said, “Fair! Very fair. By all counts a master musician and storyteller like myself should be utterly enamored by fate—”

“—I don’t know if a man who wrote that ‘fishmonger’ nonsense can be considered a ‘master musician’,” Geralt hedged, hoping to distract the bard with his little jab, but Jaskier just merrily continued as though he hadn’t said a word - far too used to the witcher’s barbs to let it stop his rhythym. Damn.

“—but I’ve first-hand experience to tell me otherwise. Fate may be a romantic and beautiful storytelling device, no doubt, but every writer knows all too keenly that fantasies are just fantasies at the end of the day. After all, we wrote’em.”

Jaskier had a merry little blush about him; it peeked out from under his messy collar and kissed the tips of his ears, his cheeks, the bridge of his nose. Geralt chalked it up to what he referred lazily to as ‘bard magic’ that the man managed to look attractive whilst drunk instead of like a slobbering fool – like most humans. It wouldn’t be the first time Geralt wondered if there were something more to the bard than meets the eye.

Jaskier’s fingers still fumbled like a drunken fool as he played his cards though, so Geralt shook it from his mind.

“First-hand experience?” Geralt snorted, shaking his head when the bard, despite his drunkenness, managed to pull out another great move in their Gwent game – not once thinking that perhaps he too was inebriated in the slightest. “What? Did the woman you deem yourself ‘fated’ to marry reject you?”

Geralt smirked a little at his own jest, pleased.

Jaskier let it roll over him with all the candor of a duck shaking water from its feathers, smooth and easy.

“Hardly,” Jaskier laughed, watching Geralt as the man refocused on the game. “Well, I mean, you’re not wrong – Lady Emily was meant to be mine, and the world is a poorer place for her having married that lout Bartolomeo rather than myself – but no. That wasn’t it. You see, I was told ‘fate’ would have a big role in my life as well, witcher. Practically from the day I was born. And it didn’t. So there – same side.”

Geralt raised his brows, eyes lifting from his cards to drift up to Jaskier’s face with surprise. That sounded like quite the story and yet the bard didn’t immediately launch into it. Strange.

“I think that’s the briefest story you’ve ever told. Are you ill?”

“Ah!” Jaskier exclaimed, pointing at him as though he had caught the witcher red-handed in some years long investigation, “I knew you liked my stories.”

Geralt snorted, played his hand, then leaned back to cross his arms over his chest and stare at the bard menacingly – which was evidently not menacing at all, because the bard just waved him off as his eyes fell to their game and said distractedly, “Honestly, there’s no real story to tell, Geralt, don’t give me that look. Nothing happened - that’s the point.”

Geralt felt his lips curl the littlest bit downward. Now he was truly beginning to worry the man had been possessed. He even began running through the possibilities of what specific spirit it could be.

“Jaskier.”

Jaskier blew out a breath that ruffled the fine curls of his bangs – if that was even what they were called, to be honest Geralt didn’t truly know – and rolled his eyes as though Geralt were the one prone to prying and not himself. Good, Geralt thought. Served him right to get a taste of his own medicine.

“It’s an old story, not even particularly special. It’s happened to others and it just so happened to my father. He was headed home from a gala of some sort – thankfully without my mother – and he and his carriage was attacked. Not even by anything particularly remarkable, by the by, that’s how droll this story is. He was traveling through the swamps that led to home, a wheel got stuck in the mud – drowners tried to off’em, you know the way it goes.”

Geralt felt the uncanny grip of something flipping his stomach upside down and chilling his skin as suddenly a memory slammed to the forefront of his mind, dragged up from the depths of decades, triggered by Jaskier’s words.

 Geralt had been on his way back to the village to turn in a contract. He had been sore and tired, the worst of one of his potions slowly ebbing from him. His hair was a filthy, muddy, bloody thing and he looked rather like a monster himself. But the Water Hag was dead – a particularly old and particularly powerful hag at that – and the promise of a heavy purse was on the horizon. Coin and a bath and a bed. The thought alone quickened his steps for a moment.

But the swamp had been a muggy, dreadful thing. Geralt had resorted to leading Roach by her reins on foot rather than risk her ankles in the mud beneath his weight and that of his pack. He had been taking his time, grumbling now and then about the flies and the mosquitos that dogged him, the heat oppressive and thick.

He ultimately ended up leaving Roach behind when he heard a man scream up ahead. He slid through the mud in clumsy, fumbling strides only to find a carriage with its wheels stuck, plagued on all sides with drowners. They had taken the man’s horse out at the ankles and were dragging it through the mud. Geralt could still remember the panicked whites of its eyes and its shrill screaming – the sense of relief he felt knowing he had left Roach a safe distance behind. Somewhere out in the mud, he saw a gloved hand disappear beneath the mire – likely a travel guard. Dead now.

“Help! Oh, you there! Please don’t leave me!” A man had shouted from atop his cart, barely beyond the reach of webbed, grasping claws.

 He shook himself. Tried to focus. Odd for the story to start out similarly, but like Jaskier said, the monsters were as common as the situation. Focus.

“Way he tells it, it’s quite a tale. It’s too bad you’re hearing it from me and not him. Man appeared out of nowhere and out of the goodness of his heart, he cut down all the drowners.”

 It had been sloppy work, between the mud and the exhaustion. The swamp kept sucking his boots down into the muck, every move slow and squelching, but he managed. He took the head off two before they even noticed his presence – the beasts too lost to tunnel vision and bloodlust to manage much else  – then cleaved the hand off another that reached too close to the man atop the carriage. That drew the beasts’ attention rather quickly.

The fight had left him even filthier. Slathered in guts and swamp gunk and reeds that peaked out of the edges and grooves of his armor in comical places. He leaned himself against the carriage, leaving a great messy smear behind him, and sucked in a breath. The horse was dead, the carriage a lost cause. But the man was alive. Hopefully that would be enough to spare him some random human’s moaning that he hadn’t arrived in time to spare the horse. But it wouldn’t be the first time it hadn’t been enough…

“Oh, thank you! Thank you!” The man babbled urgently, scrabbling down from the top of his carriage to stand before the witcher. He was a bit of a rotund man – obviously well off – with dark mousey hair, and startlingly cornflower blue eyes. He wore rich fabrics done up in delicate, intricate threading and patterns. The knees of his trousers and ass had been muddied, his hands as well. But he looked rather cheerful for a royal of some sort who had recently taken a tumble through the mud. Most royalty always tended to be sour, even when their lives were saved. Geralt found himself off-balance.

“However can I thank you, Master…?” The man asked, letting the sentence drag pointedly.

“Witcher is fine,” Geralt said. People took none-too-kindly to his name these days. Witcher was safer; which in and of itself was a bit tragic.

“Master Witcher it is,” the man beamed, and for the life of him Geralt couldn’t fathom how a man managed to smile like that to a complete stranger. Smiling like they were longtime friends reunited after decades of getting old in separate lands, but never forgotten. This was usually the point in which people gave him a suspicious look and yet this man smiled.

 “Father said the man wanted nothing. No price, no pay. Honestly, that’s why I think he’s lying. Even you witchers require pay when you help slay monsters. Who possibly would have stepped in on that situation and been willing to walk away after risking their lives for nothing?” Jaskier snorted. It was obvious that this story had once meant quite a deal to him at one point, and slowly – as the years passed – it had lost its glamor like petals falling from a flower one by one until nothing was left but a thin, weathered stalk. Geralt grunted and tried to banish that nagging memory from his mind, to focus on Jaskier’s story. He rested his wrists down against the table to steady the subtle shaking of his cards.

But more and more, his stomach dropped like a stone. Slipped beneath the surface of icy dread like that traveling guard’s hand had disappeared beneath the murk of the swamp.

 “Honestly, don’t worry about it,” Geralt said. He was exhausted. The man surely had no coin on him of any import and Geralt had no interest in following the man home to then negotiate some fee as all men seemed inclined to do after the work was done and the threat gone. He wanted nothing more than to return to town, burrow into a bed at the tavern, and sleep off the rest of the potion still chewing at the edges of his system. He wanted to wrap up his current contract, not haggle another. He held a hand up to the man when he tried to pull the rings from his fingers and said, “Truly. It was only decent to stop and help. I didn’t even manage to spare your horse or guard—”

“Ah, Renfield—” the man said, suddenly sobering. A true sense of somber grief appeared to steal over the man, his eyes casting out to the spot in the swamp where he last saw him. “And to think I don’t even have a body to bring home to his wife…”

Geralt shifted uncomfortably. He wanted to go. He wanted to  sleep.

“See? You owe me nothing,” Geralt offered softly.

“You still saved my life,” the man said, “That is not nothing.”

Geralt clenched his teeth and looked out over the wastes of the swamp. It was obvious the man would not relent. Furthermore, he couldn’t leave the man like this either – alone in the swamps among the carcasses of dead drowners. The witcher sighed, long and heavy through flared nostrils, and finally said, “Walk with me to town and I’ll surely think of something.”

 “But father insisted on paying the man,” Jaskier said, a little grin slipping onto his face then as he proudly said, “We’re a bit of a stubborn lot, we of house de Lettenhove.”

Cornflower blue eyes drifted up to twinkle merrily at Geralt, surely expecting the witcher to sieze the opportunity to agree that, yes, Jaskier was nothing if not bullishly stubborn when he got something into his head. Something like following a witcher around and using those adventures as a muse, for instance.

 Geralt was thanking his lucky star by the time they finally stumbled into the village where he needed to turn in his contract. The man – some Viscount from some place Geralt really had no intention of remembering – had managed to fill the silence Geralt so desperately wanted all the way from the moment they left the swamps to the second they stepped into the village. He spoke of why he was traveling with one guard - “Well my wife is pregnant, you see, and I was afraid to leave her alone in her state. She’s due any day now,” – and how they were expecting a wee lass and oh, how he’d tell her about the brave, muddied man who saved him.

Geralt barely stopped himself from burying his face into Roach’s neck when the man clapped him heartily on the back and exclaimed, “And now I owe you furthermore for escorting me to safety! Have you thought of a just reward?”

Geralt felt a groan lodge behind his teeth and just barely managed to smother it. The alderman’s home was  right there. He was so close.

 Geralt cleared his throat, but his voice still came out like a choked croak when he asked, “And your father wouldn’t take no for an answer, right?”

“Quite right, witcher-dear,” Jaskier said, finally playing his hand in their gwent game with a drunken flourish; but it felt a bit stale from some reason. In fact, everything about Jaskier felt stale the moment he started telling the story… “I think you’ll find this next bit the most interesting. It’s why I don’t think this child-surprise is anything worth worrying about – all just a load of rubbish.”

Geralt reached for his pint and took several deep pulls from the thing as though that might drown out what he knew was coming.

“He invoked the Law of Surprise,” Jaskier said coolly.

 “I’ve thought of something,” Geralt said quickly. It was a foolish thing, more romantic than practical, but royals always seemed charmed by the idea. They sometimes asked for it themselves,  often eager to pay slyly through a surprise shipment of silks or a newly whelped hound pup rather than true coin, all beneath the mask of ‘tradition’ rather than greed. Loathe as he was about the law, given it landed him in the School of the Wolf himself, he usually avoided it. But it had its uses - and the man was already expecting his daughter. Nothing ill should come of it. It should work mundanely, perfectly. “Law of Surprise. Are you familiar with it?”

The man’s eyes opened a little wider with childish wonder and he said, “Why, I thought that was just a myth about you witchers. Do you truly use the Law of Surprise as payment?”

“Aye, we do. That seems best, don’t you think? Given the circumstances? I’m afraid this is far as I can take you though… Send a messenger to your estate, have them send a true escort to see you safely home from here. And when you return, whatever you find that you did not expect – that will be my payment.”

“I’m afraid that even for royalty, we live a very plain and humble life. It might be a barrel of wine or a shipment of books—”

Perfect.

“—Quite alright, sir,” Geralt said soothingly, trying to make it sound as though the mystery and tradition were part of the value; anything to make the man agree and free himself to head to the inn as soon as possible. “Whatever you find will be mine, and one day I’ll return to collect.”

“Aye… Alright, witcher, you have yourself a deal!” The man said, beaming, as he shook Geralt’s hand without so much as an inch of hesitance about the grime and gunk dried onto Geralt’s hand. “I look forward to seeing you again and paying you properly, friend.”

Again Geralt was struck by the intimacy of the man, the sheer openness of him. He held no ill will for the witcher. Seemed intent on expressing his gratitude genuinely. If Geralt didn’t feel as though he were three steps away from a coma, he might have asked to journey home with the man himself. To get a good meal and a flea-less bed and a decent rest before heading out on the road again.

As it stood, he had no time, patience or energy for any of that. Instead he clapped the man at his bicep, squeezed, and agreed, “Until next time.”

He left the Viscount there to handle his own business with no intention of ever seeing him again. He had no need for books from royalty, more often than not focused on aesthetics than practicality. He had a horse, he had no need for a pup or silk or wine. And thankfully the man had told him more than once about the child his wife was about to birth. No surprises there. Nothing could go wrong, it was an easy out.

Geralt returned to the inn, collected his purse without having to haggle much for their priorly agreed upon sum after the fact – and as he bathed and ate and prepared to rest, he pat himself on the back for managing to slip away from the Viscount who wouldn’t shut up.

 Geralt drank until his flagon ran dry, and felt it the moment everything he had chugged hit the bottom of his stomach sickly. He felt pale and clammy. Wide around the eyes and nearly removed from his own body. Jaskier was chuckling lightly, oblivious and self-depreciating with his humor as he said, “Man never returned to find out what he got. I suppose I wasn’t worth the journey back to get me. That’s ‘Fate’ for you. I grew up being told about how ‘Fate’ would bring this muddy stranger into my life. How he’d fetch me, how I’d be part of his life. My father got me tutors to prepare me for that sort of living, you know - adventuring. Medics and survivalists and all manner of men and women, all so I’d be ready for a life at some witcher’s side. I should have hated it… Should have hated the idea of being given away, of having no control in my life, but I was just so damned excited.“

Geralt’s eyes flicked up to catch the expression on the bard’s face - soft as he remembered the romantic fantasies of a child picturing a life of wild adventures at some hero’s side; eyes distant. Something twisted painfully in Geralt’s gut. It should have been a book or a pup or a bottle of wine. Not… this. It shouldn’t have hurt anyone. But the Law of Surprise rarely left his life unscathed. He should have known better. The Law of Surprise had made him a witcher. It had tied a young princess’ destiny to his own and now - Jaskier had been made victim of it to. The casualty? His childhood and the innocent belief children often had in stories. His sense of worth. Gods above, Geralt had been hurting Jaskier long enough before he ever said a cruel thing to his face.

He felt pale. Sickly. Thin and clammy and terrible. 

“I kept waiting though. I wanted it to be true. I yearned for all the details my father never gave: what he looked like, how he acted. My father was so smitten, so blinded by his romanticism, he had barely anything left to describe him by beyond the fact that he was brave, valorous and muddy. But the witcher never came. So aye, Geralt, I’m with you. ‘Fate’ is all a load of horseshit and the only worth it has is to fill my pockets with gold when folk fall for my naive songs about it. Don’t worry. You won’t see that lass if you don’t go looking for her. I’m proof of that. You wouldn’t be the first witcher not to show up.”

But he would be. He was. He clung desperately to the knowledge that Viscount had been expecting a daughter. That he had been certain that by his wife’s slim frame, they weren’t having twins. But even as he tried to convince himself, he knew… Geralt’s eyes slowly drifted over the bard, wide like that dying horse’s eyes had been and just as cornered. He was gripping his cup so tightly it would’ve been shaking if it hadn’t been braced on the table. The witcher swallowed, throat dry despite the ale.

The man, that Viscount from the swamp… he had been expecting a daughter. Jaskier was definitely not a woman, he knew that firsthand. He covered his mouth with his hand to smother the sound that tried to escape him – strangled and out of control.

"Geralt?” Jaskier asked. There was a tightness about the bard’s eyes. Something worried for his friend, of course, but also something creeping, something suspicious. Geralt felt naked. “Are you alright? Do you… do you know this story? Do you know the witcher?”

Geralt swallowed.

Then he pulled his hand away and deflected, voice a rough croak from the ale and from guilt’s claws tearing his throat to ribbons, and said, “You’re lucky. When witchers come for their child-surprises and find them to be male, they take the Trial of the Grasses.”

Jaskier tilted his head at that - words that he was familiar with but Geralt knew the bard had never quite had the balls to ask. Now, well… Geralt couldn’t imagine refusing him answers now when he was too cowardly to tell the truth that actually mattered.

“As you did?” Jaskier asked. It was a surprisingly tame question, as though his story had drained some sparkle of life from him. 

“Yes,” Geralt admitted, “As I did.”

“What was it like?”

Geralt ached to stand, to refill his cup and be done with this night. He clenched his jaw, all manner of relaxation gone, and said, “It burned everything away.”

His hope that his mother would return for him. His dreams of becoming a - he didn’t even remember anymore. It had dissolved everything from before the trials away to dust. By and far, he was born the day he survived it. Both harder and hollower for it. He was suddenly dizzy with the realization that because he had not known about Jaskier, he had not had to make the decision of what to do with him. Young boys were made into witchers, it was the way of things.

But would he have been able to do it, knowing how few survived? How much worse things got if they did.

“Then "Fate” is a ruse and I’m lucky for it,“ Jaskier said, raising his glass to Geralt. "No offense, of course.”

Geralt obligingly tapped his empty flagon against the bard’s, but set it aside to watch the man drink eagerly from his cup. He had never heard the bard sound so… hollow. As though beneath his songs and cheer laid a hole, covered by brush and leaves and full of jagged rocks at the bottom. That was his fault. When would he learn his lesson?

Jaskier finished his pint, stood suddenly as though invigorated, and exclaimed, “I think we are both in need of another refill!” Only to wobble rather perilously. 

Geralt stood, his own hip connecting painfully with the table, but managed to steady the bard in time to stop him from toppling over. He grimaced at the sting in his hip, slight but annoying, then stilled when Jaskier practically melted into his hold like a maiden swooning. A thin arm wound around his neck, a whisker-less face pressed into the curve of his jaw, and Jaskier murmured, “On second thought,” a little weakly into his skin. His breath stank of booze. Geralt wrinkled his nose. He shouldn’t have let it go so far. Shouldn’t have done a lot of things.

“Bed,” the witcher rumbled, because he was afraid of saying anything else. Afraid of admitting anything else. Afraid of shattering the bard with the truth of it just as the bard had so easily, in one well swoop, shattered him. Fate was real. Between Jaskier and Yennefer and Ciri, there was nothing left in him but weak, exhausted acceptance. It was real and like a cat keen to curl in the lap of dog-lover, Fate followed him with spiteful compassion. Pulling more and more threads into his life until he was nothing but a puppet, tangled in strings.

He forced himself to focus on the mundane. The task was arduous - what with Jaskier barely awake and more wet noodle than man - but he managed to get them both upstairs to their room. The witcher took his time. Took the time he hadn’t given the bard, but had owed him for so very long. Gods above, it explained so much. How, despite his best efforts, the bard always found a way back to him - smiling and singing. Like sunlight, he always came back. Explained why Geralt didn't try very hard to leave him either. How many times could he have galloped away? Left while the man slept? He should have. For the bard’s own safety, he should have, but he never did. He hit him and he sneered and growled; all manner of things to at least drive a sane man away. But Jaskier stayed, fiercely compassionate and loyal, like his namesake. Steadfast and always blooming. Scatter him to the wind and he just came back more stubborn than before.

He disrobed him kindly, wary to jostle the bard too much as queasiness began to set in. He brushed the man’s hair back from his sweaty brow, hummed gently when his eyes tried to flicker open or when he tried to babble some drunken nonsense. Jaskier whined and moaned and, as expected, reacted to his own drunken state rather dramatically. But Geralt steadily learned what soothed him. Hands in his hair, at his cheek. Soft words, solid and firm like the bedrock of a home. Geralt got him into night clothes, settled him down into the bed. He brought a glass of water to the night stand, then wet a rag to set over the bard’s eyes. He was just about to take the chair - guilt gnawing too powerfully at his guts for him to share the bed with his abandoned bard - when Jaskier asked with surprising clarity, “Why didn’t he come, Geralt?”

Geralt looked at him. He wasn’t wholly there, not truly. Jaskier wouldn’t remember come morning, he could tell. This was merely the detail his drunken mind had fastened on. So, like a coward, Geralt answered, “Because witchers are fools,” knowing the bard couldn’t actually hear him. It was as close to sorry as he knew how to say. And it would never be enough.

That night, he stayed awake. He sobered quickly, watching the bard as he slept. Hindsight was a peculiar thing and now, thinking back, he could see so much of his life that he had been blind to before. Epiphanies that begged questions. Did he tolerate Jaskier because it was Fate? Was nothing in his life in his control? What was Fate and what was the purpose or significance of 'will’ if Fate existed? Would he have gone to Jaskier, had he known about his child surprise? Did knowing Jaskier’s true role in his life now change anything with Ciri? Was he only worth loving if someone was forced to love him, bound by fate?

If anything, it proved only the futility of it all. In avoiding fate, he had only hurt himself, hurt others. What would happen if he embraced it? At the very least, even if it became no less painful, at least he wouldn’t be exhausting himself trying to outrun it anymore. That thought wouldn’t have driven him to the road out of sheer spite, once. He should leave. He should spit in Fate’s face, howl into the winds, claim his life as his own. But when had he ever truly conquered Fate? And looking back… were the things Fate had brought into his life truly so bad?

He was tired. Tired of running. Tired of questioning everything. Tired like a dog that had pulling at its lead too long, too hard, wheezing and choking itself. He fell slack in the chair, every muscle letting go all at once, and realized - he wasn’t going to run. He had nothing left to give that life. No more energy with which to run and snarl and evade. 

“You fucking win,” he growled, grumpy and bristling; and yet oddly relieved.

It was circular. Thoughts tumbling one after another, around and around, and Jaskier was the eye of the hurricane – calm and sleeping in the bed as Geralt watched on.

He watched the sun rise. Watched the way the warm light of day slowly painted Jaskier’s face in creamy golds and sleepy pinks and oranges. He should close the curtains, yet he couldn’t pry his eyes away… He did eventually, when Jaskier began to stir. He closed the curtains, slipped down silently to the kitchens, and gave into fate. He ordered a platter of biscuits and sweet jams to help absorb the worst of the alcohol, then breakfast meats and fruits for once Jaskier’s stomach settled. He fetched a pitcher of water, pulled a tonic from his pack to help with the inevitable pain, and then returned to the room and waited.

Jaskier stirred, as he did in all things, theatrically and lively. He moaned, curled tighter into the sheets, and pressed back oddly - searching for Geralt, he realized with a feeling of being struck. When he found no hard heat at his back, no arms to hold him, the bard’s nose crinkled and he peaked open one eye only to whisper a vicious curse. Geralt felt both fondness and dread build in his gut, uncomfortable. He never used to have to deal with emotions like this. Yet he did not entirely wish it away.

“Ger'lt,” Jaskier moaned when finally he opened his eyes long enough to catch sight of him, “I’ve been pois'ned.”

Geralt let out a soft huff of a breath, pried himself from his chair, and grabbed the tonic from the bedside to hand to Jaskier with a soft, “Drink.”

“Never drink ag'in,” Jaskier moaned, but eventually obliged with a curled lip when Geralt merely repeated the command more firmly. Geralt forced himself not to laugh when the bard let out a shiver like a cat that accidentally stepped in something wet. “Gods above, Geralt, that’s torture in a bottle!”

Well, he was cognizant again. At least there was that.

“Yeah, sorry,” Geralt said, pulling the tray over to place in Jaskier’s lap, “Eat. It’ll help.”

Jaskier stilled halfway into reaching for a pastry on instinct, his gaze turning suspicious as he gave Geralt a rumpled stink eye - a look ruined by the messy nest of hair sticking every which way from his head and the crease the pillow had left on his cheek. Soft, so soft - yet he travelled willingly with a witcher.

“Why are you being so nice?” Jaskier asked, “Who are you and what have you done with Geralt?”

“I’m that bad, huh?” Geralt mused, a little sting of guilt buried beneath his amused look. 

“Bad? No. More… distantly aloof,” Jaskier said. It appeared as though he had dubbed the food safe enough to eat though - or at the very least the need to steady his stomach outweighed the oddness of the situation - because he grabbed a pastry and with one wary look at the jam, decided to eat it plain. 

“Hmm.”

“Precisely,” Jaskier said pointedly, then after a bite or two he tilted his head a bit, taking Geralt in, and asked, “Are you feeling alright, Geralt? All jests aside, you are… I can’t put my finger on it, but you’re worrying me. You’re more stoic and yet not stoic than usual. Did something happen last night? I’m afraid it’s all a bit embarrassingly fuzzy.”

This was it. His last chance to back out. Something prickled at the back of his neck, something like awareness. Not so much something forcing him forward, or some unintended momentum - merely some instinctual understanding that the time was right, regardless of the outcome. So he sat down on the side of the bed, braced his elbows on his knees, and fastened his eyes to the wall as he forced himself to try something new. He didn’t run.

“You told me a story.”

Jaskier snorted and said, “I tell a lot of stories.”

“Aye, you do,” Geralt agreed, scratching at his stubble. “Thought I’d return the favor, for once.”

“Oh?” Jaskier said. There was moment behind him, no doubt Jaskier settling himself up against the headboard so he might properly listen. Without looking, Geralt could tell the man’s eyes were likely twinkling. Excited, eager for Geralt’s next story - no doubt already thinking of how he’d craft it into song. Geralt braced himself. His pause seemed to still Jaskier somewhat. Dampen him. That concern was back.

“Geralt?” Jaskier began, and Geralt took that as his cue: now or never.

“Once, a long time ago, I saved a man in a swamp. Drowners, a lot of them. They’d dragged the guy’s horse into the mire. Drowned his guard. His carriage was stuck, and he was surrounded, caught atop it.”

Jaskier hadn’t caught on yet. He could feel the bard’s eyes on him, waiting for the story to pick up, eager for the juicy part. The climax, he called it.

“I had just finished a contract. I was covered in death, you’ve seen it before. Unrecognizable. I stopped, I helped as best I could. It was simple - would have been simpler if not for the contract I had just finished. I wanted nothing more to claim my prize for the hag and sleep, but the man insisted on rewarding me.”

Behind him, Jaskier stilled. Geralt heard the faintest inhale of breath, how it caught and held in Jaskier’s chest. He closed his eyes and forced himself on.

“Bastard talked the whole way to the village. Non-stop. About his wife. His child-to-be: a daughter. How I was a good man, how he needed to find a way to repay me. I didn’t want to haggle and I didn’t want to deal with whatever process it would take to fetch his funds. I just wanted to sleep. He wouldn’t let it drop, so I invoked the Law of Surprise to get him off my back. I thought it harmless. Wine or a book. Maybe a pup if I was unlucky. He knew his wife was with child, after all. Knew the kid was coming. So it wouldn’t be…” His voice cut out with a dry little click. He cleared his throat and said, “I bid him farewell, never looked back. Never found out what surprised him when he got home.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier said - whisper soft and pained, tight like he had been stabbed. Geralt forced himself onward. Maybe this was how he’d evade Fate after all. There was no way Jaskier would want to stay now that he knew.

“Never came up again… until last night,” Geralt finished, hanging his head now, still unable to look. “He told me he was having a daughter, Jaskier.”

He waited. Waited for Jaskier to slip from the bed, dress, and leave. Seconds hung like hours, weighing on him as heavily as the weight of the years he had left Jaskier to wonder why no one ever came for him. 

“They were going to name me Juliana, after my mother’s mother,” Jaskier said. There was a quietness to his voice, a stillness, that was utterly unlike Jaskier. Not broken so much as tempered like a fine blade - and Geralt waited for it to strike him down and sever the threads that wound them together. “You didn’t know… He posted about it on the notice boards for miles.”

“I went south after that. Didn’t return for years. Just… happened that way.”

“You didn’t know,” Jaskier repeated.

“No.”

“It was you,” he said, just as clinically - as though he were reciting from a book rather than truly understanding the words, their meaning. “All this time, it was you.”

“Yes,” Geralt breathed. Waited.

“I found you,"  and finally he was back. Jaskier. His words, each pregnant with years of stories and yearnings and waiting that Geralt hadn’t been there for, said in a hush through shocked lips. Geralt turned, braced himself for a look of contorted hatred, only to grunt when the man launched himself into his chest. The platter clanged loudly when it hit the floor - pastries and fruit and meat tumbling in all directions. Geralt went still and taut, unable to follow what was happening, off-balance. Shoulders high around his neck, back a rigid line. Jaskier was bent in an odd position, but that didn’t stop him from pressing his face into Geralt’s neck, fingers winding into fine white hair. "You’re real.”

It was so similar to how he had drunkenly pressed himself into the witcher, yet now it was real. Jaskier wasn’t drunk. He was present. Willful. Hugging him despite the gravity of Geralt’s admission. The witcher’s brows drew together, confused. Yet even as apprehension stalled his heart and tensed his limbs, the longer the bard pressed into him, threaded his fingers in his hair, the more something in his chest settled. Like it had been floating all this time, and had finally found an anchor.

“Jaskier, I…”

“I had hoped it was you.”

Geralt let out a breath as though it had been punched out of him and couldn’t quite figure out how to inhale again. He thought of the man’s father - always smiling, so much quicker to offer a positive word than a curse. Open, instantaneously loving. He was holding that man’s son. A soul promised to him, tied to his fate. 

“Jaskier.”

He grimaced. Why couldn’t he find the words, any words, for this man who had waited for him for so long? His lip curled, furious and sick of himself. 

“I saw you that day in the tavern, sitting alone at the table, and I couldn’t look away. I knew that look. I’d had it myself before - wariness of people. You had your stones and I had my fruit, and we were just two kindred spirits no one wanted around, and I hoped… when I saw your eyes, I hoped I wasn’t just reading into it. That maybe, just maybe, I had found you.”

Jaskier pulled back, cornflower eyes misty and wet. His cheeks were smudged pink in odd places. Puffy with drink and grief - or was it something else. Something unidentifiable.

“Then the mountain. And Yen, and Ciri. You hated Fate so much, I knew it couldn’t be. And gods above, it was easy to hate Fate with you.”

All this time, Jaskier had known. Somewhere in the fiber of his being, Fate had tied a thread around his heart and willingly Jaskier had followed the call - followed and traveled and suffered scorn and horror - just to wait, and wait, and wait. Nearly three decades of waiting.

“And I was okay with that,” Jaskier said with a sniff, nodding, “Because Fate wasn’t real, and at least - if nothing else - it had trained me to survive long enough to do what I wanted to do. To travel with you. I figured that was fortuitous, right? Maybe I was making Fate happen for myself.”

Then his voice cracked again and that voice - so bold, so full of life - broke and whispered, “But still… I hoped one day you’d look at me and realize I was always yours. But then the mountain, and I-”

Geralt cut him off. With one large hand, he cradled the back of Jaskier’s neck and brought him close again. He wound his arms a little tighter when he felt the man shiver against him, sucking in quiet sounds that might have been dry sobs. Wheezing, heaving little catches of breath, buried in his shoulder. Jaskier grabbed at his back, wound his fingers into the loose fabric of his dark shirt and clung.

“Witchers are fools,” he finally said, as close as he could get to sorry. Jaskier let out a wet, messy laugh into the skin of his shoulder and collarbone, and said, “So I’ve heard.”

Geralt blew out a breath.

“What now, Geralt?” Jaskier whispered, too afraid to speak the words into existence, to tempt Fate: will you stay?

Geralt hummed, felt the force of it in Jaskier’s bird bones, and said, “We go get Ciri. Together.”

He felt Jaskier smile into his skin. Felt him clutch his shirt tighter, sink into the circle of his arms as closely as he could. Together. Fate did not seem so daunting now that he could add 'together’ to the end of the line. 'Together’ wasn’t a death sentence, it wasn’t a period at the end of the story.

It was the beginning. Finally.

Together.

[elyvorg]

Imagine if the students successfully “defeated” Monokuma in trial 5, and also that Kaito incidentally had about one more day to live as of that point in time. (This is the end result of my trial 5 AU, not that any of the story in that post is particularly relevant to the AU story I’m about to present here.) An anon suggested to me that, from here, the students could demand that Monokuma owes them a life – in other words, he has to nurse Kaito back to health for them.

I had my doubts over whether it’d be the right call to actually trust Monokuma with Kaito’s health in that situation… but then again, that’s the fun part. What if they did make the mistake of entrusting Kaito’s life to Monokuma? What cruel things could he do while still technically complying with their demands?

Here’s what I thought of: Monokuma “saves Kaito’s life” by making a huge Flashback Light full of Kaito’s backstory plus all his experiences throughout the killing game itself, and all those memories get shoved into a fresh body. This would create a new person who is essentially still Kaito and is also perfectly healthy. Ta-da, Kaito gets to live!

Meanwhile, Kaito – our Kaito, the one who actually went through the killing game with his friends – well, he’s not needed any more. So, completely unbeknownst to anyone else, Monokuma just leaves him somewhere to die.

Aaaaand my thoughts on this idea escalated rather a lot, to the point that there’s kind of a whole story here.

Kaito’s death

Kaito is taken to some empty room somewhere – I dunno, maybe there’s a bed in it to at least give a vague impression that it could be some kind of hospital room, but maybe not even that – and told to just wait for the nurses to come and see to him. So he waits, his suspicion growing, and it doesn’t take long for him to get the sinking realisation that nobody’s coming, are they. He goes to open the door to try and look for Monokuma and yell at him to stop screwing around and keep his goddamn end of the bargain, only to find it locked.

With a chilling dread, it hits him that this was all a trap – a really obvious one at that, one he literally walked right into like an absolute moron. Monokuma never had any plans to cure him at all.

He’s going to die here, in this room, completely and utterly alone.

Kaito wouldn’t just give up, of course. He’d furiously try to bust down the locked door keeping him trapped there, but… his body would be so weak by now that he wouldn’t stand a chance. He’d only end up hurting himself even more, and after a while he just wouldn’t have the strength to keep trying.

And he might have more or less resigned himself and been mentally prepared for the fact that he’s not surviving this illness – though losing that glimmer of a way out he’d almost thought he had really, really kind of sucks – but, this is worse than he thought it’d be. Up until now, he'd finally begun to feel some relief in that, even if he does still end up dying, at least he'll die something of a hero, surrounded by his friends. Not like this. He never wanted to die like this – pointlessly, uselessly, alone and forgotten like he never even mattered. He doesn’t even have anything to distract himself with or to do to feel like he’s making a difference in his final hours. There’s just nothing but waiting to die, the pain getting harder and harder to bear as he feels his body slowly tear itself apart.

This is probably the absolute cruellest possible way Kaito could die from his illness, so much worse than how it happens in canon. (And, damn it, he hasn't even been to space…!)

Kaito would have no idea what's happening outside of the room he dies in, so he might be able to console himself to some extent by thinking that, once he’s gone, when Shuichi and Maki never see him again and realise they were tricked, they’ll be furious and will fight to avenge him. (Or, perhaps there’s still a chance, if they realise that something’s up soon enough, that they might be able to come for him in time and somehow save him after all…? It’s such a long shot – his death feels so close, dammit – but they’re his heroes, they’re amazing, so maybe—!)

But in reality... they wouldn't even know. They’d just obliviously leave him there to die, because Kaito would be right there with them, cured like Monokuma promised.

Kaito’s survival

That’d be the second horrible part of this – but not because this new Kaito who meets up with Shuichi and Maki all “cured” would be like some hollow imitation who isn’t truly Kaito at all. No; that’s not how it works. Flashback Lights create real people.

While I said at the beginning of this post that the one who died alone was “our” Kaito, that wasn't really quite fair of me. The other Kaito who's here now deserves to be thought of in exactly the same way. He would be our Kaito too, one hundred percent. Much like how Alter Ego Gonta was another Gonta, this is another instance of Kaito, separate from the one who died, but still him.

On the one hand, the new Kaito could have been made from a clone of the original Kaito’s body, so that he looks completely identical and nothing seems amiss at first. But on the other hand, he could be in an entirely different body – which is the version I’d rather lean towards, because that’d make things get awkward and painful a lot more quickly.

(If you want something to picture him as looking like: because it makes sense that Team Danganronpa would have picked a body that looked kind of similar and still fit his character, I’m imagining one of Kaito’s beta designs. I went for the one with poofy hair and eyebrows to rival Taka’s, specifically because he doesn’t look too similar to our Kaito, yet he nonetheless still has a very dorky Kaito energy to him. Meanwhile, his clothes would presumably be exactly the same. That and, despite the poofy hair, Kaito would totally grab some hairspray at the earliest opportunity and attempt to style his new hair into his trademark spiky upwardsness, just to try and look and feel a bit more like his usual self. The result would be, uh… something. It’d be something, all right.)

Some time after taking Kaito away to be cured, then, Monokuma presents Kaito’s miraculous recovery, brazenly handwaving the new body by claiming that extensive plastic surgery was totally necessary to save him. Maki and Shuichi would initially be all “?????? don’t mess with us, how the FUCK do you expect us to believe that this is Kaito”. Except... it is. His face and voice are completely different, but everything about how his eyes light up when he sees them, and the way he talks, and how quietly hurt he seems when they question if it's really him - it's still absolutely Kaito. And he appears to be just as genuinely confused as they are by the different body once they point it out to him and show him to a mirror.

Maybe they'd also confirm it by asking him things that only the real Kaito would know – and he knows all of it. Not just knows it, he obviously feels it, too. After asking him his favourite spaceship and seeing him visibly restrain himself from launching into a huge excited ramble about why that spaceship is so cool (exactly like he didn’t restrain himself from doing last time)… they can't deny it's really him.

The last thing Kaito remembers is being led away by Monokuma, and then he woke up like this; he must have been unconscious for whatever the hell was done to him in between. He and his friends end up concluding that Monokuma must have saved his life by… transferring his consciousness into a new body? Which seems more possible than they might have imagined considering how the Virtual World worked, now that they think about it, so maybe they'd be able to accept that.

(Is transferring a consciousness like that actually possible in this universe, though? Or does the Virtual World computer just create a virtual copy of them from their memories while the original one sleeps, and then Flashback Light their virtual self’s new memories back into their real body when they log out? That’d mean the virtual person would have to be deleted afterwards. It’d be painless and they’d never remember it, but in a sense, it’d be killing them.)

Kaito himself is pretty chill with it once he’s got over the initial shock. Sure, it’ll take some getting used to looking like this – he’s gonna have to grow himself a new goatee, to say nothing of the hair – but still, he’ll take this over dying any day. (He’d almost forgotten what it felt like to not be in pain.)

It'd still be super awkward for Shuichi and Maki, though, trying to adjust to Kaito looking and sounding completely different on the surface, constantly reminding themselves that this face and this voice is still Kaito. The two of them – especially Maki, who has a harder time trusting people instinctively – wouldn't quite be able to shake off the nagging possibility this could be some kind of impostor aligned with Monokuma who's just really really good at acting like Kaito. Of course they'd want to believe in him, because a different body is still infinitely better than losing him, but it wouldn’t quite come naturally.

Kaito, being Kaito, would very much pick up on the signs that his sidekicks are still a little subconsciously suspicious of him. It’d sting, but he wouldn't bring it up. Kaito's always fine! Now that he's healthy again, he’s got absolutely nothing to worry about! …which is to say, he doesn't want to go admitting to his new worries, not when doing so would be giving them even more reasons to feel like he's not quite Kaito and secretly not really want him around.

Kaito’s existence

But just when Shuichi and Maki have started to really get used to Kaito’s new body and things are beginning to feel somewhat normal between them again, everything would come out during the equivalent of trial 6.

As Shuichi figures out what Flashback Lights really do and Tsumugi starts trying to make everyone despair over how “fictional” they all are, Kaito, because he’s Kaito, would be having none of her bullshit. (However, I’ll keep this part brief here since I’m hopefully going to do a regular trial-6-with-Kaito AU at some point that should really be the place I expand on this properly.)

Sure, learning that they’re “characters” created from fake memories when the killing game began is kind of a lot to take in, but it doesn’t change the reality of who they are right now. The only thing that matters is what they want to believe, and they obviously want to believe that they’re real, just like they always have! Hell, their pasts being fiction is great news in Maki Roll’s case – she never really killed anyone, and she’ll never have to!

And Tsumugi’s claims that nothing matters because it was all “fiction” for entertainment are even more bullshit. Their pasts may be made up, but the entire killing game really happened. All those people really died. Every bit of the pain and suffering they and their friends went through in it was absolutely real.

But as he’s saying this part, Tsumugi turns to Kaito with a scathing grin. “How would you know? You weren’t even there.”

Before anyone can question what she means by this, she turns on another video – and this one’s not an audition tape. There were Nanokumas in the room where the original Kaito died. His final hours were recorded, as proof that Kaito is dead.

They wouldn’t watch the entire thing – he was in there for something like twenty-four hours – but she could have put together a “highlights reel”, some of the moments where Kaito couldn’t help but express exactly how lost and scared and desperate he felt. And of course it’d culminate in the moment of his death, just to hammer it home and make sure they know that it’s far too late to save him.

As Shuichi and Maki are reeling in horror from the suffering Kaito went through and the fact that they let that happen to him, Tsumugi goes for the decisive blow. She explains how the new Kaito came to be here, calling him a “fake”, an “imitation” who “tricked” them while they left the real Kaito to die.

And… Kaito kind of starts to believe it.

…See, one of the reasons this scenario really grabbed my interest (other than the prospect of Kaito dying scared and helpless and alone while also not being gone from the story afterwards) was that until now I didn’t think it was possible to give Kaito existential issues. He just has too much conviction in who he is. Under regular trial 6 circumstances, the reveals about Flashback Lights and his backstory being fake memories would barely faze him at all.

His memories are fake and all those things in his past never really happened? Okay, so he’s kind of shaken to realise his grandparents and fellow astronaut trainees don’t exist – but in that case, if none of the people in his memories are real, then the only person those memories matter to is himself. And if he feels like they were real, they might as well have been, at least in terms of the person he is now because of them. Oh, but the person he is now isn’t real, because the “real” Kaito is that murder-happy asshole in the audition video? Well, no, that dumbass was just somebody else, duh. Maybe he had the same body and possibly even the same name, but that doesn’t matter. The real Kaito, the one and only Luminary of the Stars, is right here! That's who he wants to believe he is, so it's who he is, dammit. End of discussion.

But in this situation… the real Kaito was undeniably the one who died alone in that room. Not him. His memories might feel real, but he doesn’t have the right to feel like those events happened to him, not when the memories belong to somebody else – someone who actually experienced all those things, whose friends that he experienced it all with are right here. It’s like he’s just stealing those memories, stealing that identity, stealing Kaito’s entire life. That’s not fair.

He still wants to be Kaito; he’s never gonna want to be anyone else, but… there’s no way he deserves to decide that, does he? Not when the real Kaito died, and Kaito’s sidekicks are still here and grieving for him. Knowing that, and with Maki Roll and Shuichi giving him these hurt, horrified looks that say You're not Kaito… maybe he really isn't.

(But Kaito is the only person he wants to or even knows how to be. So if he's not Kaito, then… who the hell even is he?)

Kaito’s friends

With Kaito stunned into speechlessness, and Shuichi and Maki shaken from the undeniable demonstration of how easy it is to just fake an entire person, leaving them also questioning how real they really are despite Kaito’s earlier efforts, it seems like Tsumugi’s succeeded in making everyone despair.

(at this point Keebo is supposed to barge in with his hope nonsense, but hey, how about we don’t have that clogging this up when I’m trying to tell an interesting story here)

But after a little while of none of the others having it in themselves to protest Tsumugi’s claims, Kaito (or, well, someone who once mistakenly went by that name; it doesn’t matter now) speaks up – hesitantly, because he still isn’t sure he really deserves to. “Hey, c’mon, Shuichi… This isn’t like you. You can’t just give up like this.”

(He resists the instinct to add, “You’re my sidekick,” because no, he’s not.)

It doesn’t matter about him, but Shuichi’s still absolutely real. He’s Shuichi Saihara, the Ultimate Detective who’s gonna save everyone, right? Never mind what Tsumugi says – that’s who he wants to be, who he’s always been trying so hard to be, so that’s who he is. And if that’s the case, then he can’t let something like this get him down!

“I guess this doesn’t mean much coming from me, but… I believe in you. For real.”

Shuichi stares at him in dawning realisation. This is… exactly the kind of thing Kaito would say to encourage him at a time like this. Especially the way he’s selflessly helping someone else even though he’s the one who’s got to be suffering the most right now. He… really is Kaito, isn’t he?

Kaito doesn’t meet his eye, muttering that that’s not really for him to decide. But… if Shuichi and Maki Roll want him to be Kaito, then – he glances at Shuichi hopefully – then maybe…?

Shuichi firmly tells him that no, that’s wrong. Kaito was just asserting that Shuichi and Maki and everyone else here get to decide who they want to be, so why should it be any different for him? If he wants to be Kaito, then Shuichi’s with him all the way. And Maki feels the same, right?

Maki puts in, slowly, like she’s still figuring this out as she speaks, that she’s been thinking hard about things since he pointed out that this means she never really killed anyone. It’s true that it’s a relief to know that nobody ever died because of her, but… she still feels like she killed all those people. It still hurts, because all of those memories feel real to her.  So in that sense, it’s like she might as well have actually gone through all that hell.

Then… it must be the same for him, right? Even if it wasn’t really him who trained with them and supported them, he feels like it was, doesn’t he? So… he might as well be the same Kaito. If her feelings matter even if they came from fake memories, then so do his.

Hearing both their words to him, Kaito’s face gradually lights up into a huge, somewhat desperate grin. Of course he wants to be Kaito; there’s nobody else he’d rather be! And, Shuichi and Maki Roll, they… they still wanna be his sidekicks, right?

Of course they do. Shuichi and Maki were pretty shaken by the initial shock of seeing Kaito’s death and realising where the Kaito standing in front of them came from, to the point that their kneejerk reactions in that moment might have made him feel like they didn’t see him as Kaito or want him around. But having a little bit of time to process it and reflect on it, and seeing how badly Kaito was hurting from thinking this is how they feel about him… there’s no way that’d be what they settle on. They’re his friends – and they can’t bear to lose him twice.

Maybe they messed up in the sense that they let Kaito die on his end, but they also simultaneously didn't lose Kaito on their end. This person who's here for them right now is still him, and none of what happened to the other Kaito is his fault. How could they just throw away this second chance? They’re still going to need Kaito’s support – and this Kaito needs them, too, more than ever. It’s awful that they failed Kaito once, but they can at least make sure to never fail him again.

(Kaito tells them firmly that no, they didn’t fail him. There’s no way Kaito would have ever thought that, no matter how afraid he was at the end.)

Epilogue

After escaping and settling into the outside world, as the survivors put together a gravesite for the friends from their game who didn't make it, they make sure there's a grave there for Kaito as well. Kaito, Shuichi and Maki visit it from time to time. It only seems right to do so.

The other Kaito, the one who died scared and alone, would have been happy to know that this’d be how it ended, Kaito reflects: to know that he still gets to live on, in a way, and keep being there for his sidekicks. That he didn't just die useless and forgotten. He's certain of it - because he's Kaito, too.

  [part 2 to this post - because I had another fun idea that branches off partway through this one - here!]

[megalony]

She’s a good girl- Part 13

Here is the next part of my murderer! Ben Hardy series, I can’t believe how many parts I’ve got done so far and it’s not near finished yet. I hope you will all enjoy it and feedback is always lovely.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @rogmeddows @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez @jonesyaddiction @ambi-and-sunflowers @milanosaurus @httpfandxms @saint-hardy @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls @mrsalwayswritex @rogerina-owns-me @peterquillzsblog @im-an-adult-ish @crazylittlethingg @allauraleigh

Series taglist: @onceuponadetectivedemigod @lelifesaver​

Series masterlist

Summary: (Y/n) is a good girl from a church-going family and her brother, Joe is trying to put Ben behind bars. But when (Y/n) starts to fall for the dangerous killer, things get complicated.

Enjoy.

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"That's the fifth time it's rang in an hour." (Y/n)'s voice was groggy and on the verge of inaudible but she knew Ben had either heard what she said or already knew what she was thinking.

"Just ignore it."

A shiver ran down (Y/n)'s spine when Ben grumbled his response into the crook of her neck, a sure sign that he didn't care to answer the phone, he just wanted to go back to sleep. His arm that was looped around (Y/n)'s waist pulled her closer until her back was moulded to his chest and his face was buried in her neck.

(Y/n) had stayed in hospital for a week before being discharged but since that meant they were at twenty four weeks they were advised to play things safe. They had been home for five days now and Ben had put Mark in charge of the club so he could take time off to be with (Y/n) but he was now realising he had chosen the wrong person to be in charge. He didn't seem to be capable of going one day without ringing Ben up and asking about one thing or another or what he should do in a scenario. It wasn't as if Ben had given him that much to do whilst he was gone because Ben had brought the rota and the finance books home to sort them himself.

It had been strange but nice to have Ben at the hospital with her and then at home with her all day. (Y/n) was so used to Ben having an awkward work schedule, some days he went to the club for an hour, sometimes he was there all day or late into the night. And even though he still did some work whilst he had been home, it wasn't nearly as much as what it normally was.

But (Y/n) had a feeling Ben would be going into work today rather than having another week off like he planned. It wasn't often Ben actually took time off from the club because for one, he was the boss and had to oversee everything and two, he had a lot of business and backstreet dealings going on. The club worked more efficiently and properly when Ben was there and (Y/n) knew he was going to have to go back and get it running properly very soon.

(Y/n) wanted to bury her head in her pillow and block out the world when she heard her phone starting to ring for a change but she couldn't lay here and listen to the constant ringtones anymore. Reaching her hand out, (Y/n) grabbed her phone and tiredly opened her eyes before she leaned back into Ben and held the phone out to him.

"He's ringing me now, just answer it." The last five times Ben's own phone had rung he either ended the call or let it ring out until Mark gave up and ended the call himself. Ben wasn't supposed to be at work he was on time off and he couldn't be bothered to keep listening to Mark ranting and being unsure what to do.

Ben grunted as he lifted his head from (Y/n)'s neck, taking the phone from her in annoyance. It was one thing to repeatedly ring Ben, but then to go to the extent of ringing (Y/n) when he knew she was ill and off work was something else and Ben was not happy about it.

"What the fuck do you want?" Ben turned from laying on his side to laying on his back, staring at the ceiling when he just wanted to go back to sleep. It was only eight in the morning and Ben didn't often have time to lie in. Moving his free arm, Ben hooked his arm around (Y/n) and gently pulled her into his side until she slowly turned over so she was facing him.

With a sigh, (Y/n) laid her head on Ben's chest and leaned into his side as he started to feather his fingers up and down her waist. The slow movement of his hand contrasted to the anger she could feel radiating off of him and the way he was breathing harshly down the phone. Surely Mark knew ringing this much would only rile Ben up and if Ben did end up going to work (Y/n) knew as well as anyone else that he wouldn't be a happy man when he got to the club. There would be very little point dragging Ben into the club if he was in a bad mood because he would snap at anyone and everyone who annoyed him.

"Why the hell did I put you in charge when you can't understand simple instructions Mark? You're there so I don't have to be, do you get that? I'm supposed to be on leave and I don't want you calling (Y/n)'s number to get to me either. She's off sick so you don't call her for any reason and you certainly don't call her to try and get me on the phone, now fuck off."

Ben felt the urge to launch the phone at the wall when he hung up the call but it wasn't his phone and he knew smashing (Y/n)'s phone wasn't exactly going to make him feel any better.

He tossed the phone back onto the side table before he rubbed at his eyes for a few moments. He didn't appreciate Mark trying to ring (Y/n) to get through to Ben when Ben specifically told every worker at the club that (Y/n) was off work for the foreseeable future. Most of the guys there saw her as another boss there anyway, she knew what went on and what to do and Ben let her see a lot of the records and files no one else got to see. So he made sure they all knew she wasn't well and they couldn't ring her for anything to do with the club or him unless she came back to work in person.

"Are you going in?" (Y/n) tilted her head up so she could rest her chin on Ben's chest to look up at him but the look in his eyes wasn't a very pleased one.

"No, I'm on leave. What's the point of making Mark the manager if he doesn't do fuck all?"

"Ben, he's gonna keep calling until you go in and sort out whatever's wrong, the club doesn't run well without you. Go in I'll be fine, it's not like I'm going anywhere."

Ben tangled his fingers in his curls before he tilted his head towards (Y/n) and she watched his lips curve at the side into a sorry look. He didn't want to leave and she knew it but it wasn't as if she was in any immediate danger right now or the hospital wouldn't have sent her home. As long as (Y/n) didn't do any heavy lifting or strain herself and took it relatively easy then everything should be fine with no further issues.

"I think I'll have to, you sure you don't mind?" Ben knew deep down he couldn't leave the club for a few more days with Mark in charge because he clearly didn't know what he was doing. Leaving the club for a while was weird for Ben when he was there almost everyday and it felt good to have a break but he wasn't used to it. He liked being at the club almost everyday because it meant no changes could happen and nothing could go wrong without him knowing and trying to fix it. He liked being in charge and being in control.

"I'll be fine, I feel a lot better now. And technically... I could go back to work next week-" (Y/n) traced her finger over Ben's chest that sunk inwards beneath her touch as he took a deep breath and she knew what he was going to say.

"Don't start something you can't finish, doll. You know far too well that it would be too early to go back to work next week and you know full well I'm not letting you back either."

Ben pressed his lips longingly to (Y/n)'s forehead before he pulled out from under her so he could sit up and try to wake himself up. Going back next week would be far too early and they had already talked about this, Ben didn't want (Y/n) to go back for a few more weeks yet. It was better to play things safe than sorry and Ben was in charge of the club at the end of the day, he could just keep changing the rotas so (Y/n) would get frustrated and stop trying to go back into work.

"When can I go back then, boss? I'm six months along and I don't take maternity leave until I'm eight months, that's three months in between where I should be working." (Y/n) didn't want to push herself too much and she knew her limits, but she liked going to work.

Ever since Ben first gave her a job it felt like (Y/n) was finally grown up and she liked working at the club, it was different and made her feel important and it wasn't boring work which is what she wanted. (Y/n) knew when she went on maternity leave she'd be busy with the baby so working from home didn't seem like it would be an option and she would have been working for Ben less than a year before taking maternity leave. She didn't want to be stuck in the house getting bored, especially if Ben was going to be at the club working and she was just home alone.

"Baby... look, I know that you're gonna get restless and I know you want to go back to work but right now I'm not putting you on that rota for at least another two weeks. If you stress yourself out at work there will be problems we both know that. And when you come back to work you'll be stuck in the office most likely anyway."

"Ben..." (Y/n) whined his name pleadingly even though she knew it was near impossible to change his mind on most things.

Pushing herself to sit up, (Y/n) leaned over and wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her chin on his shoulder causing his head to turn in her direction with a smile. Ben's brows rose when (Y/n) started to feather kisses against his jaw and the top of his neck and he moved his hand to hold hers that were hanging around his neck. He knew she was creeping around him to try and make this work in her favour but he wasn't having it.

She could cling to him all she liked, his mind was made up. Stress would only make (Y/n) a lot worse and when she did come back to work she wouldn't be able to be running around the club doing everything like she did before. Ben would let her do the audits, the rota, the finance books, anything she wanted, but she would be in the office doing that rather than doing anything strenuous.

"What, you think I'll let you run around stocking up or tidying up or moving everything around? If you want to work you can do any of the audits and books you want and you can work from home whenever you want but you are not running around like you always do. Trust me, creeping around me like this won't change my mind, no matter how much I like it."

(Y/n) sighed but her lips curved up when Ben turned around in her arms and leaned over her until she had no choice but to lay back down with Ben hovering over her like the devil himself.

(Y/n) felt her chest starting to flutter and expand like it was filling with air when Ben pressed a rather desperate, bruising kiss to her lips before he started to trail his lips lower. He kissed the junction between her neck and jaw and pulled the skin lightly between his teeth causing an electrifying burning feeling before he moved his lips further down. (Y/n) watched his movements with wide eyes as he reached his hand up and hooked his finger around the collar of the shirt (Y/n) was wearing which he knew to be his own. He pulled the collar down to expose her sternum and the valley of her breasts before he continued kissing her newly exposed skin.

"I thought y-you were going to the club?" (Y/n) breathed heavily through her words and she knew Ben could feel her shivering under his touch.

"Not yet, I've gotta take care of my wife first." Ben murmured the words against her skin and (Y/n) could feel his lips curving into a smirk before he bit down on her skin causing her to gasp.

He wasn't going just yet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Can we talk?"

"Why are you here? You seemed rather determined to stay away from me these past few weeks." (Y/n) tightened her hand on the door handle like she was trying to find the courage to shut the door in Joe's face and put distance between them. But she knew she would never be able to do that, she couldn't shut him out like that no matter how badly she wanted to sometimes.

Part of (Y/n) wanted to hide behind the door to stop him scrutinising her and staring at her like he was but (Y/n) felt paralysed to the spot.

"Believe me, I shouldn't be talking to the wife of the murderer I'm trying to arrest... but she happens to be my sister and I need to talk to her."

(Y/n) debated shutting the door, she really did. For the longest second in her life, (Y/n) knew shutting the door would be easier. She knew that if she shut the door on him that would be it, she would be doing to him what he did to her a few weeks ago. He said he couldn't help her and (Y/n) didn't need any help, Ben wasn't a threat to her, he wasn't hurting her and he wasn't putting her in any danger so Joe didn't have to worry or try and get her out of this.

But (Y/n) couldn't shut Joe out, she never had and she never would be able to because he was her brother and he was the only family she had that she could tolerate. When the baby came along Ben and the baby would be the only family (Y/n) had, shutting Joe out somehow felt wrong when a family was all she had ever wanted.

(Y/n) could tell the moment Joe followed her into the living room that he didn't feel at all comfortable. He was walking into the house of a murderer, a man he had told himself every day that he was going to arrest and put behind bars for good. Joe felt like he was trespassing or breaking into someone's house, he felt like he shouldn't be here.

"What do you want to talk about?" (Y/n) brushed her fingers through her hair to push the tangled strands from her face before she slowly moved to sit down on the sofa. She pulled down the sleeves on Ben's dark maroon jumper and leaned back into the sofa, slouching down a bit. Her eyes followed Joe as he moved to it down on the chair, knowing a small amount of space needed to be added between them in case this chat didn't go the way they planned.

"Did he hurt you the other week? Please (Y/n), be honest with me if he did-"

"You watched him take me to the car and drive me to hospital, why would be be that worried if he had hurt me?" (Y/n) smoothed her hand over her stomach as she leaned her head on her free hand. If Ben really had punched or pushed or hurt her then he wouldn't have been so worried about her or concerned because Joe had to know by now that Ben didn't put on a show or fake emotions. He wouldn't have rushed (Y/n) to hospital if he had hurt her and been the cause of her pain.

"Can you blame me for thinking he did? Look, everyone who knows him knows the shit he gets up to but he's slippery, I can't get anything to stick on him even though we all know he did these crimes. If he has hurt you or you know what he's up to... tell me, come and make a statement at the station. You won't be in the wrong or in trouble for doing this."

A violent shiver ran down (Y/n)'s spine and she coiled back into the seat like Joe had threatened her himself.

He was here to try and persuade her to stab Ben in the back. He was trying to get her to go against her husband who she had married a month ago. How could he think she would be so heartless and cruel as to do that and condemn her marriage this soon after marrying Ben? Joe knew more than anyone that (Y/n) married him because she loved him, not out of any fear of Ben or fear for her safety or future. She loved him with everything she had despite who he was or what he did and nothing anyone said was going to make her go against him.

"You can't come running to me trying to get me to go against him like that just because you can't pin anything on him. It doesn't matter if everyone thinks he's done it, I'm not lying about him for you."

"It wouldn't be lying-"

"Joe, he's never hurt me or threatened me before and I don't know what he gets up to, I work at the club and all I see is the legitimate business, I know nothing of any crimes. I won't lie for you, I love him."

(Y/n) held her breath when Joe looked like he wanted to tear his hair out and start screaming. He was at the end of his rope because he was no closer to nailing Ben and it cut right through him that (Y/n) was now on Ben's side. She was in love with a murderer who Joe wanted to put in prison and he knew if he ever managed it, he would tear his baby sister's world into pieces. But he was willing to do that if it meant getting Ben and trying to keep his sister and her baby safe even if she didn't think she was in danger.

He seemed to take a deep breath before he sat on the edge of his seat and propped his arms on his knees. He wanted to put all of his thoughts into (Y/n)'s head and get her to see this from his point of view, but at the same time, he wasn't able to see things from her eyes either.

"(Y/n) it looked like he punched you that day, do you know how that frightened me? I didn't stop you marrying him and one week later he has to take you to the hospital. From the moment I let you walk out that door I've been terrified that I'm gonna get a call out to a domestic situation or the hospital or a body on the ground and I find out it's you. He may love you, he just may, but that doesn't mean he won't lash out and attack you or the baby and all I want is for you to be safe."

Joe saw Ben's record, he had it drilled into his head and he had to put half of those crimes into the system. He saw Ben beat up his most loyal workers until they were put into comas and sent to hospital, he saw Ben beat up men and leave them by the side of the road to be someone else's problem. Ben had no problems with who he hurt and all of his crimes suggest that a wife wouldn't curb his attitude or his frame of mind.

Being married to (Y/n) wasn't going to change Ben and Joe seriously thought that one day Ben was going to snap. He would be angry or worried about something and if (Y/n) said the wrong thing Ben could just blow up and attack her or even just frighten and threaten her and that was enough for Joe to want his sister out of this relationship. With a baby in the mix, it looked like a recipe for torment and abuse to Joe and he couldn't have that happening to (Y/n).

"Never once has Ben made me scared of him, he hasn't degraded me or hit me or been violent or even been angry in front of me and I think that counts more than your intuition that he might, one day, snap at me. He didn't punch me because he would never hurt me, I have a... pregnancy complication, he didn't do anything wrong he's taking care of me. I know you worry but I don't need you to try and ruin this because you're scared of him and I'm not."

"(Y/n) I'm not getting called out to a scene and finding my sister is dead because her brute of a husband thought it was his right to hurt her! You don't know what he's capable of!"

"Money laundering, blackmailing on a large scale, public brutality and GBH. He's broken a man's leg and sternum, he's shot someone in the kneecap, he's slashed a man from his elbow to his wrist vertically until he lost two pints of blood. I saw his file that day at the house, Joe and I looked through it. I knew who he was when I met him and I still married him and you know why? Because he loves me."

(Y/n) saw Ben's file that fateful day and it didn't ward her away from him when she first met him, if anything it drew her in because she didn't believe that charming yet cheeky man could be capable of what was in the file. Part of (Y/n) was still unsure how Ben could do what he did when he was so caring, loving and overall kind and generous to her. But she didn't care, (Y/n) overlooked it all because she loved him and he was the first and only person to show her what love was and who didn't try and put her down or mould her into who he wanted her to be. He influenced her but he didn't shape her or force her into a mould.

He was different and (Y/n) loved him for it.

"A man capable of all that tells you he loves you and you risk your whole faith and religion for him? Don't you see how many sins he puts on you for being with him? How can you be with a man like that and say that you still have faith in God?"

"I don't expect you to understand but I expect you to stop acting as if I'm the killer here. Ben offered me a cigarette when he met me, he didn't make fun of my dress or how childish mother made me look, he didn't question my faith or bring me down because of it. He gave me a car, he gave me a job I love, he taught me how to drive and he gave me a home and my freedom and he never asked for anything in return. He doesn't believe in marriage but he married me because he knew how much it meant to me and my faith. How many other people have been that kind to me in my life? How many others can say they love and appreciate me that much?"

If this conversation lasted much longer (Y/n) knew she was going to have to tell Joe to leave. She was starting to get a headache and he was stressing her out which wasn't a good idea right now. This was pointless anyway, she wasn't going against her husband and nothing Joe said was going to change that or make her agree to what he was asking which was far too much.

"Joe, we're not doing this anymore-"

"Why won't you help yourself! Having a murder's baby, is that really the life you want for your child? Will you tell them all the shit he does or not? If you just come down to the station and make a statement about anything you know or something, please, I can get you out of this I can help you!"

"I don't want your help! I love him, how can you think I'd marry him and then shop him in to you that quickly? I won't do anything like that so you have to stop asking."

"Fine. If he ever does hurt you then for the sake of that child you best come and tell me because I'll still listen, but I'm done trying to save you. If you want to live with him then that's your sin, not mine."

(Y/n) could feel tears welling up in her eyes but they were tears of frustration rather than tears of pain or heartache for her brother. She didn't need saving because she wasn't in danger, Joe was the one in danger constantly trying to pursue Ben and arrest him when he had nothing on him. It wasn't a sin to live with Ben because anything  he did didn't reflect or lead to (Y/n), God may punish Ben but he had very little reason t punish (Y/n) other than her turning a blind eye to her husband.

Pressing her hand to her mouth, (Y/n) tried to calm her breathing that was starting to escalate rather quickly. There was no point getting angry when the conversation was over now.

A shudder ran through (Y/n) when Joe slammed the front door behind him and (Y/n) leaned her head back into the sofa as she closed her eyes. He didn't have the right to come round and say that and expect (Y/n) to understand when he didn't bother to listen to where she was coming from. She was happy, she had a husband and a baby and she wasn't oppressed or confined or told what she could and couldn't do. (Y/n) had a life now and it was her own and that was all down to Ben. She would never stab him in the back like that.

Tilting her head down, (Y/n) looked at her stomach and slowly started gliding her hand over her bump. Three more months and her life was going to change even more than it already had. She would have a proper family, a purpose and no one would be able to control her or tell her what to do or try and make her the perfect little girl.

"When you're here, everything will be better."

[guidedbynors]

Quest RPG Adventure: The Realer of Two Worlds

Premis/Setting

The Realer of Two Worlds Takes place in any mine within your own campaign. It can take place as part of a small town, city, or even Kingdom that is built near a mine as its main source of income and work. It can also be a great starting point for a campaign as long as all the Questers agree to be connected to the mine in some way and have stakes in its continued existence and the profits it provides.

Feel free to name the town and mine anything that fits into your campaign, but for this short module, we’ll call it Phos Mine, named for the Phos Crystals that grow within its depths.

Opening Scene

Start your Questers in the local tavern near the mine, called The Purple Swill. It’s the local watering hole for all the miners, where they all swap tales of cave-ins, things within the deeper shafts that go bump in the night, and other tall tales. For a mine, Phos Mine is a pretty safe job other than the fact that the Phos Crystals project a person’s fears, desires, or needs as phantasms for all to see if touched with bare skin.

As the Questers drink the Purple Swill brew that the tavern is named after, the door to the tavern creaks open and a little girl, no more than 10 years old stands in the doorway. She is dirty and disheveled and looks ill-cared for. She shuffles up to the bar and asks for something to eat, but has no Phos Crystal dust to pay for it. The bartender is a gruff and uncompromising half-ogre who has little empathy or sympathy (if any). He launches into a talk about how nothing in life is free and at some point everyone has to make their way in life as the little girl begins to sob. The half-ogre doesn’t understand humans well and will think the little girl is laughing, as he often forgets that tears are typically a sign of sadness. If someone reminds him of this he’ll launch into another talk about how ogres, and especially half-ogre sweat profusely when they are sad, and he’s never cried in his life because the ogre in him means he has no tear ducts. For all intents and purposes, his name is Chuk.

When the little girl begins to let out a long wailing, Chuk will offer anyone a night's worth of Swill if they get the little human out of the tavern and stop it from making that noise.

(Optional: If you want to toss in some added tension to the quest, introduce an NPC band of adventurers who want that night of free Swill for themselves. When Chuk offers it up, they will try to stake claim to the child and get her out of the tavern, though not to help her. If your Questers are trying to help her, they may run into some competition with this other adventuring party.)

Eemknot Seeintings

The little girl is Eemknot Seeintings, and her father is a well-known miner named Eeam Seeintings. One or more of your Questers might know him. Eeam is well-liked, but some months ago his wife, Eemknot’s mother passed away.

As Questers question Eemknot the little girl will tell them that 10 days ago her father went to work in the mine and never came home. She’s eaten all the food in the house and has only now left because she’s gone hungry for the last day or so.

If/when pressed for details about her father, Eemknot will tell Questers he has been very sad since Mom died. If asked if she’s seen him do anything strange or if has been acting differently, she won’t name anything specific until she gets some food. Once she has something to eat her mind can get off food and she’ll begin to remember bits of information about her father. First, Eemknot divulges that she has seen and overheard her father speaking to himself while at home. When asked further she’ll tell Questers about the purple dust he puts on his food. Phos dust is purple, and the Questers would know this. Lastly, Eemknot will remember that when her father left for work ten days ago, he took a large backpack with him,

Manager Gorbuck

The Phos Mine has many shafts and adjacent tunnels that end in dead ends. Workers are there 24 hours a day, so no matter what time Questers go to the mine there will be a manager in the small office at the entrance.

Manager Gorbuck is a hardy woman of callused hands, grubby cheeks, and a can-do attitude. She spent years down in the Phos Mine until she lost her left eye in a bizarre bowling accident at the local bowling alley. She now is a pencil pusher and time-card tracker at the mine. Despite this, she keeps an eye on pretty much everything going on around the mine, even if she doesn’t know what’s going on below the surface.

When Questers come to speak with her about Eeam, she’ll nod as though she already knows what they’re talking about. She’ll tell them the same thing Eemknot told them. That Eeam went into the mine ten days ago with a big backpack. Reports from other miners are that Eeam went down into the deepest tunnels where there aren’t any lights set up. Gorbuck will just tell the Questers that Eeam is down in one of the deep shafts by himself in the dark, and nobody has been able to get him to come out.

The Phos Mine

The Phos Mine is a busy place with rail cars and workers. If your Questers are miners, they’ll know how to get to the deep shafts, but they may want to stop along the way to ask workers if they’ve seen Eeam and to learn about why he’s in the deep shafts.

The Phos Mine looks like any other mine until Questers come to places that are actively being excavated. In the most active places, Phos Crystals as small as a thumbnail and as large as a head are being dug out of the ground. Every worker wears long sleeves and gloves to protect themselves from the phantasms that will spring from their minds if they touch a Phos Crystal with their bare skin.

If Questers touch a Phos Crystal to their bare skin, it is up to you how you want to handle the event. You can ask the player to describe what phantasm appears or, if you know the character's backstory well, you can use the event to drive some character-centered narrative.

Finding Eeam

Eeam is a chamber which the deepest shaft of the mine opens onto. There are no rail cars that take Questers down the low, and so they’ll have to walk, eventually. They’ll also need to take some form of light with them, whether by magical means or a torch.

Questers will hear Eeam sooner than they see him. His voice echoes in the large chamber he is in and floats up the deep shaft as Questers approach. It sounds as though he’s having a conversation, but as so often happens with echoes it’s difficult for Questers to know what he’s saying until they enter the chamber.

As their light floods the large cave-like chamber they will take in the following:

The chamber is wide and roughly curricular, perhaps 100 feet, give-or-take, in any direction from wall to wall. It has a tall ceiling as well. Near one side of the chamber is a small underground stream. Presumably, this is how Eeam has stayed alive without dying of thirst.

More startling, and perhaps what should be focused on, however, is the scene near the stream. Eeam is bustling around a kitchen that seems completely out of place in the chamber. At a small table is his daughter Eemknot and a woman that could only be his wife, and Eemknot’s mother, Daunt. Eeam is talking to his family, but when the family responds they their mouths move but no sound comes out. However, Eeam seems to understand them. What’s most startling is that wherever Eeam walks, a scene appears for all to see, and the scene behind him fades. It’s as though anywhere he goes a phantasm of his desire is manifested before him, creating a replica of the life he lived before his wife died.

The Solution

In my experience, the best Quest sessions are ones in which questions are posed to players without a clear idea of how they will achieve their goal. In this case, the goal will likely be to get Eeam to see the phantasms for what they are and return to his daughter. While he has chosen to live in a dream world, he will acknowledge Questers and try to make them feel at home as though they are visitors to his house.

There are a few options I can imagine Questers taking. First, they can try to discover the Phos dust Eeam uses on his food, and take it away from him. Second, they can just kidnap him and pull him out of the mine by force. Lastly, they can try to reason with him through clever roleplay and abilities. There are some skills that let Questers dissolve illusions. It’s up to you, the Guide, to decide if this will work on the phantasms. Since they are springing from Eeam himself, there could be a case made that magic won’t work on the phantasms themselves, but only on the person.

Note that if they try to force Eeam to leave his dream world made of self provoked phantasms, the trauma may drive him mad. Instead, it may take something more subtle in order for him to leave--perhaps even bringing the real Eemknot down into the chamber, in order to make Eeam see what he has done to his real daughter.

If Questers are unable to convince Eeam to return to the real world, they may have to find someone to take Eemknot in or adopt her themselves.

[papermoonloveslucy]

THE GOLDEN TOUCH

January 17, 1951

“The Golden Touch" is a modern re-telling of the King Midas story with Jack Benny and his friends as King Midas and his court. It was directed by Robert F. Mansfield, written by Robert Hugh O’Sullivan and with Harry Zimmerman as the composer / conductor. 

“Family Theater” was a weekly half-hour dramatic anthology radio program which aired on the Mutual Broadcasting System (MBS) from February 13, 1947, to September 11, 1957. The show was produced by Family Theater Productions, a film and radio studio extension of the Family Rosary Crusade founded by Father Patrick Peyton as a way to promote family prayer. The motto of the the Holy Cross Family Ministries is, "The family that prays together, stays together." 

Although the program had no commercial sponsor, Father Peyton arranged for many of Hollywood's biggest stars to appear including James Stewart, Bob Hope, Lucille Ball, Raymond Burr, Jane Wyatt, Charlton Heston, Bing Crosby, Jack Benny, Gene Kelly, William Shatner, and Chuck Connors. 

A total of 540 episodes were produced. The program featured not only religious stories but half-hour adaptations of literary works such as A Tale of Two Cities, Moby-Dick and Don Quixote.

Synopsis ~ Lucille Ball is the hostess and Jack Benny stars as the King obsessed with his gold and counting it. The Queen and her daughter get a Genie to sort the King out. The Genie grants the King one wish and the King tells the Genie that he can always use more gold and asks that everything he touches will turn to gold. Of course this seems exciting at first until he turns the Queen and his daughter in to solid gold.

The program was repeated on May 23, 1951.  

King Midas is popularly remembered in Greek mythology for his ability to turn everything he touched into gold. This came to be called the golden touch, or the Midas touch. 

CAST

Jack Benny (King Midas) was born on Valentine’s Day 1894. He had a successful vaudeville career, and an even greater career on radio with “The Jack Benny Program” which also became a successful television show. His screen persona was known for being a penny-pincher and playing the violin. Benny was a Beverly Hills neighbor of Lucille Ball’s and the two were off-screen friends. Benny appeared on “The Lucy Show” as Harry Tuttle (a Jack Benny doppelganger) in “Lucy and the Plumber” (TLS S3;E2), later did a voice over cameo as himself in “Lucy With George Burns” (TLS S5;E1), and played himself in “Lucy Gets Jack Benny’s Account” (TLS S6;E6). He was seen in four episodes of “Here’s Lucy.” Benny and Ball appeared on many TV variety and award shows together. He died in 1974, a few weeks after taping “An All-Star Party for Lucille Ball.”

Lucille Ball (Hostess) was concurrently starring in her own radio comedy “My Favorite Husband” having starred in films from 1933.  In the fall of 1951, Ball and her husband Desi Arnaz launched their iconic television series, “I Love Lucy.”  After her divorce from Arnaz in 1960, Ball starred in two subsequent television series’ - “The Lucy Show” and “Here’s Lucy.” After a series of TV specials, she did one more series in 1986, which was not successful. She died in 1989. 

Ted de Corsia (Harvey Benson, Reporter from The Daily Telegram) was an actor in touring companies and on radio before making a memorable film debut as the killer in The Lady from Shanghai (1947). De Corsia's New York street demeanor and gravelly voice assured him steady work playing street thugs, gang leaders or organized-crime bosses. On radio he starred in the CBS series "Pursuit" (1949-50). Two years before he was heard on an episode of “My Favorite Husband” with Lucille Ball.

Barbara Eiler (Princess Imogene) started acting as a teenager and appeared regularly on the radio programs “The Life of Riley,” “A Day in the Life of Dennis Day,” “The Fabulous Dr. Tweedy” and “Glamor Manor." She did a 1948 episode of “My Favorite Husband” with Lucille Ball. 

Eleanor Audley (Queen Midas) played Lucille Ball’s mother-in-law on “My Favorite Husband.” She would later play Eleanor Spalding, owner of the Westport home the Ricardos buy in “Lucy Wants To Move to the Country” (ILL S6;E15) in 1957, as well as one of the Garden Club judges in “Lucy Raises Tulips” (ILL S6;E26).

Alan Reed (Matthew the Butler / Tony the Cook) is probably best remembered as the voice of Fred Flintstone. He started his acting career in 1937. He acted opposite Lucille Ball in a 1963 episode of “The Lucy Show” (ILL S1;E25). In 1967, he made an appearance on the Desi Arnaz series “The Mothers-in-Law”. He died in 1977 at the age of 69.

Reed uses an English accent as Matthew and an Italian accent as Tony.

Verna Felton (Molly, Kitchen Help) received two Emmy nominations for her role in the Desilu series “December Bride,” playing Hilda Crocker from 1955 to 1959. She did two episodes of “I Love Lucy,” including playing Lucy’s stern maid, Mrs. Porter. Felton voiced many characters for Disney.

Felton uses an Irish accent as Molly.

Howard McNear (Ipsuda, Magician) played Mr. Crawford, Little Ricky’s music teacher on “I Love Lucy.” McNear went on to play Floyd the Barber on “The Andy Griffith Show” from 1961 to 1967, filmed on the Desilu backlot. He was also seen in Lucy and Desi’s 1953 film The Long, Long Trailer.

Frank Nelson (Genie / Mr. Gene Blue) was born on May 6, 1911 (three months before Lucille Ball) in Colorado Springs, Colorado. He started working as a radio announcer at the age of 15. He later appeared on such popular radio shows as “The Great Gildersleeve,” “Burns and Allen,” and “Fibber McGee & Molly”. This is one of his 11 performances on “My Favorite Husband.”  On “I Love Lucy” he holds the distinction of being the only actor to play two recurring roles: Freddie Fillmore and Ralph Ramsey, as well as six one-off characters, including the frazzled train conductor in “The Great Train Robbery” (ILL S5;E5), a character he repeated on “The Lucy Show.”  Aside from Lucille Ball, Nelson is perhaps most associated with Jack Benny and was a fifteen-year regular on his radio and television programs.

Howard Culver (Jake Workman, Ice Man) was best known as hotel clerk Howie Uzzell during the entire run of TV's “Gunsmoke.” On radio he starred in the title role of the Western adventure series “Straight Arrow” which aired on Mutual from 1948 to 1951.   

Tony La Frano (Announcer) was the regular announcer for “Music Depreciation” (1945) and every episode of “Family Theatre” (1947-1957). 

EPISODE

Hostess Lucille Ball introduces the show, which was broadcast in front of a live audience. Lucille urges listeners to pray together as a family. She then introduces Jack Benny as the King, to great fanfare. 

Instead of Benny, the show opens with Imogene on the telephone of a busy office in the Kingdom of Midas. Harvey Benson, an American reporter, arrives to see the Queen, who thinks he is there for money, but he wants the story of something that happened there recently. She tells the story in flashback...

A month ago, King Midas is at breakfast with his family. Imogene complains about having cornmeal mush for breakfast again, but Midas reasons that they have a 752 pounds of corn (thanks to the foresight of his father), so they must eat it!  

Matthew, King Midas’ butler, suddenly quits after 32 years! He is tired of carrying the King’s gold. He is also tired of the mush. Because of an ancient decree, the help must eat whatever the King eats. 

Imogene and the Queen insist King Midas counts his money too much - 80 million dollars a day!  Once the King is gone, the Queen sends Imogene on a mission to see a magician named Ipusda to buy a genie. 

At Ipsuda’s shop, Imogene has her pick of genies - even ones vacuum packed in cans (only for tourists)!  She buys the blue bottle special for 5 gold pieces - plus a small deposit on the bottle!   Imogene brings the magic blue bottle back to the Queen, who says the magic words: “Genie out and at attention!  Do the chores which I will mention!”  The giggling Genie immediately appears, talking in rhyme, very amused at his own cleverness.  They promise the Genie his freedom if he does as bid.  The Queen whispers the orders to the Genie, without letting Imogene know.

Next morning, Imogene and the Queen introduce Midas to his new servant - the Genie!  At their bidding, he conjures up bacon and eggs. Midas hates the Genie’s rhyming. He asks Midas what one wish he wants more than anything else in the world.  Naturally, he wants more gold. 

The Genie grants him with the skill to turn everything he touches to gold!  The Genie pops back into the bottle. Imogene notices his utensils have turned to gold - then his eggs - then his coffee.  

Before he can stop himself, he turns his own daughter to gold! Midas demands the Queen bring the Genie back, but she refuses and storms off. 

Midas hears the kitchen servants Tony and Molly arguing in the next room. Tony goes to shake his hand, but he turns to gold! He touches Molly and she, too, turns to gold. 

The ice man arrives and sees the two golden servants. Signing for the ice, the King tries to give him the golden pencil as a tip! Midas explains his problem - everything he touches turns to gold. Jake is about to phone his brother-in-law, Ipsuda, but when he learns that it was the work of a genie, he hangs up. All they can do is wait for the Queen to return to get the Genie out of the bottle! 

Time passes and Jake reveals that the King is not as highly regarded in the Kingdom as he thinks.  The King admits to being money mad. Midas decides to start giving his money away - starting now!

The Queen arrives and she Midas admits that he never wants to see gold again as long as he lives. After accidentally turning Jake to gold during a hug, the Queen summons the Genie to change the King back - in return for his freedom and a good job. The Genie removes the curse. 

Flash forward to the Queen’s interview with newspaper reporter Harvey Benson. Mr. Gene Blue, the president of the relief organization, enters. He makes a joke about his name sounding like “Benson Burners.” He laughs hysterically as the music swells. 

Lucille Ball closes the show by asking if the audience knows how Hedda Hopper makes a hat, comparing it to how scientists make a concoction out of ordinary things to create something incredible: jewels out of sawdust, perfume out of coal tar, medicine out of weeds or mold. She says the power of prayer, just like the ordinary things that create something magical, are there all the time, but must be used to get benefits: the jewel of a happy home life, the perfume of uplifted hearts, medicine for a sick world.

LUCILLE BALL: “The family that prays together, stays together.” 

Announcer Tony Lo Frano reads the credits and says that next week’s program Walter Brennan and Bette Lynn in “A Star for Helen” with the honorable Frank Walker as host.  

[crystaljins]

Take a chance. | 06

Characters: Jungkook x Reader

Word count: 11.7K

Synopsis:   You should have known the second your business partner asked you to plan his best friend’s wedding as a favour that it was going to be nothing but trouble. Especially when it turns out he’s in love with said best friend. And dying of a deadly disease because of it.

Hanahaki!au

Notes: @trumpettay @usuallyunlikelyfox Here’s your tags!

As for everyone else.... I honestly feel so loved. I was so insecure about this fic and you guys have showered it with love and honestly... Thank you. Thank you so much. We’re so close to the end and I hope you guys can stick with me just a little longer!

Warnings: Angst. Graphic depictions of vomiting. Mentions of illness and death.

Masterlist

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

Seri knows that something weird is happening at work. For one thing, you, the textbook definition of a workaholic, take a sudden and unexplained leave from the office despite not having done so since starting the business five years ago. Jin graciously takes on all your clients and begins staying well past his office hours to handle the extra workload but does not offer a word of complaint for it. Jungkook suddenly decides to start working from home like he’ll burst into flames if he steps foot in the office. It’s like something awful has happened and no one has the decency to tell her.

At least not until after a couple of weeks of this strange quiet at the office passes. She’s relaxing late on a Friday night, revelling in the fact that she doesn’t have to go into work tomorrow. It’s when Seri is in the middle of contemplating cracking open a bottle of wine that it happens. Her phone goes off and a picture of Jin smirking at her flashes across the screen. It’s his contact image, one that he set himself to replace the previous picture she had of him sleeping during office hours with an impressive double chin. She can’t think why he’d be calling at this hour.

“Please come and get him.” An unfamiliar voice on the other end of the line answers when she picks up.

“I’m sorry, who is this?” She asks, because she was expecting Jin, and this isn’t Jin. The other end of the line sighs.

“I’m the bartender. And look, he was charming at first but then he stole the mic from the live singer and started telling dad jokes. And now he won’t stop crying and I saw he was drunk dialling you and so you must be someone he knows. I don’t care if you’re his ex, his best friend or his worst enemy. Just come and get him before I call the police.” The frazzled bartender pleads.

If Seri received a dollar for every time Jin gave her a headache, she’d probably be rich. As it stands, you’re pretty much paying her to babysit Jin. And so, with a groan and a longing look at the bottle of wine where it sits in her wine rack, she grabs her keys and a jacket and reluctantly leaves the warmth of her apartment.

It’s drizzling outside when she pulls up close to the pub. Inside, the crowd is starting to gradually grow but it isn’t hard to locate Jin. He’s the one trying to slut drop on the bar counter. The bartender, a young female who looks very much out of her depth is pointedly ignoring the shenanigans. Most people in the bar ignore him, and that suits Seri just fine because it means no one notices when Jin spots her and launches himself off the counter towards her. He stumbles a bit and only manages to avoid cracking his head open because he deposits all of his weight onto her as he throws his arms around her.

Seri stumbles a few steps, struggling under his weight, before managing to right herself by planting her back against a nearby pillar. This leaves her sandwiched between Jin’s weight and the pillar, but the alternative is both of them crumpling to the ground.

“Seri!” Jin cries enthusiastically and it takes a surprising amount of effort to pry his arms off her. “You came!”

He stumbles back a bit but manages to stay upright when she finally shoves him off of her. He grins goofily at her though, and he smells strongly of expensive whisky.

“Jin, what the heck?” She cries. She needs an explanation if she’s forced to put up with him at all, let alone drunk. “What are you doing here?”

He blinks a few times, uncomprehendingly before a smile spreads wide on his face.

“I’m celebrating.” He explains. He’s not drunk enough that he’s slurring his words, at least- he just seems to be tipsy. Very tipsy.

“Celebrating what?” She demands. He squints at her for a few moments, as if unsure of who he’s seeing, before smiling again.

“I’ll tell you after I get another drink.” He says suddenly, about to stumble towards the bar, but she catches his arm and yanks him back towards her.

“No. No way. No more drinks for you.” She scolds. “The only place you’re going is home.”

“But I don’t want to go home!” He complains. His full lower lip juts out in a pout as he does so, and he petulantly folds his arms like he’s chucking a tantrum. His voice lowers in volume and he leans in close- she’s still leaning against the pillar and to anyone watching on, they probably looking like a couple getting cosy. “Don’t make me.” He pleads against her ear. Seri stiffens, at the tone of his voice- gone is the giddy drunkenness and the childish tantrum.

Kim Seokjin is a lot of things. He’s boisterous, he’s loud, he’s friendly, he’s silly. Sometimes he’s obnoxious but it’s usually because he’s so enthusiastic about everything he comes across. Even his negatives are because of positive traits- he’s annoying because he can’t let anything go but that’s because he cares. He’s cringey but that’s because he likes to make people laugh. There isn’t a bad bone in his body. For a long time, Seri has thought of him as one of those obnoxious yellow weeds- flatweeds, they’re called. The bright yellow flowers that bloom on people’s lawns. They interfere with the grass that people want to grow, and they’re weeds. They’re carried on the wind and invade every flowering space. But there’s something lovely about them, about their brightness. Bright yellow- the colour of happiness. That’s Seokjin to her.

His voice is not happy. She’s never heard it crack- break in the way it does in that moment.

“Jin,” She calls, and he drops his forehead so that it rests in the crook of her neck of her shoulder. Somehow the action is heavier than when he threw his entire bodyweight on her earlier.

“I ruined her life, Seri.” He finally admits, a tiny whimper that she would almost have missed were it not for their proximity. “(Y/N)’s.”

Seri swallows and gently places her hands flat against his chest so that she can force him to take a step away from her. His eyes are downcast and bloodshot. The smell of alcohol clings to his rumpled shirt but his eyes aren’t red from drinking. No- they’re swollen. The bartender had mentioned that he’d been crying but Seri had assumed it was drunken shenanigans- she had assumed all of this was drunken shenanigans but looking into his eyes now she realises it’s not- it’s more than that.

“You didn’t.” She reassures him, though she doesn’t know what he thinks he did. Presumably, it has to do with his stupid plan to make Jungkook fall in love with you. Jungkook has been weird since then, but you’re all acting strange now. Jin smiles weakly at Seri.

“I did.” He repeats. “She didn’t have Hanahaki. She wasn’t sick.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Seri points out calmly. She had a feeling you weren’t sick. She’s seen Hanahaki before and you weren’t displaying any of the typical signs. But Jin was so sure and enthusiastic that she felt powerless to convince him otherwise. He shakes his head.

“She’s sick now.” He says. “She vomited right in front of me- it was a daisy petal. Just one. They’re… they’re her favourite flower. The petals I found that time were roses- it was Jungkook who was sick, all this time.”

Seri’s heart plummets into her stomach at his words.

“But doesn’t that mean-“ Seri cries, as her mind races to puzzle together the meaning of Jin’s words. He nods with an anguished smile.

“We… no… I made her sick. She was fine until I interfered.” He admits. The look he gives her is sober- the giddiness he had been chasing has evaporated and now he is weighed down with what he had been drinking to forget. “Do you know why I cared so much? About her?”

Seri shakes her head, her eyebrows knitted together. She frowns at Jin but patiently awaits his explanation.

“She gave me a chance.” He says. “My family… they kicked me out without a penny. I didn’t match up to the standards they wanted. A rich family like that… their son should be a doctor, or a lawyer. Not a college dropout. And (Y/N)… she hired me with zero qualifications to fill in paper work and I thought that was all I was ever going to amount to, without my family, without a degree… And then one day I helped her make that flowchart that you always complain about and she believed in me. Because of my merit. (Y/N) was the first person to ever see the value in me as me, and not as the role everyone wants me to fill. So, I wanted to help her, to pay her back… but I just ruined everything. I ruined their lives- hers, and Jungkook’s.”

Gradually, she’s starting to understand what happened. You love Jungkook and have shown the first signs of Hanahaki. It likely happened in front of Jungkook and Jin, given their behaviour. And it was probably because of Jin’s plan to tell Jungkook that you liked him… something that turned out to be the truth, even if Jin had completely misunderstood the situation. The situation being that Jungkook had been the sick one all along… and is probably desperately in love with someone else and not prepared for you to have Hanahaki because of him. And now you were all scared and panicked and that explains your sudden leave of absence and the sudden icy atmosphere in the office.

“You didn’t ruin anything.” Seri reassures Jin, wrapping her arms tightly around his middle and pulling him in for a warm hug. “You didn’t, Jin. This wasn’t your fault. But don’t worry.”

She shifts so that Jin, more sober now but still slightly unstable, is supported by her, and leads him out of the bar. Her car is nearby, and she plans to take him home.

“I’m going to fix this.” Is what she promises her co-worker as he sleeps in her passenger seat on the drive back to his apartment.

++

For one long moment, Jungkook slumps weakly against the bathroom cabinet. He can’t seem to find the strength to force himself to his feet to clean up after his latest episode. Oddly, despite this latest episode, his vomiting has been improving. Despite the fact that he’s stopped attending sessions with Namjoon and is screening all his calls, the fast approaching wedding date and the stress of fulfilling duties as both Best Man and Maid of Honour without you there to gently guide him through the steps. And despite the haunting memory of that pure white daisy petal. The one that had fluttered to the ground almost poetically and landed just in front of him. The carpets in your office are dark- easier to maintain, in your own words. Against the dark backdrop, the petal had almost glowed, even in the meagre lighting of your office. Like the feather of an angel wing. How could something so innocent and pristine carry a message of such death and despair? How can he be improving when you are sick? He shouldn’t be getting better- he should be getting worse. He should be feeling ten times the pain and discomfort you must be experiencing right now.

The rose petals look like blood as he sweeps them into a pile. His throat is dry and sore because of his latest episode. The medications Namjoon previously prescribed him sit untaken on his bathroom cabinet. Are you suffering this way too? Have you vomited since? He has not had the courage to find out, or to even contact you. What if you are? What will he do then? How could he cope with the knowledge that he’s the cause of such agony in you? He can’t go on much longer like this, locking himself in his apartment, working from home. He knows this and yet each morning he wakes up and tells himself just one more day. One more day without having to face what has happened. One more day where he can wallow and pretend that you’re perfectly fine, that that argument never happened. He can speak to you afterward. Maybe even comfort you, like you did for him. After just one more day.

He just can’t seem to gather the strength to speak to you.

He’s just about finished cleaning up the mess of his latest Hanahaki episode when he hears a knock on his door. It’s a soft, tentative knock. Taehyung or Minah would have just used the spare keys they own- many a time they’ve just barged in without any regard for his privacy or what he might be doing. So, he knows it’s not them. Then who could it be?

Surprisingly, hope springs in his chest that it’s you. It’s a stupid thought. He’s not even sure why he has it. Quickly, he glances in the bathroom mirror and fluffs his hair- it clings to his forehead with sweat and his skin is pale. In the hopes of brings some colour to his face, he turns on the tap and splashes himself with cold water a couple of times. He clears his throat a couple of times- he doesn’t want you worrying about him, after all, especially following the revelations of the feelings you must have for him.

But when the door swings open, it’s not you. It’s Seri, who looks surprised when the door swings open- her fist hovers in the air before her, as if she were about to attempt a second knock. When she spots him, she drops her fist and offers an awkward but polite smile.

“Hello.” She says formally. She ducks her head politely and Jungkook mimics the motion. She’s not high on the list of people he’s expecting in at his door in the late evening. She’s definitely the quietest amongst his coworkers, between you and your passion and Jin and his amicability. He can’t say he knows her that well beyond the fact that you had seen something you liked in her that you couldn’t identify in words, much like you had in Jin. And it’s not like he’d ever had an interest in getting to know his coworkers prior to you discovering his secret. He can probably count on one hand the number of times he and Seri have interacted one-on-one outside of her making requests of him as the manager of the business.

“Seri,” He greets. His voice is a bit hoarse, so he clears it awkwardly. “What brings you here?”

She glances around awkwardly before leaning in a little to peer into his apartment.

“I had a few things to talk about with you and you haven’t been coming into the office lately. And since (Y/N) is on leave…” She explains. She raises her other hand where she’s dangling a plastic bag from her fist. “I brought us something to drink.”

Jungkook feels himself stiffen when he peers inside the bag to find a bottle of just plain milk and a jar of honey. Not even flavoured milk. It’s an odd drink to bring along- most people will bring tea, or coffee, maybe a soft drink or plain wine. But that’s not what makes him freeze in the doorway like that- it’s that warmed milk and honey is what is recommended to Hanahaki patients after an episode. Most people only know the most basic information about the disease, and he feels like a random off the street wouldn’t know to bring plain milk- it’s intimidating and a little suspicious that Seri thought to bring such a specific drink. Even if she knew about his Hanahaki, how did she know to bring this beverage?

“That’s an… odd beverage choice.” He comments stiffly. Seri tilts her head slightly and smiles. It’s more of a thoughtful curl to her lips than a proper smile, but something knowing lingers behind her eyes that make Jungkook feel uneasy.

“You do know that I’ve been working alone with Jin in the office for the past two weeks, right? When have you ever known him to be capable of keeping a secret?” She comments. Jungkook grimaces, and she raises an eyebrow. “Are you going to let me in, or do you want your neighbours to hear what I have to say as well?”

Jungkook doesn’t need much more urging than that and quickly ushers Seri into his apartment. Instantly, her gaze goes to the garbage bag sitting by his bathroom door- the one he had meant to take to the outside trash right before she knocked on his door. It’s a white plastic bag and the bright red rose petals from his recent episode are just visible through the thin, translucent plastic. He cringes and grabs the bag by the handles and chucking it carelessly into the floor of his bedroom. He’ll deal with it when she’s gone.

She strides purposefully towards his kitchen and sets her bag on the counter before rummaging through his cupboard. She pulls out two mugs and fills them with milk. Then entire time she prepares the drinks she doesn’t say a word to Jungkook, and it isn’t until she sets a mug of warmed milk and honey before Jungkook and is sipping at one herself that she finally speaks.

“So… It wasn’t (Y/N) with Hanahaki after all.” Is what she says. She takes another delicate sip of her drink and hugs the mug in close to her chest while Jungkook chokes and nearly sprays hot milk out his nostrils. “You know Jin can’t keep a secret, Jungkook.” She chuckles to herself. But then her expression sharpens, and she peers at Jungkook with a clarity that tells him everything he needs to know- Seri knows exactly what’s going on. At least with him.

“I didn’t expect him to.” He mutters. Her whole face softens, and she offers Jungkook a smile- it’s not like the polite ones she has been giving to him so far. This one actually reaches her eyes, which are filled with a warmth and kindness that he’s not sure he’s prepared to receive.

“In his defence, he didn’t tell me so much as I figured it out.” She says, ignoring his muttered comment and cutting straight to the chase. “Is it because of that friend? The one (Y/N) is organising the wedding for?”

He’s so ashamed that his voice fails him, and he settles for just nodding his head pathetically. Seri shakes her head and sighs.

“It sounds like a real mess that you’ve all been dealing with.” She comments. But then she smiles at him again. “But that’s why I’m here. I’m here to help you sort this out, Jungkook.” She offers him determinedly. It reminds him of you, oddly, so much so that his heart pulses painfully in his chest and he has to look away. He doesn’t deserve to miss you.

“There’s not much you can do to help, I’m afraid.” He tells her dully. Everything is already ruined, after all. Everything that could have possibly gone wrong short of Minah and Taehyung finding out and calling off their wedding has gone wrong. And with the way things are going, they may very well find out now that he no longer has your help to cover for him. He doesn’t even feel like he has the will to hide it from them anymore. Seri shakes her head.

“There is, actually.” She confesses. She sets her mug down on the counter and folds her arms, glaring at him sternly. “I can convince you that the best thing to do is to come clean to your friends. The ones who are getting married. I know from (Y/N) that those two are your best friends- that’s why you haven’t been cured yet, right? Because it would mean exposing yourself? I know you’re probably hiding your sickness because you don’t want them to worry or call off the wedding. But have you ever considered that it’s wrong to lie to your friends like that?” She suggests tentatively. Jungkook opens his mouth to protest but she cuts him off. “I know you’re probably not directly lying, at least not intentionally. You’re just not telling them. But you’re still robbing them of the ability to choose what they want, Jungkook. If you tell them the truth, they can help you. And you can get treatment, and (Y/N) will probably get over whatever she’s going through, and things will go back to normal, eventually.”

He stares at Seri for a long moment.

“I… I’m doing it for their own good.” He offers weakly, though he can kind of see the point that Seri is making, even if he doesn’t want to. She shakes her head.

“Probably so they don’t call off their marriage, right?” She speculates thoughtfully between more sips of her now-cooling milk. “So that they can ride off into the sunset and have some sort of happily ever after while you… while you what? Fade into oblivion? Die? What do you really want, Jungkook?”

Jungkook winces, because that is, admittedly, the part of the equation he’s been ignoring. What happens to him, after Minah and Taehyung get married? Will he even survive the marriage process? What does he want to happen to him? He’s been putting off finding an answer to that question because honestly… Honestly, he is scared. He doesn’t want to die. He’s scared of what will happen to his friends if that’s how things end. But it’s not like he can tell them- how could he look at them after, how could he smile or laugh with them when he’ll have to carry the knowledge that he ruined their lives for the rest of his life, even if he does get better? Is the only way he can live by destroying the happiness of the woman that he supposedly loves? Is this how awful love is? All he feels is an empty hollowness in his chest. The Hanahaki means he loves her, which means love must be a curse. A curse that means his choices are to lose every memory of his closest friend or die. Why must he choose, between his life, and her happiness? How is that a fair choice to ask of him?  

And you… that’s not even beginning to figure how you fit into all this. Mostly because he doesn’t know how you fit into all of this. You had thrown up that petal… So that means you must love him, right? So, what happens if he dies, then? Will you follow? Will your disease turn incurable? Will you have to forget him? Or is it early enough stages that the therapy will heal you? Maybe you’re even already healed. The last thing he wants is for you to be dragged down with him, and it’s why he’s avoiding the office. Maybe you can turn around and forget him, if he’s not there- it’s not like you will be losing a lifelong friend if you require hypnotherapy during your treatment. That’s what’s best for everyone, after all. If he just… vanishes from their memory, then all the problems will be fixed. Him and his cursed feelings are the cause for all this misery, potential and actual.

And yet for some reason he feels a painful pang in his chest at the thought. Of how easy it would be for you to leave him behind. It’s what he deserves and yet… it’s not what he wants. He’s trapped in the spider’s web, unable to unravel himself, and it’s not like he wants you trapped alongside him- no, that thought is abhorrent. He just wants… He wants things to be simple. For him to not be sick and for Minah and Taehyung to be happy and to just… go back to work with you. To plan weddings and fix your printers and follow along with your silly but enthusiastic daily tasks. To sit at his desk with the occasional waft of your perfume to remind him that you’re near, fulfilling your dream with his help. But that isn’t an option, is it?

“I want to go back to work.” Is what he finally admits. Seri watches the conflicting emotions play across Jungkook’s face for a long moment before she reaches forward and wraps her fingers comfortingly around his hand.

“Jungkook,” She calls. “I know you mean well. I do. I know that (Y/N) wouldn’t have helped you- I know that she wouldn’t be sick if you were an awful, selfish person. And I know that this situation is far more than any person should ever have to deal with and that you’re trying your best. But I’m not going to sugar coat it for you- this self-loathing is not how to fix this. You’re probably hoping that if you punish yourself enough, things will magically sort themselves out. But that’s the last thing the people who care about you want. They wouldn’t want you to hate yourself or to make yourself suffer. And maybe if you keep it up like this, you’ll be long gone by the time your friends have to deal with the repercussions of you lying to them, for who knows how long. But do you honestly things that’s what’s best for the people you love- and the people who love you? If you’re hurt, then they will be too. Is that what you want?”

It’s not.

He doesn’t want that at all.

But he doesn’t see a way out.

Seri stares at him, taking in the agony in his expression, the pain in his silence… and her stern posture softens into something sad and sympathetic.

“Do you know why this situation is so hard?” She asks him gently. “It’s because you have to suffer in silence. If…” Her voice, surprisingly, cracks, and she clears her throat. “If you had them there, to support you, maybe it would be easier to recover. And maybe things wouldn’t be so grim. And if you can get better, (Y/N) can too. I thought a really long time about this situation before coming here, and how to fix it and what ‘fixing it’ would look like. It’s not like either you or (Y/N) can magically be cured, despite Jin’s best efforts. But I do think you can patch things up and go back to working together, and honestly, I think that’s what you really want anyway. As for how… It all comes down to you, Jungkook. (Y/N) has only thrown up one petal. She can recover and will eventually come back to work- but not while you’re slowly dying. I don’t think she’s the kind of person who could face that. So, you need to get cured and you can only do that if you aren’t afraid of those two finding out. Their wedding is built on a lie and no matter how I look at it, it can’t last like that. So, you need to tell them the truth.” She explains.

“I can’t.” He cries- no, he pleads. Because that’s what he’s doing- he’s pleading with Seri, someone who is essentially a random acquaintance to him, to find him any other way out of this. A way to avoid the crippling humiliation of telling Minah his feelings and getting rejected… of seeing the disappoint and betrayal in Taehyung’s eyes when he learns that his best friend has been longing for his fiancée since college… of the pain of knowing they’re upset because of him. “If I do, then… then…”

Seri watches his breakdown. Her expression isn’t cold or angry- rather, it’s sad. A single tear rolls down her face as she watches the composure that Jungkook has been desperately clinging on to all this time crumbles.

“My friend did the same thing, you know.” She confesses. “When I was in highschool. My best friend. She passed away in my final year of highschool. She thought it would be better if none of us knew. That we’d be happier if she didn’t tell us that she was slowly suffering. From Hanahaki, of all things. Something that is treatable. She could have been treated, but she knew getting treated would mean exposing her illness. I have to live with the knowledge that if she hadn’t been so afraid of what we thought of her that she could still be here. She was in love with my boyfriend at the time and thought our friendship would only survive if I didn’t know. But it didn’t- but not because she was in love with him. I could have forgiven her, if she had just been brave enough to tell me, and to get treatment. Instead she died, all alone. Not even her parents knew she’d been suffering like that.” She’s remarkably composed as she pours her heart out. Another tear rolls down her cheek and she wipes it away with her sleeve. She sniffs and inhales deeply. “Jungkook, please don’t do that to your friends. Take it from someone who knows what it’s like. To know that while I was happy with that guy, some punk I wouldn’t ever see again once I graduated highschool, that my best friend was in pain and refusing treatment for what she thought was my sake. She thought I’d be happy if I could have him and that she could just fade away. But instead, I’m going to have to live with the memory of that for the rest of my life. Your friends… they don’t have to.”

Silence follows in the wake of Seri’s story. He’s honestly… he’s never thought of it from Minah and Taehyung’s perspective, beyond the fact that they’d be sad. In his head, they don’t care enough about him that they wouldn’t be able to be get over it if they had each other. That’s how he’s been justifying it to himself all this time- they’ll be ok if they have each other, even if they don’t have me. That’s what he’d been thinking. He’s just thought of himself as a poisonous weed in the meadow of their happiness.

But looking at Seri… of the heartache in her eyes, the way tears roll down her cheeks even 10 years after losing her friend…

Suddenly he doesn’t see Seri standing in front of him. It’s Minah. When she cries, her eyes swell, and tears dribble from her nose and her cheeks go bright red. She looks comical but the pain in her eyes has always made him feel like he’s been stabbed. That’s what she’ll look like, ten years from now, if he’s lucky. This is the face she will have- this is the pain she will carry for the rest of her life. He pictures Taehyung next to her. Taehyung doesn’t cry as much- instead his eyes go red and he avoids people’s gaze when he’s upset. His sadness is always shown in the way he holds himself- shoulders slouched, fists clenched. Jungkook swallows.

“What if they get mad?” He asks softly. “What if they refuse to see me ever again? What if they cut me out?”

Seri shakes her head.

“Then maybe they weren’t the friends you thought they were. And yeah, they might get mad… they might be hurt… but they’ll forgive you, if they love you as much as you love them. And if they don’t, then you have us. Me… Seokjin… and (Y/N).” She reassures him. “So, what do you say? Will you tell them?”

What Seri is proposing won’t fix the multitude of problems he has. He still has to get treatment and potentially forget Minah forever. He still has to deal with the agony of rejection that will no doubt happen when he tells her. He still has to deal with potentially losing them as friends forever. And he still has to deal with the fact that you aren’t speaking to him. This won’t fix that… and it won’t cure you. But maybe… maybe if he gets treatment… Maybe you won’t have to get cured. That’s not a thought he feels prepared to have or to think through properly, but… without the stress of having to keep his struggles a secret from his two best friends maybe he’ll have the mental and emotional space to finally figure out where you fit into this whole problem. He swallows and meets Seri’s gaze, mind made up.

“I will.” He breathes.

++

Namjoon had, of course, refused to treat you. Something about a conflict of interest. So, he had referred you to a close friend of his for treatment, but you can’t help but feel that even after two weeks you aren’t making much progress. You never cough up more than a single petal which means the disease isn’t worsening, but you also continue to regularly produce them at inopportune moments which means it isn’t getting better, either.

Dr. Hoseok peers at you curiously. His hands are folded neatly against the surface of his desk and his labcoat is inside out. You don’t have the heart to point that out to him, though, so you just try your best not to let your gaze flicker to the rugged seam against his shoulder.

“I will admit, I was expecting things to progress more quickly in terms of recovery.” Dr. Hoseok admits, rubbing at the back of his neck in bafflement. “Especially since you came so quickly after the first episode. And I have to be honest with you, I do think it’s because you’re in denial.” He confesses.

You blink a few times at him uncomprehendingly, and he sighs.

“We’ve been having almost daily sessions for the past two weeks, (Y/N), and you can’t even bring yourself to say out loud that you have feelings for Jungkook.” He’s not complaining. Dr. Hoseok is a friendly, amicable kind of doctor, known for his great bedside manner and his compassion. He’s just calling you out. You know it, and you know that he’s right, but you can’t help but feel a prickle of resentment at his words.

“That’s because I’m not convinced.” You mutter. He raises an eyebrow. His expression is curious.

“Yesterday you told me you’ve been producing petals every few days since that first episode.” He points out. “That sounds like Hanahaki to me.” He points out. You raise your eyes to meet his gaze desperately.

“Yes, but it can’t be true!” You beg. “I can’t… I can’t have feelings for… for him.”

“Why not?” Dr. Hoseok asks gently. He’s good like that- firm and non-negotiable but also gentle when coaxing information out of you. “Why can’t you have feelings for him?”

Because you can’t. It’s not even that he’s obviously in love with Minah, although that in itself is troubling. And it’s not because you have to work with him, knowing that you have feelings for him and he doesn’t feel the same way. You’re a professional and wouldn’t hold it against him. It’s not even the Hanahaki that scares you.

It was his face, when you first threw up that petal. The fear and horror and sadness. Hadn’t he just told you how much the thought of you being in pain because of him scared him? And you’d reassured him that you weren’t hurt, and that you didn’t have feelings for him, but your own body is betraying you. And you know, you know that the hanahaki, that the petals in your lungs mean that you must have feelings for him. It must mean that you love him. But you can’t.

“Because it’s scary.” You admit softly. You look up and Dr. Hoseok steadily meets your gaze in return. He offers you an encouraging smile and you swallow down your courage and will the words to come forth. “He’s… he’s the kind of guy who blames himself for everything. He’s so worried about the people he cares about that he’ll destroy himself for them. I’ve watched him do it for his two closest friends for the past few months and I don’t want him to beat himself up over this. If I have feelings for him, he’ll never forgive himself for it.”

Hoseok nods contemplatively and pauses to make a few notes on the clipboard in front of him before redirecting his attention at you.

“Last week, you told me that your first episode was actually in front of him.” He recalls, scrolling through his history records on the computer monitor. “So, he’s probably already beating himself up over this. Don’t you think the best course of action, then, is to get better? So that he doesn’t have to blame himself?”

You see the logic in Dr. Hoseok’s words. Reluctantly, you nod your agreement. Hoseok smiles thinly and nods.

“To do that, (Y/N),” He explains. “I need you to be honest with yourself. The idea of these therapy sessions is to help you process what you’re feeling and hopefully gain some sort of closure for the unrequited feelings. There are other, more invasive steps we can take like medication or hypnotherapy, but I don’t want to go there yet. I really think that if you can be honest with yourself, that you can get through this. You’ve done it before, after all, and you didn’t have Hanahaki then. This time is no different. Remember that Hanahaki is random- not dependent on strength of feelings. Think of it like this- Jungkook isn’t a special case. He’s just a guy you had feelings for and that you have to get over. It’s essentially just a crush you have to move on from.” Hoseok tells you.

The thought is an uncomfortable one. You don’t feel like it’s just a crush. Your entire body is revolting against you. Jungkook had never told you how painful the disease is. But now you feel it in your whole body- the way your throat aches, the way your extremities are always cold. The way that you feel you can never get enough oxygen into your body no matter how deeply and slowly you breathe. And this is just the early stages. According to Hoseok, they prefer to grade the disease to decide the necessary treatment. You are grade 1, whereas Jungkook is a whopping grade 5 Hanahaki. You can’t imagine what this must feel like for him. But even then, even if you have the mildest, earliest stage of this awful disease, just thinking of it as unreturned feelings you have to move past seems wrong.

Because, if you’re being honest, you feel so much more towards Jungkook than a mere crush. You don’t want to call it love. It feels pathetic, to be in love with him. But it’s hard to find another way to describe it- this strange yearning in your heart. A yearning that has always been there- a desire, for him to be happy and healthy. You remember, back when you spent the night sharing the hotel room, how full your heart had felt at the sight of his carefree grin. His laughter had made you feel like you were flying. And every painful step of this journey since discovering his illness has been because the thought of his pain makes you feel like your heart is being slowly sawed in half. But are you in love with him? Your body sure seems to think so. And maybe your heart does too.

“What’s going through your mind right now?” Dr. Hoseok asks curiously. You shake your head.

“It… feels strange to think of Jungkook like that.” You confess. Dr. Hoseok nods understandingly.

“It would- Hanahaki is a disease of unrequited love. He is more than just a crush to you, I know. I’m just trying to help you put things in perspective.” He explains kindly. “And I’d imagine thinking of the man you love as an obstacle to move past would feel very wrong. But I thought maybe using less extreme language might help you admit out loud what it is you’re feeling. We can try something else instead though- just tell me what you are feeling, (Y/N).”

You swallow deeply and squeeze your eyes shut. The past two weeks, attending treatment, you’ve been avoiding this question. Hoseok has asked it of you at least once per session. And every time you answer with “I don’t know.” The problem is, you do know. And if you keep avoiding the answer, you’re going to keep going in circles. But even though you know the name for what you’re feeling, you don’t understand it. How did it get to this point? When did it get to this point? Was it when he asked to be friends, the night you shared the hotel room? Was it when you spent the night watching that movie together? Or was it earlier? When you first agreed to let him work with you again? Or maybe even all the way back when he first gave you hope and helped you start up your dream business?

“I… I do love him.” You finally say aloud. Your voice cracks and a single tear rolls down your cheek. Hoseok doesn’t comment on it- he merely nods solemnly. “I… I just don’t know when or how or why.”

“That’s often how these things go.” He says. “I see so many patients who didn’t realise what their feelings are, or how deep they go, until they have their first episode. It’s completely normal. We don’t always know how we’re feeling until something forces us to think it through. It’s probably that way with you and Jungkook. But at the same time… the “how” or “when” or even the “why” actually isn’t as important as you might feel it is right now.”

He pauses there and glances at the clock.

“It looks like that’s the end of our session though.” He tells you. He beams at you. “You did really well today. This step is often the hardest one- I’ve had patients who I’ve had to resort to hypnotherapy because they couldn’t get to this stage. And after this we no longer require the intensive sessions we’ve been having. We can leave it at seeing me just once a week. Speak to the receptionist and make sure you’re booked in, ok?” He says, gathering his papers and getting to his feet. He offers his hand for you to shake. You gratefully accept and smile.

“Thank you, Doctor.” You say, wiping away the tears that have been spilling down your face since your admission that you do love Jungkook. He nods and leads you out in the corridor before leaving you to organise your next appointment with the receptionist.

Just as he does, your phone starts vibrating in your pocket. It’s Seri. You wince, hoping that your business is surviving with just those two running all the event-planning aspects.

“Seri?” You say, as you pick up. She doesn’t answer for a moment or two.

“It’s about Jungkook.” She says urgently into the phone. “I convinced him to tell Minah and Taehyung about his illness.”

++

People often go silent when they are devastated. After all, what can you say, when your entire world crumbles around you? So Jungkook is not surprised when a deathly silence follows the end of his spiel. Taehyung’s eyes have gone red and Minah hiccups in a repressed sob.

“Can it…” Taehyung finally speaks up, but his voice cracks. “Can it be cured?” He rasps. He swallows and clears his throat, dropping his gaze to where his fists are clenched against the wooden surface of the table. All the colour has drained from his knuckles.

“It can.” Jungkook says. “But… as advanced as it is… The only reliable form of treatment is hypnotherapy.”

“Then do that!” Minah urges. Jungkook smiles warmly at her enthusiasm, but he can’t help but wince at her words.

“Hypnotherapy involves erasing the memories of the affected person.” He explains patiently, much like that doctor had explained to him when he was first diagnosed. “So… I would lose all of our memories together, Minah.”

Her hands fly up and she covers her mouth as a sob wracks her entire body.

“That… that can’t be.” Taehyung cries. “Surely… surely there’s another way?” He pleads, and that had been Jungkook’s response too.  He had attempted to bargain his way out. To avoid these two terrible options. He shakes his head with another sad smile.

“If I could somehow… if I could make these feelings go away.” He explains. “That’s the idea behind hypnotherapy. If regular counselling sessions don’t work, then it’s the next step before resorting to surgery. And surgery involves losing my ability to fall in love at all.” He recounts. “I did try, to stop feeling this way… I really tried my best, so that I wouldn’t come between you two. I’ve been attending therapy sessions since your engagement party. But nothing works- I think that hypnotherapy may be the only way.”

He’s imagined the scenario where the two of them find out a hundred times. It’s never been by his own will, or him telling them. In his head, they’d have found out because he had an unexpected vomiting fit, or because              Taehyung (who wouldn’t understand the meaning of boundaries if someone threw a dictionary at him) was rummaging around in Jungkook’s drawers and found his meds. But in those scenarios, they always react badly. Taehyung, in particular, would get mad and shout. And Minah would just cry. Tears would pour down her face. And then they’d both refuse to see him ever again and he’d have lost his two best friends forever.

Jungkook never could have imagined how they actually respond- Taehyung stands and walks around the table and pulls Jungkook into a firm hug.

“I’m so sorry.” He sobs, pulling Jungkook in close. The action is surprisingly comforting. “I’m so, so sorry, Jungkook. I had no idea that you were suffering like this.”

Another pair of arms wraps around him- Minah has gotten up from her seat as well, sobbing as she embraces her old friend.

“This whole time, we were planning our wedding like happy idiots and you were dying.” She realises. They must look like quite the sight, the three of them. The other people in the café stare, but Jungkook doesn’t care. He screws up his face as his eyes fill with tears and suddenly, he feels safe. Wrapped in the arms of his two best friends- he had forgotten what it was like, to be supported and cared for by them. Somewhere along the line he had stopped trusting them, and it all comes rushing back, what it is like when he has them. Abruptly, he remembers feeling a similar way the morning when he’d woken up in your apartment, but he quickly pushes the thought into the ‘deal with later’ basket when Minah starts speaking again. “You should have said something!”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” He says. His voice is small. “I thought you’d be mad. And I didn’t want you guys to think it was your fault. And… I didn’t want to forget. All my happy memories… they have you in them, Minah. I couldn’t… I couldn’t give them up.”

“Oh, Jungkook.” She sobs. They stay like that for a long moment. You had told him how therapeutic it would be to just cry things out, and he hadn’t realised how right you are until the three of them finish sobbing their hearts out. He’s grateful for you, in that moment- he doesn’t think he could have opened himself up to them like this if you hadn’t been there first. If you hadn’t held him together like this, he could never have gone back to them. And he had wanted to, so badly, for their friendship to return to what it was and for the first time, he feels like maybe it can.

Eventually, the three of them must separate. They pull away and look at each other and abruptly burst into laughter at how ridiculous they look after crying their hearts out. Taehyung and Minah re-take their seats and their eyes are swollen and noses are snotty. Jungkook holds back a chuckle at how ridiculous they must look to the other people in the café.

“Should we… should we call off the wedding?” Minah asks tentatively. She glances at Taehyung, then at Jungkook. “Would that help?”

Jungkook smiles and shakes his head.

“That’s the last thing I want. And it wouldn’t change how you feel, would it?” Jungkook questions. Minah bites her lip and looks away and it’s answer enough. “Don’t cancel the wedding. I don’t want that.”

“But then… How will you get cured?” Taehyung asks. “What can be done? We can’t just live in marital bliss while you’re like this.” Jungkook presses his lips together as he contemplates his answer.

“Well, I won’t forget you.” He promises Taehyung. “And I’ll miss those memories with Minah, for sure. But… maybe we can just make new ones?” He suggests. “I know, it won’t be the same. And I’m scared of the things I’ll forget. Minah was there when mum…. You know. And you were there when I graduated highschool, when I won those sports trophies, when I finally got a job… But we’ll be ok. I’ll be ok.” He promises. “We don’t have to deal with that yet, though. I can go back to therapy. Dr. Namjoon is a huge advocate for therapy and is doing a bunch of research to prove that is can be used as sole treatment of Hanahaki. There’s still hope. I can put off hypnotherapy until after the wedding, at the very least. And I have until then to get better by other means. But in the mean time, if you’ll have me… I still want to be your Best Man and Maid of Honour.”

Taehyung and Minah exchange a long, searching look at each other, before peering at Jungkook.

“We still want that too.” Taehyung says softly. Jungkook releases a breath he didn’t realise he had been holding. The whole conversation went so much better than he could have imagined and yet he feels as tired as if he’d just run a marathon. He suddenly wants to go home.

They don’t protest when he excuses himself- no doubt they have things they need to talk over between themselves. He feels oddly light as he exits the café. The sun seems to shine a little brighter as he steps out onto the pavement. Seri was right- he shouldn’t have kept it a secret as long as he had. If he’d told them that first day, when he went to their apartment, would he have saved himself from a year’s worth of suffering? Oddly, despite their positive reaction and the knowledge that things could have been so much simpler from the start, he can’t bring himself to regret keeping it from them. He’s not really sure why, given all the suffering he has endured and the way he has essentially been isolated for a year. If he could go back to the start, knowing that if he’d interrupted Minah and Taehyung back then that they would have supported him this entire time, he feels like he wouldn’t.

It isn’t until he sees a florist as he walks back to where his car is parked that he realises why. A pot of white daisies sits just inside the display window and the answer arrives at him with alarming clarity. He doesn’t regret it because of you. Undoubtedly, had things not played out the way they did, he probably would never have gotten as close to you as he has. He remembers the day he’d woken up in your apartment. His life was supposed to have fallen apart, but it hadn’t. You had been there, in his darkest, scariest moment. Or when the two of you had shared a hotel room and he had fallen asleep with your warmth within arms’ distance- his body is always cold thanks to his Hanahaki but that night he had fallen asleep wrapped in an almost unfamiliar cosy warmth. He remembers your embrace when the two of you had watched that sad movie together, the way it had made him smile. He remembers not being the slightest bit embarrassed or nervous about leaving a letter where he poured his heart out on your desk because he trusts you. He remembers you, and what you have come to mean to him over the past few months. He wouldn’t have those memories with you if things had played out differently. Suddenly, Jungkook is gripped with a powerful wave of longing to go back to that- to when you weren’t avoiding him and before things got so complicated and tangled. He misses you. These past two weeks have been hell. Before you, he had been alone, but now that he knows what it’s like to wake up in the morning and know you have his back… just two mere weeks without you have been harder than an entire year of being sick.

But still, clearing things up with Minah and Taehyung should be enough for him. Now that he has their support, he can get treatment without fear of losing them. He’s not alone anymore- they should fill the void that you left. And once he’s cured, he can go back to work. You’re probably getting treatment too, so the two of you will be able to work together like before and pretend none of this ever happened. His life can finally go back to what it was after more than a year of torment. He has everything he needed- support while he gets treatment, the promise of hope that things can be normal, his two oldest friends back to being there for him. That should be enough- that’s all he thought he had wanted.

But after everything that has happened, suddenly it isn’t enough.

“Jungkook!” A familiar voice jolts him out of his thoughts, and he turns to find Minah panting beside him. She’s clearly run up the street from the café in pursuit of him. She doubles over and supports her weight with her hands on her knees for a moment, before straightening. “Thank goodness I caught up with you.”

He blinks a few times before smiling tentatively at her. He should have known she would come after him. She has never been the kind of person who could leave things on such an awkward note. It is how their friendship had survived their uncomfortable teenage years- she has always been chasing after him, wanting to know if he was ok, wanting to know where his head is at. And it is how it had survived after college, when he first realised that he loved her. Instinctively, he had wanted to push her away- he wasn’t brave enough to tell her how he felt, and he hadn’t been ready for a relationship. But she had clawed her way to his side, clung onto him and refused to let go. Perhaps it would have been easy to get over her if she weren’t so stubborn, but he doesn’t really want her to be any other way. Before, her attitude had felt like a prison but now he just feels relieved- how could he ever have thought that his illness could end their friendship?

“I didn’t give you an answer. You just poured your heart out and I just watched you go.” She laments, when she’s regained her breath. He shakes his head at her.

“I don’t need one- I know what your answer will be.” He admits. She squints at him and frowns but there’s a knowing light in her eyes. He feels like she’s seeing straight through him.

“Kookie.” She says warmly. There’s something sad in her eyes despite the fond exasperation to her tone. “I’ve known you since you were that little boy who hid in the bushes whenever we went to the park because you were scared of the other kids. And despite the fact that you’re now a giant, I know that scared little boy is in there and I know when you’re running away from something.”

Her words floor him because he hadn’t realised that he has been running away until this exact moment. He’d thought that he had made his peace with Minah’s feelings for him but now he realises that until the very end, he is deathly afraid of her answer. What will happen to him, when he knows once and for all that Minah and he can never be?

“It must seem stupid to you.” He says softly. Her gaze is soft as she reaches forward and gently wraps her hands around his. Growing up, Minah had always been taller than him. She had lorded it over him all through their highschool years. And he had grimaced and complained but secretly he had always thought the world was too small for Minah and her big personality. Her big heart filled up every room she entered. But somewhere along the way she became the tiny woman in front of him- both her hands just barely wrap around one of his. When had things changed?

“It doesn’t.” She answers. “But I have to say it out loud, for your sake.”

He winces and smiles- she doesn’t address why she has to say it. But she knows why- he can see it in her eyes. It’s because of that stubborn strand of hope, the one he’s never been able to fully kill. The tiny, ugly part of him that still wants her. Wants her to leave Taehyung and choose him. And it’s the part of him he hates most. That ugly, ugly hope is why things got so messy. Things can never truly go back to normal while he is harbouring this awful longing.

“Hit me with it, then.” He says lightly, trying to cover the mortification and shame filling him with a joking tone. He squeezes his eyes shut and raises his arms like she’s got a gun pointed at him, bracing himself for the words that will finally end everything.

They never come- instead, he flinches as he feels her arms wrap around his middle. She’s warm and her height is such that he can comfortably rest his chin on the crown of her head if he so chooses. But he doesn’t- instead his arms fall limply by his side and he feels a searing pain deep in his chest.

“Thank you, Jungkook.” She says, and her voice is muffled by the soft fabric of his hoodie. “Thank you for loving me, for so long. Thank you for valuing me so much that you went through all this pain to make me happy. And thank you for being willing to stay my friend after all of this.”

She probably knows he’s crying. She can feel the way he sniffs to avoid getting snot in her hair. Her arms tighten around his middle and to his surprise, he realises the front of his hoodie is damp as well. She’s crying too.

“I love Taehyung.” She confesses softly. “Maybe, in another universe, it could have been you and me. But I love him, and I want to marry him. I’m so sorry, Jungkook.”

Jungkook nods and presses his lips together. Slowly, he raises his arms, which had been dangling pathetically at his sides and wraps his arms around her tiny frame. It’s strange, how it can feel so right having her in his arms, despite everything. How Minah feels like she belongs there, like she is made to be in his arms.

But she isn’t. And she doesn’t belong there. She belongs with Taehyung. It hurts. It hurts so much but at the same time the realisation is peaceful. He had always assumed her rejection would kill him. That he would finally succumb to the Hanahaki if she ever killed that stupid flame of hope he was never able to extinguish on his own. Namjoon, in all their sessions, has addressed that stubborn hope before, but Jungkook has always dismissed it. But it feels good to finally address it- to finally lay it to rest like it should have been when Minah and Taehyung first started dating. He feels… clear. He inhales deeply and slowly and feels like the breath reaches all the way to the tips of his fingers and toes. Minah pulls away and steps back and rather than miss her warmth… he feels refreshed. Like swimming in a clear pool on a warm summer’s day. He blinks a few times wonderingly and thinks of you, for some reason. When you pull away from a hug, he always feels cold after, like you’ve sapped the warmth from his body with your absence. Oddly, he does not miss Minah’s warmth like he expects to, but he always finds himself missing yours.

“Are you… are you going to be ok?” She asks tentatively. He smiles and it’s not the sad smile from before, or a placating smile to comfort his despairing friends. This time it’s a genuine, warm smile and even Minah notices the difference as she beams back at him.

“I think I will be.” He admits. “Thank you, Minah.”

She nods and then her smile turns oddly coy.

“Oh, and Kook, about your boss…” She starts. His heart leaps into his throat and he’s so surprised at the sudden mention of you that he abruptly breaks into a coughing fit. When he recovers Minah is flat out grinning. “Actually, never mind. I’ll see you later, Kookie.”

She tosses one last word of farewell in as she leaves him- “Tell Seri I said thank you.”

He doesn’t have the foggiest idea what Minah means or why she wants him to thank Seri of all people, but she’s already out of earshot before he can ask her. With a sigh, he shakes his head and sets off towards his car, whistling a tune cheerfully as he goes.

++

His apartment door is unlocked. Jungkook distinctly remembers locking it before leaving- he had dropped his keys in the process, and he remembers grumbling to himself as he crouched to pick them up. So, it’s weird that his door is suddenly unlocked. The main offenders would likely be Minah and Taehyung considering they are the only ones who know where he hides his spare key. But he’s just come from meeting them so it’s strange that they would barge into his apartment so soon after such a heartfelt conversation. The only other option is that someone has broken in, which is honestly the last thing he needs after the day he’s just had.

Still, he carefully opens the door and slips inside the entrance hallway and grabs the broomstick resting next to the door for good measure. Wrapping both hands around it like a golf club, he edges through his apartment- he can hear the definite sounds of someone rummaging around in the kitchen. Steeling himself for the inevitable confrontation, he tightens his grip on his broomstick. He charges forward with a loud shout, ready to beat the intruder with his broomstick.

Only to stop mid-shout. The broom stills in its downward swing and you are flinching with your arms thrown protectively over your head. In the long moment it takes him to understand what is happening, he registers the pleasant smell of dinner cooking on his stovetop. The broom clatters to the floor beside you as his grip loosens in surprise.

“(Y/N)?” He asks aloud and you unravel your arms and glare at him owlishly.

“A broomstick? Really?” You say, unimpressed. “At least use something that can cause damage, like a baseball bat or something.”

He frowns at you.

“I don’t play baseball! What are you doing here?” He demands. You blink as you seem to recall your location and you smile sheepishly.

“Well, I was making you dinner.” You admit, gesturing to evidence of your activity around the kitchen- a chopping board and a knife sits on the kitchen counter, and the sink is piled with dirty dishes. The oven is on and baking something sweet smelling and the saucepan bubbles on the stove. You’re making a feast.

“Why?” He blurts stupidly. It is not lost on him, that this is your first face-to-face meeting after your fight and subsequent Hanahaki episode but honestly anything he could have or wanted to say has abruptly fled from his mind thanks to the sheer surprise of having you in his apartment. You make him stupid. You wince and look away, flustered.

“Well, Seri called me, and she said that you…” You swallow nervously and meet his gaze and the tentative way in which you do so is oddly endearing. “She said you’d told Minah and Taehyung everything. So I thought I’d make you dinner cause I knew it would probably have been a rough time for you.”

He feels something in his chest soften at your explanation. Is he really surprised, that despite the current state of your relationship you had still rushed over to make him a warm dinner? Of course, you’d do something thoughtful and sweet after everything that has happened between the two of you. That’s just who you are.

“So, you’re not mad, anymore?” He blurts. “About how I acted?”

You shake your head and turn your attention back to the stove top. He can’t see your expression like this, but he can see the way your shoulders are hunched in discomfort.

“I don’t think I ever was mad. I know why you acted the way that you did.” You admit after a long silence. “I… I was embarrassed. That you didn’t like me. I was hurt because it was a pretty clear rejection. I just didn’t realise that was why I was upset until I threw up.”

Your words hover awkwardly in the air between the two of you. There’s so much to say, and yet he’s at a loss for words. How can he even begin to address this situation?

“I’m sorry.” You both say at the same time. It’s almost eerie, how you say it in perfect tandem with each other, but it’s also baffling to him why you are saying sorry. You take his confused silence as a chance to explain yourself.

“I’m sorry for being sick.” You say. You don’t turn away from where you’re stirring the sauce a little too aggressively. “I’m sorry for avoiding you. It probably wasn’t the best way to handle this situation. But I didn’t want to face you because I knew you didn’t feel the same way and I couldn’t handle the humiliation. Still… this sickness is not something you can control. I knew that before, but I especially know it now. You… you must have been so terrified. I know how much you hate hurting other people and I know it must have driven you crazy to think that you were hurting me, but it’s not your fault. And I’m sorry it took me two weeks to be able to say it, but I-“

Your spiel is cut off by him wrapping his arms forcefully around you and pulling you into a tight embrace. The fact that you even feel the need to apologise it ridiculous. Why should you apologise to him, of all people, for something out of your control? If anything, he should be thanking you, for seeing enough good in him to feel such a way about him. But your baffling apology helps him to realise something. Earlier, Minah’s rejection should have killed him. He should be in hospital right now- if she had done the same thing at her engagement party, he knows he wouldn’t have survived. Even just seeing her in a wedding dress managed to trigger the worst episode of his life and yet her rejection hadn’t elicited so much as a cough from him. And the reason it didn’t is because of you. From the moment you stepped into that bathroom and saw the petals scattered everywhere, you’ve been changing him. Because you’re the kind of person whose first instinct was to help him when you could have just walked away and saved yourself the trouble. The safety he feels with you, the warmth, the security, the kindness you have showered him with- somehow without him noticing those things became like glue piecing his shattered heart back together and that’s how he was able to walk away from Minah with his heart intact. Though she had the power to tear him down, your ability to hold him together is stronger.

“Why would you apologise?” He gasps. You’ve changed him. He doesn’t know how or why or when but he’s different to the person who chose to avoid treatment and suffer alone 12 months ago. Because of you. “You should be mad! You should hate me! How can you be making me dinner, after everything that’s happened?”

You freeze, in his arms, and then offer a tentative shrug.

“How could I ever hate you, Jungkook?” You ask softly.

In that moment, Jungkook has an unbelievably selfish thought. He knows you’re sick with Hanahaki because of him, and that you’re getting treatment, but he has the sudden thought that it would be nice if you didn’t get treatment. Not because he wants you to be sick… but because it means that you would continue to love him. Maybe you could even wait for him, to love you back. In that moment there is no Minah and no Taehyung and no Hanahaki. Just you. In his arms where he thinks it might be nice if you decided you belong.

“Wait for me.” He pleas softly against your skin. He’s quiet enough that you don’t hear his request. He hopes that even though you don’t hear it, that it’s a request you’ll carry with you, where he’s breathed it into your skin. But it’s not something he’ll ask of you out loud. Not yet, at least.

He has a lot of work to do before he deserves to ask you that.

[nurfhurdur]

Hard Enough Left Modern AU

Because I miss Ruth

There hadn't been activity on that particular channel in weeks. Every few days Emily would log on, only to be dissapointed to see that nothing had changed. The only activity being comments from other viewers asking when to expect another video.

It had gotten to the point where she had checked to make sure she was still subscribed, and she edited her settings to make sure she'd get a notification the next time there was anything uploaded. It was another three weeks after that, that she had checked the time on her phone to see the banner across the screen.

Rushing through the last of her course work, she threw her backpack on the floor and reached for her tablet. She tapped a fingernail against the screen impatiently as YouTube finally loaded, hitting pause quickly so she could dig her headphones out of the nightstand drawer.

She'd binged Ruth's videos in the span of a few days. She didn't know how girls on YouTube did it, especially with a DIY channel. Starting back from the first videos posted a few years before, the video quality had improved, the girl's editing had improved, and she'd become more comfortable in front of a camera. From cooking, and baking, to personal desk size succulent gardens, or organizing and purging a closet, somehow the girl had made a name for herself on the internet and the most mundane of tasks seemed more interesting when discussed and explained on this girl's channel.

Comfortable in her bed, she finally pressed play and tilted her head as the personalized graphic of a constellation came on screen, which the girl had done a tutorial on also....

When did she have the time to do all this?

She was pulled from her thoughts, and rather startled, to see an exhausted looking version of the girl who ran the channel. Ruth's dark hair was pulled in to a messy bun, circles under her eyes and she looked like she hadn't taken the time to get out of her pajamas. What was most startling, was what looked like a medical oxygen tube beneath her nose.

Looking up into the camera, she waved vaguely with her usual greeting before continuing.

"I've never really shared this, because I never had any reason to-" She held up the small tank of oxygen sitting beside her and grinned flatly. "-but now I do.....so today's video is a bit of a PSA."

Her expression dulled and she stared at the screen a moment. "Get out of the shot."

"I'm not in the shot," came a low response from the corner.

Ruth addressed the camera again. "I have help today."

A few clips were edited in of Ruth and....was that Jesse Hudson?

The Piston Cup driver?

The two were figuring out where to stage Ruth's things, and Ruth watched in exasperation before telling him to leave her stuff alone and let her do it.

"I'm just trying to help."

"This isn't my first video or anything-....no, leave the tank there-"

"Wh-"

"Because that's where I keep it when I'm working here-"

The clip cut back to Ruth's slightly more professional expression and she reached for the camera. "For those of you who keep up, yes, that was Jesse Hudson. Jesse, say hello."

"Hey." He muttered with a glance up from his phone.

"We're twins. Before you flood my inbox, I'm older, it's not that exciting to have a celebrity sibling and-....." Ruth paused and stared at the screen again. "Did you just kick the footboard of my bed?"

Just barely in the frame, Jesse's Nikes could be seen as he kicked off from the bed again, spinning the chair slowly. "Yeah, cause you lie."

"I do not lie. You're- you know what, this is my video, and I'm not spending ages editing it so now the world can see how sulky you are."

The chair rolled further in to frame and Jesse only shrugged a shoulder before going back to his phone.

Ruth took a slow breath, for effect or because she needed it, it was hard to tell, before launching in to a lengthy explanation of why she had been absent for so long.

"I don't have an actual diagnosis, no one can give me a specific name for it-"

The more she spoke, the more emotional the video became. The natural lighting of her bedroom made the video a little surreal, the way it picked up the threatening shine in the girl's eyes wasn't staged, or planned, or even wanted. It was apparent that a portion had been cut. She looked like she had been crying, and instead of lazing in the background, Jesse was sitting beside her at her desk, chin rested on his hand as he looked between her and the screen silently.

"Some of you wonder how I have time to do any of this, some of you are very rude in your questioning of how I have time-"

The clip had been edited again and a more composed looking Ruth stared at the camera before speaking and glancing over her shoulder. "Our older brother thought there was a problem and I'm sure Jesse is getting lectured for something...."

She'd edited captions in, and color coded them for each brother. They appeared at the bottom of the screen while she made a show of her impatience on camera.

"Can you for once in your life-"

"She asked me to help-"

Ruth made eye contact with the camera a moment before continuing, explaining that her illness started back in the early 2000s. Doctors had originally treated her for bronchitis, then walking pneumonia. X-rays, blood tests, screenings and different antibiotics had all been tried with only mininal results. There was the possibility of an autoimmune disorder but they hadn't started that round of tests yet.

"I don't always have an oxygen tank, this is a bit of a new development...." She eyed the small cylinder beside her and it was obvious to see that she was still trying to wrap her head around it. With a shaky and watery smile she looked back at the camera.

"It's extremely hard to be looked at the way people do when you have something like this basically tied to your side."

She ignored her twins' return to his chair beside her.

"For some it's an insulin pump, for me it's an oxygen tank, for others it's chronic pain. We know we have it, while the general public tends to look at us like we're looking for sympathy or leaching the system. Just because it's an invisible disease doesn't mean it isn't there."

She looked at her brother before leaning back in her computer chair. Drawing her knee up, she wrapped an arm around it.

"Where had we gone the other day? Was it the grocery store-"

"Doctor appointment."

"Oh, yeah. It was." Ruth frowned. "I've been issued a handicap sign for the mirror of my car....they haven't sent the new license plate yet. I didn't even want to use it but it was a really bad day for me. My family convinced me to use it to park as close as possible, and then wanted to get me a wheel chair."

She pursed her lips, taking a moment to gather her thoughts and looked in to the camera.

"Some middle aged woman came right up to me and told me she thought it was horrible that I would do such a thing for a closer space. That as a young woman in my twenties, I was more than capable of walking the extra hundred feet and had no right to be using my grandparents' issued sign like that."

She looked away from the camera and swiped a tear from her eye. Barely seen on camera, it looked like Jesse might have nudged her chair with his foot.

"I was so upset I showed her my signature on the back, and then my driver's license. Just because I'm in my twenties doesn't mean-"

She shook her head and sighed while rubbing her forehead.

"It's hard enough for people like myself to be so restricted when we're supposed to be 'enjoying our youth'...don't be that person. Just.....take a moment to realize that we're not always how we appear. It's a smack of pride to even have to use that handicap sign. I just stared at it hanging from the rearview mirror, convincing myself not to take it back down for some complete stranger to then treat me that way?"

"That was the appointment they gave you the tank." Jesse muttered lowly.

"It was." She agreed. "Like that wasn't a hard pill to swallow already...."

There was a brief pause, and it was obvious she was mentally shaking herself. She diverted the topic somewhat, sitting up straighter and getting composed.

"So that's where all my time comes from. This started as a hobby a few years ago and because of you-" she gestured to the screen. "-faithfull viewers and subscribers, I've networked with a few different small businesses, I work from home. I have my Etsy shop, I've been able to review different products and be sponsored by those companies. If you haven't visited, be sure to check the links in the description. There's my Etsy shop, Instagram, Twitter, and links to my favourite channels."

As an afterthought, she added. "Maybe I'll do more videos on this, I'm not really sure. Leave your thoughts in the comments."

It was her usual send off, but for some reason it meant so much more after a fifteen minute video explaining something so personal.

"Remember guys, there's always a reason to smile. Until next time."

The personalized LittleDipperCo. appeared on screen alongside the subscribe button and list of links before the next video in the playlist began to buffer.

She hit cancel and set the tablet aside, trying to digest the last fifteen minutes. She'd ordered from the Etsy shop, LittleDipperCo. before and had recieved a little handwritten note alongside all the little items she'd ordered.

Stickers, bookmarks, a personalized mug for her dad, the earrings she was currently wearing....because she'd ordered so much and had been so patient, Ruth had added a few small items and a personal thank you card.

She was her favorite shop, there was something unique about LittleDipperCo.-creations by RuthAnne- that had always stood out to her.

Grabbing her tablet, she went back to find the link and glanced up at her open doorway in surprise when her brother appeared.

"Did you see what he's saying about me?"

"What who is saying-"

"Hudson thinks he's being funny-"

"Get off of Twitter, Alexander."

Alex held his phone up and read the time stamp. "An hour and a half ago-"

Emily glanced back at the upload time of Ruth's video. It was only about half an hour old.

Jesse Hudson was apparently roasting her brother in that video.

She blinked a few times and hid a smirk, busying herself with reaching for a hair tie. "Don't you have some kind of conference to get ready for?"

Another alert popped up as he made a show of leaving her doorway and Emily shook her head while clicking the link.

Let's lighten the mood! PSA- BLOOPERS AND REAL TALK.

[syms-things-5]

Clear The Area - Chapter Four

Previous Chapter HERE

Warning: Not explicit (yet); some mild language.

Summary: 29-year-old nurse Sarah Bernette has worked hard to get where she is. Moving to Boston from a nowhere dump of a town, she’s studied hard and is grateful her stress is finally paying off. Despite being fostered repeatedly throughout her childhood, she’s since found some comfort in the form of her adopted parents, Jocelyn and Noah, and a pseudo-adoptive family of sorts in form of the Evans clan who have treated her as one of her own ever since she moved in with best friend, Shanna. Valuing them above all else, she appreciates their support even more when her long lost birth mother decides to reappear in her life after so many years, and is surprised to find out just how supportive Chris is in particular. As she struggles to maintain a firm grip on both her professional and private lives, she finds an ill-advised solace in her growing mutual attraction with him but how long before everything unravels and threatens to pull the rug out from underneath her?

Note: I apologise for my spelling/grammar errors.

CHAPTER FOUR

Sarah had something of a reprieve from her unplanned-planned date night/tennis match/whatever with Greg when Shan kindly called her to say she couldn’t stop vomiting and had to be sent home from work. As always, Sarah was her first port of call but she sounded absolutely terrible over the phone, and Sarah felt bad leaving her to fend for herself. Scott would often run a mile at the first sign of someone being ill, so scared was he of being even marginally unwell and Chris would, well, he was just absolutely useless with a crying woman.

She had managed to catch Greg on her way out and apologised for cancelling at short notice. He seemed disappointed but was quick to suggest another catch-up when things had calmed down. She had realised that he might have thought she was blowing him off with a lame excuse and made a note to speak to him the next time she saw him. Audrey mentally fired darts at Sarah’s head as she waved her a goodbye, deliberately avoiding a lecture.

“My stomach really hurts. I think I might be dying,” Shan over-exaggerated.

“You’re not dying, OK? You’ve probably got some food poisoning, though. Did you eat or drink anything weird in the last 48 hours?” Sarah asked over the phone as she got ten minutes away from their apartment.

“No just that tequila. I don’t think it’s that, though, and...oh wait...” she stopped herself. “I ate sushi.”

“What the fuck, Shanna? You’re practically allergic to sushi?” Sarah exclaimed over the phone to the surprise of a runner who’d just overtaken her as she crossed through the park. “Why did you eat that? You know what? Doesn’t matter. Just keep drinking water and stay close to the bathroom for a little while. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Chris was hanging in the hallway outside their front door when she finally arrived home. She knew it must be bad for him to risk being spotted by her overly enthusiastic neighbour, and he looked like he had been emotionally scarred for life.

“How’s she doing?” Sarah dared to ask.

“There are sounds coming from her that I have never heard made by another human being before.” He hung his head low. “I don’t know how you do it.”

Sarah chuckled and place a comforting hand on his shoulder before brushing past him and walking inside. Sure enough, she found her on the floor of their bathroom, leaning by the toilet bowl. For some reason, all the towels were on the floor and the window was wide open which was, she figured, Chris’ way of dealing with things.

“He’s been rubbing my back but that just made it worse.” Shan said before retching again. She looked pitiful curled up on the floor like this, the last of her mascara making unflattering tracks down her cheeks. Her curly hair was unruly most of the time as it was but now it looked even more like a bird’s nest.

Sarah dumped her bag and sat down beside her. Back-rubbing never worked, she knew this all too well but still thought it was cute of Chris to at least try it. Seriously, what was it with people throwing up near her lately? Instead, she moved the strands of hair sticking to her forehead and gently ran her hand over the back of her head and neck in circular massaging motions to ease some of her strain.

“Do you think you could eat some dry toast? Or a banana maybe?” Sarah suggested. “You need to keep your stomach active.”

“i just want this to end...”

“I know you do. I think it’s just a case of waiting this out now.” Sarah kept her voice as soothing as possible and continued to gently run her hand over her hair, attempting to lightly detangle knots as she found them. Shan would thank her for that later.

Chris was perched on a stool against the breakfast table eating a banana when Sarah walked back in. “Did she tell you?” he asked, mild irritation showing in his voice.

“Yep. why sushi of all things?” Sarah questioned him as if he might know something. “I bought that for her by the way, Potassium is good for the body after food poisoning.”

“No idea. But I bet that Ben has something to do with it. Did you know he was back in town?” He quizzed her somewhat accusatorially. Sarah held her hands up, silently remonstrating her lack of knowledge.

Ben was someone Shanna had gone to High School with and met again in college. They had dated on and off, usually when Ben dictated, until he’d left Boston to join his Uncle’s political campaign in Chicago. Sarah had only met him twice but once was enough to know he was trouble and the somewhat nauseating kind, not the entertaining kind. A few years back, Ben had been responsible for Shan getting points on her licence when he’d been caught speeding after admitting to her his licence had been revoked following his DUI charge. It was the first real experience Sarah had had of an Irish family arguing and they failed to notice she had snuck out to a hotel for the night to avoid the conflict. Lisa didn’t speak to Shanna for weeks afterwards and Chris flew back to LA to avoid hitting him with a baseball bat.

“I swear to God, if he even so much as shows his face round here, I’ll tie him to the heaviest boulder and shove him off Longfellow.” He always spoke in hyperbole when he got aggravated, like his brain couldn’t comprehend how someone could be so stupid. It was the same attitude he displayed when he watched Trump get inaugurated. Shan wasn’t stupid but Sarah had to admit she harboured a blind spot where Ben was concerned.

“You don’t know it was him this time. Let’s not jump to conclusions here. There could be a harmless explanation.”

Chris looked her dead in the eye before awkwardly shifting his attention elsewhere. She watched as he clumsily tried to straighten up in front of her.

“Chris? We don’t know it’s because of him, do we?”

Chris took a breath and pursed his lips. He looked like he had forgotten how to speak. “I spoke to Matt and he looked him up for me. Turns out he got some drug charges dropped and was thrown off the campaign last month and now he’s back home with his mom.” Sarah looked stunned at the information.

“Look, who else would it be? She was probably trying to impress him or something stupid. It’s not like she doesn’t have previous here, is it? What is so great about this guy?”

“Search me. He’s not my type whatsoever.”

“Yeh, well, you’re sensible. It’s only because of you that she’s at least able to hold down a job for longer than six months without getting distracted.” He launched the banana skin into the bin like he was shooting hoops. “I really wanna punch him. Just once. Can I, please?”

“Mate, don’t look at me. I’m not your PR Manager.”

“Well, I’m like 90% sure Matt won’t let me...” He leaned against the counter in front of her, arms folded, resigned to the fact that he was helpless. “I could sneak into this house and tie all his shoelaces together? Can’t get arrested for that, can I?”

Sarah laughed at the sheer daftness of the thought. “You could take all the stuffing out of his pillows?”

Chris shot her a look of disbelief. “OK, now you’re taking this too far. Whatever you want to do on your own time is up to you.”

“Oh, good, you’ve told him.” Shan croaked as she made her way gingerly through the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. She’d managed to remove her sweat-soaked clothes and changed into her pyjamas and a dressing gown that Sarah recognised as her own that was previously hanging up in the bathroom.

“Told me what?” Chris asked, his jovial expression suddenly changing to one of concern and increasingly so as his eyes flicked between Sarah and Shanna, neither of them making much of an effort to talk. Sarah knew it was on her to break the silence.

“Just...it’s nothing really. Honestly. It’s just my...my mom wants to meet me and...stuff.” As soon as the words left her mouth she regretted them. She sounded like a teenager who had just been caught doing something she shouldn’t. Chris was probably regretting telling her she was the sensible one now. For some reason, she decided to carry on talking to fill the silence. “So, I thought I might let her see me and...stuff. Maybe.”

Chris was quiet for what felt like a long time. He was clearly vetting his words carefully before saying anything, never taking his eyes off Sarah. He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times preparing to speak before quickly changing his mind. This one really seemed to stump him.

“I told you it was a bad idea, hun.” And with that, Shan left the kitchen and Sarah to her fate. How was it that in less than ten minutes she had managed to shift Chris’ frustration squarely on to her?

“Your biological mom? I thought you didn’t want to see her?” He asked albeir in a far too monotonous tone for her liking.

“I don’t. I didn’t. But they sent me a letter, and-”

“Who’s “they”?” he interrupted.

“The Adoption agency back in Flint.” Sarah quickly responded but then couldn’t think of anything else to add to ease the tense atmosphere growing around them. He pondered her response for a second not looking away from her. She must have looked about twelve now.

“Why does she have the courts intervening on her behalf?” It was a good question and one Sarah was all too aware she didn’t have the answer for. It did look a little desperate on her mom’s behalf, too. Chris still had his arms folded and from this angle they looked even bigger than usual. He had a very unapproachable manner when he was built like this and he would often use it to his advantage, not that there was ever a possibility of missing him in a room full of people, for one reason or another. “What’s her angle here?”

“I figured it was to make sure I got her letter. I don’t exactly know why which is why I was thinking of meeting her.” She shrugged and tried to move her feet from the spot she’d been frozen to. Chris clocked his disapproving stance and moved in a bid to equal her posture.

“Come off it, Sarah. You’re not thinking about it. You’ve clearly made your mind up. Why now, though? I thought you were happy with everything and with where you are?” He unfolded his arms and looked like he was about to take a step towards her but changed his mind and leaned on the kitchen island instead. “Is it not longer enough?”

She didn’t appreciate the tone. “Obviously, I am happy enough here. It’s nothing to do with me feeling like there’s something missing. I just, I thought it might be healthy to put some closure on some things is all. I really didn’t think what I chose to do would be this big of a deal to everyone.”

“I take it Shanna supports this crazy idea?”

“It’s not crazy and if you have to now, then no she doesn’t Not entirely anyway but she at least gets that it’s my decision.”

“I just worry about you sometimes. I don’t think you look out for yourself as much as you’re allowed to.”

She didn’t know how to take that. “I can look after myself.”

“I know you can but you shouldn’t have to is what I’m saying, not all the time. Other people can help, y’know? You might not realise it but you’re a big part of my family and regardless of what I say here and now, you know full well my mom is gonna be a hell of a lot worse.”

Thankfully, they both laughed. That was certainly going to be true. She contemplated making some kind of pact with him so that Lisa didn’t find out until was absolutely necessary but figured now wasn’t the time to ask him. Instead she opted to bring him in for a hug and she felt him physically calm in her arms, no doubt at Shan’s predicament as well.

“i appreciate you concern, I really do, but I need to figure this out myself.” She fixed him with as big a grin as she could manage. It might help her believe it, too.

Chris wasn’t so convinced.

*

Thankfully, Shan made it through the night without swallowing her tongue. Sarah could only manage a couple of hours sleep in the end and would keep waking at random intervals to check on her. At one point, she thought she could hear Chris moving around in their lounge but decided against checking to see if he was OK. The rule of thumb for living with the Evanses, according to Carly, dictated you could only attainably deal with one of them at a time.

She left for work an hour earlier than usual in a bit to avoid the uncomfortable atmosphere at home, both Shanna and Chris being as stubborn as each other.

“I’ve decided that I will let you buy me a coffee.” Greg said confidently as he walked up to stand beside her at the triage desk. “If you’re not busy. Lunchtime, maybe?”

“Oh, um,” She thought about letting him down a second time until she caught Audrey’s death stare on the other side of the corridor, coming towards them both like Jaws. “Yeh, er, lunchtime would work. No problem.”

“Great! That’s a date then!”

“Awesome, you guys managed to figure it out!” Audrey moved into Greg’s eyeline now, beaming at them both. “If you want to go a little earlier, feel free. It’s pretty quiet here and I don’t mind covering for a while?”

“Sure, that would be fantastic, thank you. Sarah, shall I meet you outside in 5?” Greg asked, his tone a little less than that of a giddy child being told he could eat candy for dinner. 

“OK, yeh. I’ll just go grab my jacket.”

Sarah waited for Greg to leave the desk before scolding Audrey or at least attempting to. She could never win an argument with her no matter how hard she tried. Truly, it was futile. Audrey was like some kind of wizard, which made sense given her history with her alma mater’s debate team. (side note: she was kicked out of the group after arguing with an adjudicator).

“It’s just coffee. I don’t know what you’re so bothered about. He’s nice and he likes you. Just...don’t bum him out.”

It was a quiet walk to Joe’s. Sarah wasn’t entirely sure what to talk about and figured talking shop might not be the way to go. He ordered for them both, just a couple of decaf lattes, and they took a booth towards the back so as to avoid any potentially nosy co-workers popping by. Not that she was bothered too much, she liked the people that she worked with; it was more that she didn’t enjoy the questions that came with potentially dating a colleague and it would also force her to calculate how long it had been since she had had a proper date. Was Chris right? Was Daniel her last known interest?” Oh god, how depressing.

“I really hope we get that game in some time soon. I reckon I could show you a thing or two,”

Greg managed to snap her out of her head.

“Oh, yeh, it wouldn’t be too hard. I’ve played maybe two games my whole life.” She saw Greg look confused. “Audrey bent the truth somewhat the other day.”

“He bobbed his head in understanding but couldn’t hide the hint of disappointment. “She’s been keen to set us up I bet?”

Sarah nodded. “She’s a good mate. She looks out for me a lot. I’ve known her almost as long as I’ve been in Boston now.”

“Oh yeh? Yeh, she seems nice.” He played with his cup for a second before speaking again. “I hope you don’t feel under pressure to come out with me. Honestly, if you’d rather not, I completely understand. I don’t wanna make you feel awkward or anything.”

“Don’t worry, it’s fine. I’ve liked working with you. You seem nice and you’re clearly very talented.” She smiled at him and for the first time she realised how nervous he seemed. He held himself in the hospital with such confidence and stature, it almost didn’t seem like she was sat across from the same person.

“Thank you. I like you, too. You’re very...unassuming.” He offered in return. She wasn’t sure how to take that and he must have seen a look of perplexity cross her face or something because he felt the need to quickly backtrack. “Not that, I mean. I mean that you don’t chase the limelight. You just do your job, very well, and you don’t expect any thanks for it. That’s refreshing. Where I come from, people are always vying for the limelight. It’s hard to mark yourself out as anything special.”

Sarah hadn’t thought of the medical profession as a competition before. She’d never thought she had to best anyone or prove she was better than anyone else. Surely everyone just had the same goal? Maybe it was different as a Physician.

Suddenly Greg made sense to her. She couldn’t quite believe it but she felt sorry for him.

He put his cup back on the table and looked at her, his eyes smiling. “So, that tennis match. Do you fancy rescheduling?”

*

[mcheang]

School trap

What if Feng Jiu was present when Dong Hua showed up at the classroom?

Feng Jiu stared in surprise at their guest teacher.

There was no way she was greeting this man after he left her in the valley.

When Xiao Yan looked like he would lecture Dong Hua and stop him from falling into the trap, Feng Jiu interrupted him.

“Xiao Yan, this immortal isn’t worth talking to. Don’t waste your breath.”

Xiao Yan looked angrily at Feng Jiu but she is staring expectantly at him and almost pleadingly.

“But he-“ Xiao Yan tried again.

Feng Jiu tugged on his sleeve. “Please? For me? If not we will get into trouble.”

Xiao Yan understood her. He would get reprimanded by the teacher.

Teacher: Hmpf. The two of you are so arrogant and rude. Who do you think you two are?

But then Meng Shao had to suggest Dijun host the class outside.

Dong Hua eyed the trap floor.

Meng Shao felt his 2 new friends glaring at him from behind his back. But what did they know? This was Dong Hua Dijun, they couldn’t risk offending him!

Dong Hua agreed.

Dong Hua provokes Xiao Yan until Feng Jiu tugs him to be silent.

The teacher falls into the trap anyway.

Feng Jiu sighs. “There goes my name in the contest.” She then looks at Dong Hua regretfully like why couldn’t he have been the one to fall into it?

While the students get the teacher out, Feng Jiu escapes.

Or at least tries to. But Dong Hua keeps blocking her.

Feng Jiu: 让开

Dong Hua: shouldn’t you take responsibility for your actions?

Feng Jiu: you’re one to talk! You kidnapped me and left me here for months. If anything, you are the role model for procrastination!

Dong Hua: so you are angry about that?

Feng Jiu: I have no time to talk to you. Get out of my way! Xiao Yan, run interference for me!

Xiao Yan: Hey, Ice Face, leave her alone! I’ll fight you in her place.

Feng Jiu: Xiao Yan, 加油!

Feng Jiu escapes while Xiao Yan summons his sword and points it at Dong Hua. Of course, the students pretty much restrain Xiao Yan who finally airs his grievances.

Dong Hua, unhindered, pursues Feng Jiu.

Feng Jiu realized she is at a disadvantage outside. So she heads home where she can at least set traps for her teacher should he come knocking.

Dong Hua again appears in front of Feng Jiu but she just keeps running around him. When he keeps on appearing out of thin air, Feng Jiu is frustrated and transforms into her cute fox form and pounces on Dong Hua, before jumping off his shoulder and smacking him in the head with her tails.

When Feng Jiu finally makes it to her home, she turns around and tells Dong Hua; who is unsurprisingly behind her, that he can’t enter because he isn’t invited. So stay out.

Dong Hua invites himself in since he is a guest teacher chasing after a student.

Dong Hua finds the door locked so teleports inside.

Ah, turns out Feng Jiu is rushing around her house, laying out booby traps.

If the teacher forces his way into the door, a bucket of cold water will drench him, leaving time for a swinging hanging plant to knock him back outside.

Feng Jiu rushes past, carrying a chair. “Why do you show up when you are not wanted?” She is too busy to pay attention to Dijun.

Dong Hua: you are amusing to watch.

Feng Jiu: your majesty must be truly bored in the ninth sky to actually seek me out for entertainment. What happened to your love of fishing or reading?

Dong Hua: finished already.

Feng Jiu: speaking of fish...

She heads off to the kitchen. They could make launching projectiles.

Feng Jiu: if you are just going to stand there, at least stand to the side and don’t block my way.

Dong Hua finds a chair and sits down.

After half an hour, Feng Jiu has finally finished defending her front hall. Exhausted, she sits down opposite from Dong Hua and accepts a cup of tea from him. (He had brewed the tea while watching her)

Feng Jiu: and now I wait.

Dong Hua: how long do you plan to stay here?

Feng Jiu: until Xiao Yan or Meng Shao tell me it is safe to leave. If not, I will have to start planning to lock the teacher somewhere until he promises to behave.

Dong Hua raised an eyebrow at that.

Feng Jiu: I’m hungry. Would you like a snack?

He may be an unwelcome guest but she would be a gracious hostess.

Dong Hua: Yes, I would.

Feng Jiu prepares some cakes.

Just as it is put on the tables, they hear angry footsteps.

Teacher: princess Jiuge, come out and face your punishment! Show your face like a proper princess!

Feng Jiu just ate a cake and gestured for Dong Hua to help himself.

The teacher opened the door, and naturally got soaked and chilled, and smacked by the swinging plant.

Coughing, he cursed. “You still show no sign of repentance! If I fail to correct your behavior, I will resign from this post as a failure.”

Doggedly, the teacher headed back into the hall. Again. And again. And again.

Watching from the kitchen, Feng Jiu asked Dong Hua in concern. “How many traps do you think that guy can stand?”

Dong Hua: about as many as you have set up. And I can see a rope in his hands. Looks like you can’t run away after all.

Desperate, Feng Jiu turned back into a fox and cuddled up to Dijun’s hand, whining.

Her fox form was very cute and very fluffy.

Dong Hua petted the princess. “I don’t do things for free. Do you think I have forgotten how you pushed past me, let alone that you set a trap for me before that?”

Feng Jiu huffed, before turning around and nudging the now empty plate of cakes towards Dong Hua.

Dong Hua looked at the plate for a while before returning his gaze to her.

The teacher finally endured the last trap and came stomping toward the kitchen.

Feng Jiu changed back to her human form, sighing in resignation and annoyance. All trace of pleading and helplessness gone from her pretty face. At least she would go down with her chin held up.

Teacher: Aha! Ive got you, you impudent student! (spots Dong Hua) Ah! Dijun! Greetings.

Dong Hua slowly turned to look at the teacher. “There is no need to punish her. Princess Jiuge will be serving me for the rest of my stay here.”

The teacher protested, “but that honor is usually reserved for the Musician-“

Dong Hua looked at the teacher, whose eyes shifted between Feng Jiu and the king before comprehension dawned on him. He smiled and quickly left.

Feng Jiu’s mouth was open. “I wasn’t offering to be your Chef. I was saying that since I made you cakes, you should do something nice for me also. And you owe me more than I owe you!”

Dong Hua: too late for that. Besides, I’ve decided I like your cooking.

Feng Jiu: I am not moving out. And Xiao Yan won’t tolerate you either. So your plan is a flop. Oh well. I have to go look for Meng Shao now. He promised to take me and Xiao Yan to lunch. I assume you are going back to the school?

Dong Hua: I have some arrangements to make since you disrupted the class schedule.

Feng Jiu: you disrupted my life schedule. 告辞

And with that Feng Jiu walked out. Dong Hua found her livelier than before.

When Feng Jiu and Xiao Yan returned home, they found Dong Hua in Xiao Yan’s residence.

When they complained, Dong Hua mentioned Xiao Yan would be living with Jiheng.

Pausing, Xiao Yan turned to grin at Feng Jiu. “All’s fair in love and war.”

Feng Jiu just made a face. “That doesn’t mean I have to be Dijun’s Chef.”

Dong Hua: did I mention that I am the judge for the contest.

Xiao Yan has already left but Feng Jiu haughtily crossed her arms. “Xiao Yan already told me how you took advantage of him to do your chores. I am not falling for the same trick.”

She stormed off. Dong Hua just stared after her. Maybe he should ask Lian Song to retrieve an amnesia potion for him.

Meanwhile, Jiheng got a shock to see Xiao Yan instead of Dijun.

In the end, Dong Hua threatened Xiao Yan he would switch places again unless Feng Jiu cooked for him.

Xiao Yan begged Feng Jiu until she relented.

Jiheng is sad to know Dong Hua prefers Jiuge’s cooking.

Feng Jiu also takes Jiheng’s place for tea class despite having no experience since Dong Hua is insistent she learn where he can keep an eye on her.

To make matters worse, Feng Jiu can’t join her friends at restaurants since she has to cook for Dong Hua. If she tries to go out, he will call her back inside, demanding a random dish or for her to serve him tea with her new knowledge.

On the bright side, she still manages to arrange for the fruit theft with Xiao Yan.

Downside: Dong Hua interferes.

After Feng Jiu falls ill, Dong Hua tends to her and she can’t think of a reason to escape because she is in her own bed.

Feng Jiu herself also tends to Dong Hua’s arm wound.

Then comes the restaurant scene. Feng Jiu relishes the chance to eat with her friends again. Jiheng serves Dong Hua soup out of concern that Jiuge doesn’t really know what Dong Hua likes to eat.

Lian Song’s brain: after spending weeks together, i am pretty sure Feng Jiu knows what Dong Hua likes to eat. And he obviously prefers her cooking.

Feng Jiu doesn’t understand why Dong Hua feels jealous. He has tried her meals and cakes before. And Jiheng has already made his favourite soup. Why is he still unhappy?

She assumes it is because he is also in the mood for cakes.

And things continue as canon

[dragonsaphirareads]

Falling Petals

Day 8 of @tsshipmonth2020 Fluffuary!

Ship: Loceit

AU: Canon/Hanahaki

Word Count: 2403

Summary: Logan starts coughing up flower petals one day and he has to figure out what to do before it’s too late.

(Like listening to podfics? You can listen to this oneshot on my YT channel here!)

It was during their weekly movie night that Logan first felt the itch. Something brushing against the inside of his lungs, causing small coughs as he tried to discreetly dislodge whatever it was without disturbing the others too much. He stood to go get a glass of water, to try and force a change, and that was when the nausea hit.

He ran to the bathroom, the door loudly slamming shut in his haste. He collapsed in front of the toilet, barely having the forethought to make sure his glasses didn’t come off as he heaved. It was a violent feeling, like he’d coughed so hard that he’d forced the contents of his stomach back up, but nothing wanted to come out.

Logan stayed there, changing between coughing and heaving until finally he felt something dislodge and stick in the back of his throat. Against his better judgement, he stuck his hand in his mouth to pull out whatever it was that was causing this.

He couldn’t help but stare at it in amazement and growing horror. How was this possible?

Sitting pretty in the palm of his hand, was a single yellow flower petal.

Logan froze where he heard a knock on the door, and Patton’s worried voice from behind it. “Logan? Is everything alright?”

He cleared his throat - the itch had only momentarily gone away, and was beginning to build again. “I’m perfectly fine, Patton. I believe I reacted poorly to the amount of junk food I’ve consumed in the last hour.”

Patton hummed through the door, not sounding fully convinced. “Really? You’ve never had that happen before... Are you getting sick?”

Logan got to his feet, locking his knees so his legs wouldn’t shake, and he crushed the petal before dropping it into the toilet bowl and flushing it. He then opened the door and forced his face into a neutral expression. “I’m certain. I do believe I’ll retire for tonight though. If I am ill, that will be for the best.”

The fatherly side pursed his lips, and when Logan looked past him, he could see the other two turned on the couch to look at him. “If you’re sure it’s just that... can I bring you anything?”

Logan shook his head. “No. I’ll be fine, go ahead and finish the movie without me.”

He felt three pairs of eyes following him as he ascended the stairs, and there was a heavy feeling settling in the pit of his stomach that did not pair well with the itch in his lungs. Even if he had wanted to sleep, he wasn’t sure he would be able to in this state.

Instead, he grabbed his laptop and began meticulously searching online for any information on what was happening to him. Thankfully, it didn’t take long to get his answer.

“Hanahaki disease?” Logan muttered aloud, reading the paragraph to himself. “‘A fictional disease where the victim coughs up flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love.’ One sided love? What kind of joke is this?”

This couldn’t be real. Yes, the sides had gotten sick before, but it was always in the vaguest of ways. Their symptoms were unique to who they were and what the issue was. They had never suffered from a cold, much less a fictional illness that existed in derivative fiction written about fictional characters!

It had to be wrong. But every attempt to find another explanation kept bringing him back to this ‘hanahaki disease’, as well as resources about the language of flowers.

He hissed air through his teeth, rubbing at his eyes with the palm of his hand. Then his lungs began to itch again, and he launched into another coughing fit which ended with several more yellow flower petals in his hand.

It was impossible, but he couldn’t deny that every piece of evidence was pointing towards him having this disease. Perhaps it was fictional, but there had been weirder things they’d done and had done to them in Thomas’s videos.

For a moment, he let himself laugh at the irony that he was the one who’d come down with the illness. Of anyone to suffer from one-sided love, of course it would be him. It was ridiculous, but as more petals filled his mouth, he decided that he didn’t have much time to laugh at his situation.

In a way, he’d known that something like this was coming. He’d started to notice recently that his body reacted extremely whenever he came into contact with a certain lying trait. His heart would begin to race, his palms would get sweaty, and it was significantly harder to form proper sentences when Deceit met his eyes.

All signs pointed to him having developed a crush. He hadn’t told anyone else - Roman and Patton were still wary of the snakelike side, and Virgil clearly had an unresolved history that he had no interest in reopening any time soon.

Logan had been ready to write it off, to let the feelings die off naturally as Deceit showed no sign of reciprocating the strange new emotions he was having. But now, as he scanned more and more sources, he realized that wasn’t an option anymore.

There were only two ways to get rid of the disease. The first was to confess their love, and have it reciprocated. There were conflicting sources on what would happen if the subject of the feelings didn’t feel the same way, but they all agreed the result was not desirable.

But it was nothing compared to if the disease was allowed to progress without treatment. According to the sources Logan found, Hanahaki caused flowers to bloom in the lungs. If nothing is done about the illness, those flowers would spread and become thorny and rough, eventually causing internal bleeding and then... death.

Logan snapped his laptop shut and threw the covers over himself as he heard footsteps outside in the hall, and only a second later he heard the door open and light spilled in from the hall.

“Logan? Are you still awake?”

The logical side stayed still, and soon enough the door was softly closed and Logan was left alone.

He didn’t sleep, though. The entire night, he pondered over his situation, and his various options. He could certainly confess his love, but what would it mean for Thomas if Deceit didn’t feel the same way?

What would it mean if he did?

On the other hand, Logan would be putting his host in even more danger if he didn’t do anything about it. Could he die? He wasn’t exactly human, but he was able to get sick, apparently. Would another Logic come to take his place, or would it be like the time Virgil ducked out, but permanent?

He couldn’t take that risk, he realized. It was a given that he would deteriorate if he didn’t take any action. It was worth the risk of confessing, as embarrassing as that would be.

Logan’s heart raced at the idea. He couldn’t do it out of the blue - he knew his nerves would get the better of him if he simply approached Deceit tomorrow. But he couldn’t wait too long, or his health would begin to suffer and his friends would most certainly notice. He calculated he had probably a week, maybe two before he would have to tell them.

They were filming a video a week from today, and Deceit was featured prominently in that script. That was when he would do it, Logan decided. After they had wrapped up for the day, Logan would ask to speak with Deceit alone, and that’s when he would confess.

He had a plan, and he would follow through no matter the possible consequences. It was in Thomas’s best interest, after all.

~

The week went by agonizingly slow. Every day more flower petals came from his lungs, increasing in frequency and quantity by the hour. On Wednesday, a full flower bud forced its way into his throat, and disposing of that under Virgil’s watchful eye was a difficult task.

They knew something was up. Logan would be foolish to think he could completely hide his condition from them. But he’d been able to fend off their questions, and he’d made it to Friday.

A few minutes before they needed to rise up and start filming with Thomas, Patton grabbed Logan’s arm and gently pulled him to the side.

“Logan... I’m really worried about you. You’re so pale, and you’ve been running to the bathroom every other minute for the last week. And don’t think I didn’t see those bloody tissues in the trash. What’s happening, Logan? This isn’t just a little stomach bug like you’ve been saying.” Patton mumbled, his grip tightening as he spoke.

Logan sighed. Of course Patton noticed, and of course he had to pick today of all days to confront him about it. If he could have just waited until tomorrow... hell, if he could have just waited a few hours, everything would have been fine!

He opened his mouth to answer Patton, to tell him everything was fine and he was on the mend, but it was then that his lungs violently spasmed and he doubled over from the force of it. Logan had to open his mouth and just let the petals fall as he coughed and hacked to Patton’s growing horror.

“Logan! What’s happening?!”

“Ha... Hana...”

“Hana-what? Logan, please, you need to go lay down!”

Logan shook his head, panting as he wiped at his mouth. “No, I can’t... that won’t help... I need to... need to speak... with Deceit...”

Patton grabbed his shoulders, fingernails digging into his skin. “What? Why Deceit? Logan, please, you need to rest!”

“Patton, please! I have a plan, it’s fine! This isn’t a normal sickness that one can just rest from and recover! It’s called Hanahaki, and it could kill me if I don’t speak with Deceit, who’s currently waiting for us to rise up and start shooting with him!”

The moral side was panicked, but Logan had to pull away before he insisted for a third time that he go lie down. He closed his eyes, ready to muster the energy needed to rise up and face what he needed to do, but before he could, they felt the air change and the other two sides appeared beside them.

“We’ve gotta find Deceit.” Roman announced, and both Logan and Patton stared at him.

“What? Isn’t he with Thomas?”

The prince shook his head. “No, he never showed up, and then my brother popped up and said he’s refused to leave his room for weeks now.”

“And I was not going to let Thomas go there himself, so we’ve gotta go see what he’s sulking about.” Virgil added, his hands in his pockets.

In his room for weeks?

Logan stumbled away from them, towards the stairs and towards the hallway that lead to Deceit’s room. He nearly tripped as he picked up the pace, and he heard his friends call after him and then come running after him as well.

It was pitch black in the dark sides’ part of the Mindscape, but Logan could see a figure standing in front of the doorway, his piercing orange eyes the only spot of light in the darkness.

“Obsession.” Logan greeted, coughing up another batch of flower petals. Obsession’s eyes darted, and Logan knew he was able to see in the dark and so knew exactly what he was going through.

“Oh, this is too good.” The orange side snickered, stepping aside from the door and knocking on it from behind his back.

A weak voice answered from inside. “Go... away...”

“Someone’s brought you flowers, Dee! Isn’t that nice? Won’t you let him in?”

Logan didn’t have the energy to glare at Obsession, instead moving to open the door. There was something blocking it, but even in his weakened state he was able to force it open.

Deceit’s room was softly illuminated by glowing golden spheres hanging in the air, which allowed Logan to see just what sorry state Deceit had fallen into.

He was lying in bed, a mountain of ratty blankets piled on top of him. His eyes were half-lidded, and he didn’t even seem to register that Logan was in the room at first. There was a pile of something on the floor beside the bed, and when Logan sank to his knees beside it, he realized they were flowers.

Dark blue flowers and flower petals, to be exact.

“Deceit...” Logan whispered, feeling that telltale itch building up in his throat. The other side stirred, his golden eye glowing in the dim light.

“L-Logan? Why... are you here?”

The logical side couldn’t help but smile. “I heard you were feeling ill. And... I also needed to tell you something, and seeing you like this has caused my fears about it to dissipate.”

Deceit blinked slowly, trying to digest his words. “Because... I’m sick?”

“Because you seem to be suffering from the same thing I have been for the past week. Although... you seem to be much further along than I am...”

“Two... months...” Deceit mumbled, then his eyes widened and he tried to shift out from under the blankets, with little success. “W-Wait... the same... thing?”

Logan’s heart was racing, but he leaned in closer to Deceit, meeting his eyes. “A disease born from one-sided love... but it appears it wasn’t unrequited after all.”

“Logan, are you... saying...?”

“I’m in love with you, Deceit. I have been for a long time, but I was not ready to admit it to myself until recently.”

Deceit blinked again, dragging in a shuddering breath. “I... I love... you... too...”

Then he slumped, having exhausted the little energy he had. Logan stood, cradling Deceit’s head as he sat down on the bed and laid it in his lap. Deceit squeaked in surprise, but Logan’s fingers started carding through his hair and all the tension in his body released as the snakelike side fell into a deep, comfortable sleep, the thorns in his lungs dissolved the moment Logan had uttered the words.

Logan stayed there for hours, soon falling asleep himself as he enjoyed the freedom from the itch in his lungs, and the comfort from the warmth growing in his heart.

For so long he’d disparaged it, but perhaps love wasn’t so bad after all.

[the-toppat-king]

Chapter Three: Conversations

Henry tried to ignore Reginald's presence as he worked out a possible plan for the Clan after the abrupt change in leadership.

First thing to deal with was Charles and the General. Okay so maybe saving them wasn't a great idea, but he couldn't just let them die, especially not like that. It was cruel and pointless. Death should be fast and painless if possible, that was one moral of the Toppats that stuck with him.

You don't make people suffer needlessly. Even the "ceremony" of dethroning a leader was typically falling to their death(or a shot to the head if necessary, usually only if the leader was being a direct threat and it couldn't be done traditionally. One thing Henry did remember about Terrence's death was his threat to shoot Reginald the second he had a chance), sure it was terrifying, but hitting the ground usually killed them instantly. Sometimes they even passed out before hitting the ground. It was generally fast and there wasn't much pain involved there.

Henry sighed, running a hand through his hair and pulling his turtleneck up a bit higher as a feeble attempt at comfort. At least Reginald wasn't trying to make conv-

"What happened to you?"

Dammit.

Henry just glanced at Reginald with a shrug, feigning a "I have no clue what you're talking about" look. He had a feeling it wasn't going to fool him, but he didn't know how to even start explaining anything. There wasn't really much to talk about, until he successfully stole the Tunisian Diamond he was just a petty thief going about his life. He'd gotten into a few scraps, been betrayed once or twice by fellow criminals and just...survived. Henry was nothing if not resilient.

"You know what I'm talking about." Reginald leaned back in his seat, looking over a floor plan of some kind. Henry did appreciate that Reginald was willing to help him with mapping and planning, at least. "You don't really act like a Toppat anymore."

"Out there," Henry managed to rasp out, refusing to look up at him. "That gets you killed."

"Is that what happened to your throat?" Reginald asked, eyeing him. "I saw the scar. You hid it well but nothing gets past me. I also notice that you're quite defensive. You've been in your fair share of fights, haven't you?"

Henry shrugged, falling back on signing. "Would try to talk my way out of confrontation at first. Tried talking my way out of a fight after a bigger guy thought I was challenging him and he decided I talk too much. Went straight for the throat, I'm lucky my voice box was only damaged and not completely ruined. Prison doctor fixed me up but talking hurts."

"Your selective mutism got better?" Reginald brightened a bit.

Henry shook his head. "Had to force myself to talk, no matter how hard it is. Not many people understood sign language."

Reginald frowned. "You shouldn't have had to do that."

"I did what was necessary to survive."

"You could have come home."

"Was it still home for me?" Henry frowned.

"Of course!" Reginald stood up abruptly, making Henry tense up again. "You were always welcome back here, Henry, you're a Toppat. How could we blame you for leaving when you were only a child at the time?" Realizing he had startled him, he sighed and sat back down, reaching for his hand. Henry jerked back, eyebrows furrowing with a frown on his face, and Reginal took a breath. "Henry, I wish I had told you what was going on. I wish I'd taken better care of you after Terrence died, maybe then you wouldn't have felt the need to run. But I didn't and I paid for that dearly, and I promise I'm not going to make that same mistake and leave you to handle this all on your own. Right and I are going to be right here to help you with all this."

Henry nodded, the smallest smile on his face.

"Now!" Reginald grinned. "I think we have a couple government workers to drop off and a heist to plan before we start laying low a while."

Henry nodded again with renewed vigor. If there was one thing he knew, it was how to pull off a good heist.

______________________________________

It'd probably been a little over two weeks since Henry had taken over the Toppat Clan

Reginald, Right and Sven's assistance had started to make him much more confident in his abilities as a leader, and while the Toppats were certainly hesitant at first, they certainly weren't complaining about anything. They were especially much happier once Charles and Galeforce were gagged and dropped off in a rural town and Henry had pulled off his first successful heist as leader of the Toppat Clan.

(Henry adding the Tunisian Diamond to their collection of treasures also certainly helped. Right and Reginald were quite surprised that he'd gotten his hands on it and gotten away.)

Of course they weren't happy about laying low until investigations died down. But the complaints stopped when they heard that Dmitri Petrov, warden of the Wall, was involved. If you were sent to the Wall, there was no coming back.

You either died of illness or old age or you were killed through freezing, starvation or abuse. Not even the best Toppats could escape there, and that was considering they'd had spies there for years trying to save captive members. Henry had heard horror story after horror story, each worse than the last.

He would never want any of the Toppats under his command to end up there. It was a death sentence.

"It's not getting any better." Right sighed, sitting down across from him. "T'ey're getting too close, t'ey're gonna catch someone at this rate."

Henry shook his head, poking at his food a bit as he tried to figure out a way to keep the Clan safe. They had been talking about just leaving the planet entirely, launching a base into space and only coming down for heists, but even with their resources it would take time to prepare.

"Stop picking at your food and eat." Reginald scolded, elbowing him. "If I find out you've gone more than twenty four hours without eating I swear I'll-"

"Okay, Mom." Henry laughed a bit. At least warming back up to his family hadn't taken long. They weren't as different as he thought they'd be: Right was still stern and hid his emotions and Reginald was still a damn mother hen who would kill for the Clan. "Is it possible to speed up preparations?"

"Yeah, but it'll be risky." Right frowned. "We could lose people."

"What if we recruited more members?" Sven asked. "The more people we have with us, the smoother and faster we can get off the planet."

"That's also risky." Reginald sighed. "We'd be putting our trust in complete strangers, and who's to say the government won't sneak in some spies?"

Henry tapped the table, before starting to sign. "Speeding up preparations is risky because we might draw attention, right? What if we set something up to distract them while we finished?"

The three stared at him.

"A...distraction? What, are you going to dance for them?" Sven asked, raising an eyebrow.

"We could have a small group or two hit spots away from the jungle then it'll be harder for the Government to realize that we're trying to leave." He continued. "If the Clan agrees it's worth the risk, I'll lead a group them myself to cause problems until you give us the all clear."

"No way!" Reginald stared at him. "Henry, you could be killed!"

"But w'at choice 'ave we, Reg?" Right sighed. "We're running out of places and ways to 'ide. 'Enry's smart enough to avoid capture, 'e managed to avoid us for twenty years."

"Trust me, Reginald." Henry grinned. "It'll be a cold day in hell when they get their hands on me!"

Reginald looked between the three and sighed. "Just...be careful. Please. I don't want to lose you again."

______________________________

"Are you sure about this, Charlie?"

"We have to do something, General, I'll be fine!" Charles smiled despite General Galeforce's concerned expression. "It's just a week, anyway. And there's no better time than now, the Toppats have been laying low a lot lately."

The Toppats have been hiding for two weeks now, and didn't look like they were going to be coming out any time soon, which meant they had an opening. Galeforce had been suspicious of The Wall for a couple months now. While Dmitri did a great job containing dangerous criminals, it wasn't all them. There had been more and more reports of mistreatment and cruel punishment for minor crimes.

So Charles was posing as a petty thief, by all means someone they shouldn't give a shit about. His job was simple, get "arrested", record how inmates were treated, grab some files and get the fuck out.

"If they get violent at any point-"

"I'll get out and call, I've got this." Charles promised cheerfully. "I can do it, I do sorta owe some field work for the helicopter."

He had been so lucky not to be discharged for that.

General Galeforce sighed, leaning back into his chair.

"Just...be careful. Please."