#OVERWATCH┊ ❛ to be captured would mean the end of the game. ❜

[wildissylupus]

re: scraping genji off the concrete

i was talking to my friends in my discord server abt how demonized ashe is for being a loud country woman who’s also in a position of power

i was bringing up how characters like hanzo and gabriel get their actions excused because they’re attractive men and i was like “yeah people hate ashe for slighting cassidy but apparently thats way worse than hanzo literally hacking away at his younger brother with a sword?”

like i feel like people undermine how brutal it was like he didn’t just stab him one and done it was a massive fight and genji has everlasting scars + his legs are either very broken or cut off considering he mentions wanting to walk again in retribution

and yeah i get it GENJI forgives hanzo but i don’t

Yeah I do agree that people forget how brutal what Hanzo did to Genji was. It was too the point where it was only Angela who could save him. In a world where medical technology has far surpassed our own, do you know how bad it would have to be where only one of the worlds best doctors can save you? It would be bad-

I found a post awhile ago that goes into Genji's cybernetics and what would have been injured;

Yes's it's speculation but it's still worth noting that Genji lost more than half his body mass.

And with Gabe he was pulling a bunch of Bullshit before he even joined Talon. Going behind Jack's back, the Rialto incident, actively putting more people in danger by not thinking things through to point he should have. Let's not forget the little comments he makes towards Genji about Hanzo, and the fact that he let Moira into Blackwatch, someone who no one trusted and who ended being the catalyst of Talon infultrating Overwatch.

Contrast this to what Ashe has done, which is gang activity and being mad at Cole. It really is kind of unfair how the treatment of the two is so different. Yes it's hinted that Ashe somewhat lost her way in the early days of Deadlock's founding;

Putting the gang in danger and possibly even getting some members killed because she was going bigger and bigger too quickly. This didn't just cause problems with law either, but with other gangs too;

Deadlocks rapid growth got them being attacked from all sides, but do you know what she does in contrast to Hanzo? In contrast to Gabe?

She realised that what she what she was doing wasn't working, she look at what she was doing, corrected it, then went for a more diplomatic approach. Ensuring the safety of both her gang, her family, but other gangs around the west too. After Gabe and Hanzo lost something they seemed to just double down and accept what happened while also trying to do something that at least gave the choices they made meaning. Trying to at the very least get something out of what they lost.

Ashe lost Cassidy. Though I don't think that is the only reason Ashe took the diplomatic approach, personally I think Cassidy and Ashe had a fight about morals and what was happening with the gang before he was captured and that's why she took the diplomatic approach, because she knew Cassidy was right. Either way she didn't double down, she looked at her behaviour and corrected.

Honestly the whole situation with Hanzo is going to be interesting, people say that the interactions in game between Hanzo and the other members shows that he'd get along with everyone instantly. But I think that would only be true for Mei, everyone else who were close to Genji while he was in Blackwatch are going to be very distrusting at first. Hell the fact that Angela and Hanzo have not interactions says to me that if they interact outside of story missions it would be a spoiler. (I am of the opinion that Cassidy and Angela are going to meet Hanzo together purely because Genji needs someone to stop Angela from committing a murder)

I think people forget that Genji forgiving Hanzo is a big thing for Genji's development, not just Hanzo's, and I do think that people are expecting them to get along like brothers when that dynamic can't really happen, I think it's part of the reason the writers added in the "your like a brother to me" interaction with Cassidy and Genji. It's also why I like that Kiriko was introduced, it gives Hanzo the ability to have a familial connection again. Neither of them can forget the damage that has been done, even before Hanzo tried to kill Genji.

I personally look at Hanzo and Genji in the same way I look at Cassidy and Ashe. Yes, they can become close again, but things can never go back to the way they were. Trust has been broken, people have changed and damage has been done. All they can do is move forward, with, or without each other.

[locatcm]

@dynamiteabs​​ // Starter Call

Trouble. She’d like to say that she could sense it from a mile away, most others would call her a paranoid wreck but it was painfully obvious to anyone in a five mile radius that the man before her was certainly trouble. Call it a hunch. Cynthia called it far too much time spent with the wrong kind of people.

“You should be careful around that. It’s not exactly stable.”

[scripttorture]

One of the central characters in a fantasy story I'm writing has torture as part of her backstory. She was captured by an evil race, and one individual in particular put her through a "training" regime designed to turn her into a useful/trustworthy slave. Specifically the goals of the training were:

- destroy her sense of self / agency

- overwrite her ingrained response of healing herself when injured (she has magical healing powers)

- an affectionate or worshipful disposition towards her captors

- immediate obedience to any command

I feel like both physical and psychological torture / mental conditioning are probably appropriate, though I'm leaning away from including sexual abuse. I honestly don't know much about torture at all and the only things that come to mind as producing a result similar to what I'm looking for are the Game of Thrones torture sequence and the use of obdience collars in the Codex Alera book series. The latter is very interesting to me because it is a magical device that inflicts pain in reaction to disobedience but also inflicts pleasure to reward obedience.

I guess I'm just wondering if you have any advice for what kinds of methods would be good to include in a process designed to produce obedience, rather than torture for its own sake or to extract information, as well as if there are any common pitfalls I should try to avoid in writing about such a thing.

The training itself won't be in the book, but I need to be familiar with it for backstory purposes because later in the story this character encounters her torturer again, and is subjected to some further abuse before she finally overcomes her fear and kills him.

Alright well I’m going to be straight up with you: the scenario you’ve presented is a very common torture apologist trope. It’s incredibly unrealistic. And it’s unrealistic in ways that support torture by claiming it can be ‘useful’.

 Which probably means that you’re new to the blog and haven’t heard me give this talk before. That’s OK, we all learn sometime and it’s not my intention to shame you for the fact you’re not as obsessed with this stuff as I am or couldn’t afford to shell out for the books.

 Torture does not produce obedience. The best evidence we have right now suggests it encourages active resistance.

 If you got a lot of your inspiration from Game of Thrones then frankly I’m not surprised you came up with apologia. The torture in that series is incredibly badly handled. And a big part of the point of running this blog is that most people are getting their information on torture from shows like that. Which happens because the research is inaccessible and hasn’t been popularised the way fictional tropes (sometimes fictional tropes literally started by torturers) have been popularised.

 The important thing is what you choose to do now.

 I’m going to break down the problems here and make some suggestions for what you could do instead.

 Firstly: there is no torture or abuse that will guarantee obedience. Pain does not make people meek or compliant or willing to follow commands.

 Torture survivors are not broken.

 They are not ‘controlled’ by their torturers and the suggestion that they are is used in the real world to bar real survivors from treatment. It is also used to bar them from entering safe countries and to argue that they shouldn’t be allowed visas or passports.

 The best statistics we have for any sort of compliance under torture come from analysis of historical French data where torture was used to try and force confessions (something we know torture can sometimes do).

 The ‘success’ rate averaged at 10%. Under torture 90% of people will not comply long enough to sign their name.

 Secondly: torture does not and can not ‘make’ a victim feel ‘worshipful’ towards their torturer. The suggestion is kind of like asking if someone can tap dance immediately after removing the bones from their legs.

 Torturers have no control over a victim’s emotions. They have no control over their symptoms. They have no control over their beliefs.

 And there is no such thing as a torture that can change someone’s mind in a way torturers can control.

 Once again, this fictional trope is used by politicians and the media to justify marginalising real torture survivors.

 I have read hundreds, possibly thousands, of accounts from torture survivors. I’ve read historic and modern accounts. I’ve read accounts from all sort of people from all over the globe. I have never seen a survivor say anything positive about their torturers. I have never seen anything close to toleration.

 A lot of survivors are blisteringly angry at their torturers. A lot of them feel overwhelming levels of spite and some report literally putting themselves at risk of death in order to spite their torturers. And yes, a lot of them are afraid too. None of these emotions are mutually exclusive.

 Affection is impossible. We are not wired that way.

 Thirdly: I understand that ‘evil races’ are a long standing fantasy trope but it would be remiss of me if I didn’t mention the racism inherent in that idea. That some people are ‘born bad’.

 I’d strongly suggest you look up the Black, Indian and First Nations people that I know are on this site critiquing these kinds of fantasy tropes. Because they will be able to explain it better then I can.

 Fourthly: the term ‘psychological torture’ is a pretty common dog whistle for torture apologia.

 Most of the time tortures that people dub ‘psychological’ are things with real, physical effects that lead to lasting injury and death. They just don’t tend to leave obvious external scars. I use Rejali’s term ‘clean torture’ for these techniques. Researchers distinguish them from scarring tortures because they are harder to detect and prove in court.

 The majority of survivors today will have experienced clean torture. They will have no obvious physical scars. But they will still be disabled. They’re ‘just’ less likely to see any form of justice for it.

 Fifthly: torture is a terrible training method because it decreases a person’s ability to learn.

 Torture causes memory problems. It also often causes lasting physical injuries that make performing basic tasks more difficult. And it causes a lot of serious psychological problems which make performing basic tasks more difficult.

 A trained person who was never tortured will always out perform someone whose training involved torture.

 I probably sound quite angry here.

 I write fantasy and I also write about torture a lot. But I can’t imagine that it’s just flavour for a fantasy world or some artefact of the past. Torture is a real, present threat in the country that I grew up in. If I was to return now I could, literally, be tortured and executed.

 If you want to include torture in your world, in your story then you are committing to telling someone else’s story. You are representing an incredibly marginalised group of people and you are presenting that representation to a third group, one that has never had contact with real torture survivors.

 Are you comfortable with the idea of telling your peers that survivors are still controlled by ‘the enemy’? That they’re passive? That they don’t have the capacity to make their own decisions?

 Are you comfortable knowing that the popularity of this message keeps millions of genocide survivors in refugee camps, blocked from citizenship, aid and safety?

 I understand feeling attached to a story and a character. And I understand that this information is hard to find. Hell I’m probably going to end up with the only English copy of one of the pivotal textbooks because I’m shelling out to get it translated.

 You say you want to write a torture survivor. With respect I don’t think you know what a torture survivor looks like.

 I think the most helpful, and kindest, thing I can do here is describe what torture does to people. Because I can’t tell you whether that’s something you want to write. I could try and rebuild this scenario for you (and if you decide you’re interested in that after reading all of this and all the links then I suggest looking through the blog tags for ICURE, torture as training, Black Widow and Overwatch.) But I think you need to decide whether you actually want to write a torture survivor first.

 Here’s a post on the most common torture apologia tropes.

 Here’s the post on the types of memory problems torture commonly causes. I strongly recommend picking at least one.

 Remember that this would never go away. Improvement and recovery in torture survivors means learning to live with symptoms. The symptoms themselves are permanent.

 It’s a hundred different alarms set up on their phone to try and make up for the forgetfulness that makes them miss appointments. It’s the little bottle of perfume in their pocket to bring themselves back to reality when they get intrusive memories at work.

 Here’s a post on the other common symptoms.

 You want something in the range of 3-5 of those, though more are likely if your character is held for years. Each of them should be severe. Every single symptom should have a large, negative, impact on the character’s daily life.

 Do you know anyone with chronic pain? It warps their world. Work can become impossible. Basic household tasks like getting dressed, cooking, cleaning the dishes are done through gritted teeth or not at all. Hobbies and ‘fun’ activities dwindle as they struggle to find a way to do them that doesn’t hurt. Interaction with other people, even loved ones, can easily become barbed.

 Because the pain makes everything more difficult. It means everything takes more energy, more effort. Which means that things fall by the wayside, whether that’s by a pile of mouldering dishes in the sink or snapping at a child. It means tears and the social judgement that follows them. It means the world narrowing as it gets harder to go out.

 Do you see what I mean? Every part of life.

 That’s an example for one symptom. You need to work out at least four. Then figure out how they interact. Then figure out what the character can do to make her life better.

 With chronic pain that can mean painkillers but it’s always more then that. It’s re-learning how to do things; how to put on trousers without aggravating the bad knee, how to sew with one hand. It means learning to cut down on what they do and it means learning a new sort of flexibility; accepting that there are days when the pain is too much.

 It can mean having the same conversation about disability over and over again. With family, with friends, with colleagues. ‘I can’t do that.’ ‘I can do that sometimes but not always.’ ‘That will hurt me.’ ‘I can’t use that chair.’ ‘I can’t get my arms that high above my shoulders.’ ‘I need help with this.’

 And that sometimes means learning a kind of patience that is really barely held back rage. Or perhaps I’m projecting a little with this last one.

 If you’ve never met a torture survivor, if you’ve never looked at a survivor’s work, then all this is difficult. You’re trying to imagine something from first principals with nothing to fall back on.

 So let’s bring some survivors into the discussion here. Some reality.

 Who’s listened to Fela? How about Bobi Wine?

 Fela Kuti was the father of modern Afro beats music. He was tortured multiple times and during one attack, which destroyed his home, his mother was murdered by the military. When he got out of jail Fela marched her funeral procession past the biggest barracks in Nigeria’s biggest city. He wrote two songs about this attack and he doubled down on his opposition to the military government.

 Fela’s music started causing riots.

 You can read what I have to say about him here. You can listen to his music on youtube.

 Here’s an interview with Bobi Wine, which was conducted shortly after he was tortured in Uganda. He talked about how he was determined to go back and continue fighting. Which he did. He even ran against the president.

 I’ve also got a short piece on Searle who was a cartoonist captured by the Japanese during World War 2. His drawings of what happened in To the Kwai and Back are worth seeing. Especially if you want to write atrocities on this scale. They will show you the scale and how to focus on the small, human elements despite that overwhelming scale.

 Alleg’s The Question is pretty much a must, it’s one of the most thorough accounts from the Franco-Algerian war.

 Monroe’s A Darkling Plain is also a must, it’s a series of interviews with survivors of various different conflicts and atrocities. Some are torture survivors. Some are not. It is essential reading because it shows the variety in survivors as well as giving a sense of their lives beyond the symptoms.

 Finally Amnesty International has literally hundreds of interviews and studies available for free online.

 The most important decision for any story with regards to torture is whether it should be there at all.

 So much of this topic is intimidating and so much of it is difficult to write. Not just in the ‘oh this is horribly effecting’ sense but in the ‘I have twelve things to juggle in this simple scene’ sense.

 Ask yourself what torture adds to this character and this story. What does this backstory actually give this character?

 Because if the point is to have her vulnerable and then ultimately triumphing violently over her attackers I don’t think you want a torture scenario. You could get the same thing from a bad guy trying to drug her and having the kidnapping fail when she fights him off, clumsy but effective nonetheless.

 And she could still come out of something like that traumatised.

 Right now I really don’t see this adding anything but torture apologia to your story.

 Handling torture well in a story means accepting that it can’t be the same story without it. It means watching the characters and narrative warp under the weight of it. It means lasting effects, for all the characters and for the world itself.

 I believe you are capable of writing that if you want to, pet. But this ain’t it.

Edit: I’m having trouble seeing the beginning of the answer here. Can anyone let me know if there are formatting issues again please? The first word in the htmal is ‘Alright’ but what I’m seeing on tumblr starts 8 paragraphs in.

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[yehet-about-it]

Chase Me | Part 06 - Holding Back

⇐ || ☆ Masterlist ☆ || ⇒

🎮👾 ~ The Boyz Social Media AU ~ 👾🎮

"Twitching" is a British term used to mean "the pursuit of a previously located rare bird." In North America it is more often called chasing...

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*･ﾟ✧･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*･ﾟ✧･ﾟ

Synopsis: You are Birdy, international twitch streamer, personality and photographer and a few years ago you attended art school, where you met your best friends Changmin and Chanhee. Since then you’ve had a lot of laughs, and were introduced to another twitch streamer by Changmin, called Sunwoo, who quickly became the sunshine of your life. Sadly however, Sunwoo is a bit of a fuckboy, so, it was with regret, that you felt it was time to end things. As you recover from your break up, new feelings arise, and you slowly learn of the long hidden affections of one of your best friends. Will you allow yourself to be captured by him? And what happens when what was supposed to be an innocent twitch stream goes very awry? Read "Chase Me" to find out!

Pairings: Changmin x Reader, Sunwoo x Reader

Warnings: 17+, language, some smut in later chapters, fuckboy!sunwoo 😉

Updates Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday & Sunday @ 9pm GMT/1pm PST

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*･ﾟ✧･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*･ﾟ✧･ﾟ

Word Count: 1.1k Chapter Warnings: None Reccommended Listening: skeletons by keshi OR apocalypse by Cigarettes After Sex (cheerful titles I know)

“So what’s with everyone shipping you and jeju now? I saw a bunch of posts on twitter,” Changmin said, leaning back against the cushions on his bed, attentively licking the soft, yellow-ey ice cream off his spoon. You snorted, having found the whole situation quite funny, albeit rather sweet. “It was because of the stream the other day.” You laughed. “He was online streaming too and I bumped into him so we decided to work on this little village together. It was very wholesome.” You turned to Changmin with a spoonful of strawberry ice cream and gave him your dorkiest little smile, to which he grinned. “Ohh so that’s what Kevin was going on about. Sorry, I didn’t watch it, I kinda got absorbed playing Overwatch with Seonni.” Changmin’s face dropped as he realised what he’d just said, but you didn’t really mind. He was friends with the both of you and you couldn’t blame him for that. He looked at you apologetically but you just smiled, swallowing down your ice cream. “Don’t worry about it. You really don’t have to be so careful about what you say around me you know. It’s not like I’m gonna break down at the mere mention of his name. You two are close and that’s fine.” You said determinedly. “Sorry, I just wasn’t sure how you were feeling about it now.” He swallowed, still feeling guilty.

“It’s okay....” you uttered slowly, contemplating your next words. “Actually, can I ask you something?” You murmured your words, still not quite convinced you really wanted to know the answer to what you were about to ask. You knew you ought not to, but some part of you was desperate to know. Changmin hummed in response. “Sure!” “H-has he said anything about me? Like, do you think he’s totally over it or...?” Changmin raised his eyebrows at your questions. “It’s just I’ve not exactly spoken to him since... but I wanna know if he’s okay.” You babbled, trying to justify asking, not only to Changmin but to yourself too.

Changmin gulped down his last spoonful of ice cream, not sure quite how to respond. Sunwoo had been pretty down of course, but he wasn’t entirely sure that was something you needed to hear. It would only add to the mess of emotions you were feeling right now, and perhaps even make you doubt yourself for breaking up with him in the first place, which Changmin couldn’t bring himself to let you do. Not only for your sake but his own. He knew he shouldn’t let his personal feelings get in the way; in fact he’d spent the past year leaving his own feelings on the back shelf, because he just wanted you to be happy, so why stop now? But now even though Sunwoo was his best friend, he couldn’t let you go back to him, because he knew in his heart of hearts if you were to get back together Sunwoo would only end up hurting you again and he couldn’t face that possibility. Changmin had spent months trying to ignore his own feelings because he thought that maybe Sunwoo had changed, and that maybe the two of you would be happy together, but in hindsight, he wished he hadn’t. In fact, there was part of him that regretted ever having introduced the two of you at all. Not only had Sunwoo stolen the girl he adored from right under his nose, he’d also broken your heart.

Changmin’s mind waged a mental war over whether to give Sunwoo a chance and tell the whole truth, or let his personal feelings surface and encourage you to move on, but looking down at your big sad eyes staring back at him, his mind was made up. “He’s not really said a lot to be honest, but that’s just Sunwoo, he doesn’t like talking about his feelings.” Changmin began evasively, watering down the truth somewhat, for his own sake and yours. “I mean, he seems pretty down but I think that’s just down to his bruised ego.” Changmin stated. Technically he wasn’t lying. Sunwoo’s ego had been bruised by the break up for sure, but he’d been a little more vocal with his emotions than Changmin let on. He’d certainly told him that he missed you, but whether it was for the right reasons Changmin wasn’t sure.

“Oh. That’s fair... Well, thanks for telling me Q.” You said slowly. You didn’t really know how to react to Q’s information. In a sense it confirmed what you had already suspected - that he wasn’t totally heartbroken about the whole thing, but you were pleased to hear he was at least a little upset. “Sure.” Changmin replied, snapping the lid back on his carton of ice cream. “You wanna play some overwatch?”

Changmin stood up from his bed, taking the ice cream cartons into the kitchen after you nodded at him, returning a moment later with one of New’s big fluffy blankets grabbing the xbox controller off the tv stand on his way. Plopping back down on the bed, Changmin threw the blanket over you, allowing you to huddle closer to him for warmth and comfort before starting up the game.

After a couple of hours taking turns on Overwatch and Changmin helping you out here and there, being the more experienced player, it was Changmin’s turn again and you felt yourself getting sleepy. You were already lying comfortably under the blanket, your head resting on the pillow by changmin’s arm, and within mere minutes you were fast asleep.

When Changmin’s match ended, he looked to you to give you the controller, only then realising that you were no longer in the land of the conscious. Chuckling softly at your sleeping frame, he went to switch the tv and xbox off, and slipped on a change of shirt before crawling back onto the bed next to you. As he looked down at your peaceful face, nestling into his pillow, he couldn’t bring himself to wake you and decided that it would probably be okay to let you stay there for the night. He smiled to himself, overwhelmed by how good it felt to have you there with him, snuggled into his covers next to him like you were really his. But it was then the guilt set in. Here he was, with his best friend’s ex-girlfriend lying asleep in his bed, having just helped convince her that he was over her, and as the waves of guilt came crashing over him, Changmin knew he was in for a long night.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*･ﾟ✧･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*･ﾟ✧･ﾟ

Taglist: @lovelymultiwrites @shiberrysan @m4rshm4llow @softforqiankun @sktbzc0re @staysstrays @softyfor-sweaterpaws @glxwingstar @chiefturtlebonkghost

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[thebrighteye]

Breaking [My Heart]: Act VI Yielding

“There's nothing simple when it comes to you and I, Always something in this everchanging life” - Everchanging [Rise Against] Winston has issued the recall towards rebuilding Overwatch. Angela - formerly known as “Mercy” - is captured by Talon, who are searching for any information that can stop the rise before it begins.

AO3 | FF.net | Works | Pandora Playlist

Trigger Warnings & General Statements This is a dark torture story. As such, there's going to be bad things happening - for the sake of not spoiling, I will not tag what, exactly will be appearing at any time. While I don't think any of the scenes are terribly graphic in nature, I do want to stress that the scenes are present and aren't for everyone. I did try to make the reactions and trauma realistic, following both real-world medicine / research and in-game universe canon (such as Angela's nanotechnology). There will be multiple POVs per chapter - two sets for both Angela and Reaper as well as a fifth from an additional character. Please, read at your own risk - and enjoy!

Here’s my chance for a new beginning I saved the best for a better ending And in the end I’ll make it up to you, you’ll see You’ll get the very best of me - One Day Too Late [Skillet]

He’d watched Baptiste go with some trepidation. What if he called Talon and told them where they were? Sure, they hadn’t been greeted by a strike team when he’d walked through the door, but that didn’t mean there wouldn’t be one sent now. But the only choices had been to send Baptiste out for the necessary supplies or go himself - and he was hesitant to leave Angela without protection, especially with someone he didn’t trust. He barely trusted Sombra, because he knew that she had her own agenda. Each person she had used to get them here was just another person that could sell them out. There were too many moving pieces that left her vulnerable. There were plenty of people - on both sides of the fence - that would love to get their hands on Angela as she was now. With that in mind, he set about securing the apartment as best as possible. He pulled the curtains closed - and then, for good measure, pinned them into place with some needles pilfered from Baptiste’s bag. It wouldn’t help against infrared sights like Widowmaker had, but it couldn’t hurt. Gabriel wanted to move the bed away from the window, make shooting Angela even more of an impossibility, but it just wasn’t possible. Perhaps he and Baptiste would be able to manage it once she was more aware. He pulled up a chair, placing it between Angela and the window so that - should there be a shot - he or Baptiste would, hopefully, take the bullet for her. Because of the angle it sat at, it was impossible to see into the next room when seated; he didn’t like that, either, but there was only so much he could do. After moving quickly through the rest of the small apartment, tugging the curtains closed as he had in the bedroom and hiding away various sharp objects, he returned into the bedroom and gently closed the door behind him. He stalked around the bed to settle on the chair, pulling out one of his shotguns and laying it on the nightstand - as far from Angela as he could - for easier access. Then he had nothing left to do but wait. He wasn’t sure what, exactly, would come first: Baptiste’s return or Angela’s awakening.

---

Angela had fallen into an uneasy sleep about fifteen minutes ago, going from lazy stillness to nervous twitching. Gabriel had called out to her softly, but she hadn’t reacted to his voice or her name. He watched her as she shifted and breathed shakily, clearly having another of her terrible dreams. Angela was no stranger to bad dreams - he had woken her from, or had been woken by, those dreams once upon a time - so he wasn’t sure if waking her would be the right call. She needed the rest - meager as it was - so Gabriel decided to leave her alone. If she started crying or screaming, he could wake her then. Two knocks at the front door had him pushing to his feet. He was standing in the bedroom doorway, shotgun in hand, as the front door opened. He kept the gun at his side - it was probably Baptiste because what kind of strike team knocked? - as he tugged the bedroom door shut behind him. Indeed, it was Baptiste; the Haitian man raised his hands slightly as if to show he wasn’t a threat. Baptiste opened his mouth, but then seemed to think better of it; instead, he turned to go into the kitchen and put away whatever it was that he had bought. Gabriel planned to watch him - as if he hadn’t left Baptiste unsupervised while he was out getting supplies - but he heard Angela make a small noise of fear. He turned away from the medic to reenter the bedroom. “Angela?” Gabriel kept his voice soft; he wasn’t sure if she was still asleep or reacting to her new surroundings. Her body tensed at his voice; she was awake, then. Gabriel was grateful for the quiet return. Talking her down from the nightmares was more challenging when he probably was her nightmare. “It’s alright, Angela,” he murmured as she opened her eyes and stopped pretending that she was sleeping. Warily, she scanned the room. “You’re safe.” Gabriel could see the doubt in her eyes and couldn’t blame her; what reason had he given her to trust him? None. He’d betrayed her at every turn - how could she believe that he was telling the truth now? Her eyes hardened as she stared at his right hand; he’d forgotten that he was holding a gun. “It’s not - I’m not going to shoot you, Angela.” Gabriel knew Angela and her moods better than anyone, and not even he could determine what flashed across her face. He could, however, tell what it wasn’t: relief. In the short time he had left Talon base for that failed mission in Russia, she had lost her fire. He had watched the recording of her ‘execution’; he’d seen the relief at the threat of the gun and the sheer despair when it was a lie. It was what kept him from setting the gun anywhere within her reach. Gabriel wasn’t sure if she’d use it against him or herself - or both. He’d gamble with his life, but he was done gambling with hers. Instead, he holstered it. He watched her face carefully, but Angela was no longer looking at him. She was looking around, searching the walls for whatever it was that helped her mind escape and generally doing anything to keep her eyes from landing on his form. He could tell, though, by the rigid way she held herself and the tightness in her eyes, that Angela was very aware of him. She would react to any movement, no matter how small. Baptiste knocked on the door frame, drawing Angela’s panicked attention as the medic paused just outside the room. He saw the recognition that changed to pain - betrayal - in her eyes as she took in the Haitian man, and then she was walled away again as she turned away to stare at the ceiling. Gabriel hadn’t realized Angela would know the man Sombra had sent. That new knowledge had him stalking across the room, forcing himself to ignore the way she flinched away and turn his back on her for a brief moment. “She knows you?” He whispered furiously, angling himself again so that he could watch her. Now that she was free, unbound, he worried about what she might do to herself. “We worked together once, about a year ago,” Baptiste replied, leaning against the door with his arms crossed as he kept his eyes fixed on him; Gabriel could understand his wariness. The Reaper was the biggest threat in the room. “Why?” The flippant tone made Gabriel want to throttle him. “Why?” Was he an idiot? “Look at her,” he ordered, one hand flying up to point in Angela’s direction. The woman flinched away - she was watching them, even when she didn’t appear to be. Baptiste frowned as he took in the broken woman again; her whole body radiated tension as she pointedly stared at the ceiling. When she thought they weren’t looking, she was stealing glances from her peripherals. Angela was still tense, trembling intermittently from the intensity, fists balled tightly; Gabriel doubted she even realized she was clenching them. “She doesn’t believe that any of this is real.” Every time she flinched and looked at him with those wounded eyes, he was reminded of it. He was the Reaper - Talon - and was not to be - could not be - trusted. Gabriel doubted she would believe it even if Cole Cassidy were to stroll in here right now and carry her away to whatever safe haven Overwatch had built. “She thinks you’re working with Talon.” It might be a misunderstanding, but right now, any misstep would further injure her. He was seething inside; she was hurt again after he had sworn she wouldn’t be. Baptiste sighed, deflating. He hadn’t been able to see what Angela was like when she was coherent - or, at least, whatever passed for coherency for her these days. “You need to get her help.” His cheerful attitude was gone, his face grave as he turned back to Gabriel. “Not this half-assed shit: real help.” Gabriel ground his teeth; what did this man think he was doing? It wasn’t like he had a lot of time - or many options. “I’m working on it.” The response was tight. If he could, he would just take her in to see a doctor. Gabriel wasn’t sure when it would ever be safe enough for her to be seen in such a manner, now that Talon had gotten its hooks in her. He wasn’t sure if she’d ever feel safe enough to leave whatever Watchpoint he’d end up delivering her to. Baptiste turned away without speaking. Gabriel wasn’t sure what he was going for, but he wasn’t going to leave Angela alone to find out. Instead, Gabriel strode back around the bed to sit in the chair at her side and pretended that she didn’t try to scoot away from him once he settled. Pretended he hadn’t heard the low, pained noise she had made when the movement hurt something - probably her knee. Pretended that she wasn’t tearing his heart out with every look and flinch.

---

Gabriel wished that he could call Sombra; that would make contacting Overwatch so much easier. Instead, he had to try and hunt them down the old fashioned way. That wasn’t - usually - a problem, but he usually didn’t have a half-dead doctor he was trying to hide. Normally he wasn’t on the run from Talon, either. If Overwatch had stayed at Watchpoint: Gibraltar, his life would have been easier - but then Talon’s task would have been, too. Now he was left trying to figure out what Watchpoint Winston might have chosen. He doubted they had moved too far, so he was pretty sure they were still somewhere in the European continent. That was still a good number of Watchpoints to look into - and all of them were on a completely different continent from him. Gabriel had briefly entertained the thought that they might create a new base, one that no one - not the UN, not the various enemies of Overwatch - knew about, but he had tossed the idea aside. The creation of a new base would take up time and resources that they just didn’t have now, especially once he considered how active many former members - like Reinhardt and Tracer - were in the search for Angela. There was the tip line that Tracer had spouted on behalf of the UN, but he was hesitant to use such a public method to reach out. There was no guarantee he would get someone he trusted to appear - and Gabriel wasn’t giving Angela to anyone he didn’t trust. Not even to Winston, though he knew Angela trusted the monkey and that she would be perfectly safe in his care. Gabriel didn’t trust it - never had and, at this point, never would - no matter how much Angela did. It had been hard enough to leave Angela in Baptiste’s care. Sombra had assured him that Baptiste only had Angela’s best interests at heart - had, in fact, tried to warn Angela that Talon was coming for her, though she had left out the part where they knew each other - but that didn’t mean Gabriel trusted him. Still, perhaps Angela would recover better without Gabriel - the Reaper - looming over her bedside. Hopefully, Angela would move past what appeared to be a betrayal by yet another person from her past. Hopefully, their shared history was positive enough to let her trust Baptiste in a way she no longer could trust Gabriel. He hated that he had broken that trust. He couldn’t change the past, though. He couldn’t take back the hateful things he did or said; all he could do now was try to make it better. That was why he was prowling in the dark, forgotten areas of the city. Even the precious “City of Harmony” couldn’t avoid crime; it was part of human nature. Instead, they pretended those places didn’t exist because they didn’t fit in the picture-perfect world they had created. Oh, the Reaper was sure that authorities tried to flush out these hot spots, but they would keep popping up. Eventually, they would give up, instead settling for knowing where the crime would be instead of trying to smother it, just like every other city in the world. Gabriel was hoping to find one of his contacts from his Blackwatch days. This contact was a shared one between many agents; Gabriel was sure that Cassidy had been one of the agents who used this particular man. If Cassidy was searching for Angela - and Gabriel knew he would be, even if he couldn’t be public about it - he’d have tapped any and all sources for help. Even if it were a tool he’d thought he’d thrown away long ago when he had left Blackwatch. Gabriel wouldn’t pass a message - no, that was too dangerous - but he might be able to get a location on the cowboy. All that would be left after that was contact and delivery; then Angela could, hopefully, be left in some semblance of peace.

Her eyes opened to blinding white lights. She became aware of her arms, straining at the shoulders from where she sagged against the chains that held her up; they shook with relief when she managed to brace her right leg on the slippery floor. Angela was dripping wet; they had just thrown the icy water over her, shocking her awake. Angela had known she would be back here. An escape had been too good to be true; Gabriel was dead and the Reaper had tricked her in such a vile way. Fingers dug into her cheeks painfully, forcing her head backward until her neck ached. “Didn’t I tell you, princess?” The Speaker was right in front of her, just out of sight due to the lights as he sneered. “We won’t let you go that easily.” He laughed, finding pleasure in her despair. Before he stopped, the strap with its many sharp edges cleaved into her back, tearing her back away one jagged gash at a time. Angela bit down on her lip, swallowing down a scream, as it all began again. She had to hold out and survive the pain and the overwhelming tide of despair. Questions. Pain. Silence. Drowning. Screaming. It felt like they had her for hours, the questions echoing and repeating around her as they hurt her. She hadn’t been able to keep back her sounds of pain, starting as whimpers and ending with throat-burning screams. It had to end soon, right? They always stopped, always gave her a short respite to recover and gather the ragged bits of herself back together. Shaking. She was shaking, a different voice calling over the Speaker. Angela blinked in confusion; no one but the Speaker talked to her during these sessions. When her eyes opened again, the blinding light and chains were gone. She was no longer hanging from chains but lying on something soft. Angela flinched back from the familiar man hovering over her, concerned as he looked down at her. Angela didn’t know how to handle such gentle emotions any longer - she didn’t believe in them enough to trust them after everything she had been through - so Angela turned her head slightly so she could stare at a wall instead. It wasn’t the same white wall she had become accustomed to. It was a beige color, textured instead of smooth concrete. “Dr. Ziegler?” Baptiste’s voice was hesitant as he removed his hand from her shoulder slowly; Angela hadn’t even realized he was touching her until the hand was removed - and wasn’t that foolish? He’d been shaking her, so of course he was touching her. She kept her eyes away from his form and instead swept them across the room, searching as she always did. Her friends had returned on the day of her ‘escape’ when the Reaper had been cleaning her body with painful gentleness. Angela vaguely remembered Baptiste. They had worked together some time ago, and he had seemed like a good man. But that he was here, in this room with her, meant that he couldn’t be trusted. This was a trap, a trick to get her to let her guard down and betray her friends - her true friends, not this one-time ally from some far off place and time. “Dr. Ziegler?” The man asked again. Angela glanced up towards him, body tensed and ready for the pain that had become expected. Her wary eyes met his concerned ones for a brief moment before glancing away again. Angela refused to speak because she knew that if she did, she might never stop. Instead, she looked around her new prison. It was a bedroom, she realized finally. She couldn’t see much from her prone position, but there were doorways and a small table - nightstand - next to the bed she laid in. The softness was alien and almost unbearable after so many days - weeks? Months? - sleeping on cold concrete or suspended by chains. “You may not remember me, doctor,” Baptiste’s voice was cheery, not at all deterred by her silence. Angela couldn’t tell if it was forced or real. “We worked together in Venezuela a year or so ago. My name is Baptiste.” He paused there, giving her time to respond if she so chose - which she did not. Once it was obvious she was planning to remain silent, Baptiste continued. “You’ve been sleeping a while, Dr. Ziegler. I’m sure you’re hungry.” At the reminder, her stomach suddenly made itself very known. Yes, she was hungry - not that she would admit it aloud. “If you’ll just wait right here, I’ll get that fixed right up. Sound good?” As if she were in any position to leave this bed. After another long moment of silence, Baptiste nodded once and left the room. Angela pressed her arms down against the mattress in an attempt to sit upright. Her body’s weakness and the pliable mattress made the attempt impossible. She wasn’t sure what she had expected; she had barely been capable of pushing herself off the hardened concrete to eat the last time they had fed her. When she finally lay still again, she was panting and shaking from the exertion. She had jostled her knee, which was now throbbing and pulsing in reprimand for her movements. But, Angela had discovered that she wasn’t restrained - except, of course, by her weak body. Her trembling hands explored the bed, marveling at the soft cloth and smooth sheets, before sliding to her body. There was some cloth covering her - a brief glance down showed some sort of green fabric. Angela marveled at that, too. It had been a long time since she had been clothed, since her naked body hadn’t been on display for everyone to see. Her fingers were playing with one of the buttons when Baptiste walked back in with a small tray. He placed the tray on a second table to her right, one that she hadn’t noticed when she was avoiding looking at him. “Now, unless you want to wear your food, you’re going to have to be sitting up.” Angela frowned; she had already tried that, which meant he would have to touch her again. As he reached out, Angela tensed. When his hands grabbed her with a careful, practiced touch, she began shaking, forcing him to pause. “It’s alright, doctor,” he soothed as he began lifting her despite her tension. “Just bear with me a little bit.” Angela stared past Baptiste towards the ceiling - and then the wall, once he had maneuvered her upright. “There we go!” Baptiste released her slowly, as if she would fall over without his support. Angela was leaning heavily against the pillows that he had propped behind her, so she was in no danger of falling. Once he was satisfied, he settled in a chair pulled up close to her bedside and grabbed a bowl from the tray he had brought in. “Now, I know, this isn’t exactly how you want to do this,” Baptiste said, scooping some broth up with a spoon and holding it up towards her face. “In a few days, you’ll be strong enough to do it yourself.” Angela didn’t want to eat, despite her hunger and weakness. Eating would prolong her existence and keep her in their clutches that much longer. But she knew what the consequences of not eating would be. Rough hands forcing her mouth open until her jaws creaked, food stuffed down her throat until she thought she would suffocate as she swallowed and swallowed to try and breathe. No, she didn’t want that. Resigned, she ate the broth he offered. The warmth soothed her throat - which she hadn’t even realized was sore - and pooled in her stomach comfortably. It tasted bitter, though; despite herself, she recoiled and glanced up at him in horror. What was in that liquid? Something to help calm her, to make her more pliable for their questions? He looked surprised, before realization crossed his face. “You probably can taste the supplements I added,” Baptiste explained hurriedly. “It’s nothing bad; just some extra protein and vitamins to help you recover.” He muttered something about the taste under his breath, but it was low enough that she didn’t catch all of it. “Seriously, look,” Baptiste ate a spoonful of the broth himself, as if to prove its safety; Angela knew that one spoonful was nothing compared to an entire bowl, but what could she do? Resigned, she went through the motions of eating as he fed her slowly - far slower than she was used to. Each time, the bitterness struck her and her anxiety spiked – but she couldn’t tell what the drug was doing to her. Perhaps he had been telling the truth, though Angela highly doubted it. Baptiste chattered brightly at her as she ate, but she wasn’t listening. Refused to listen, because Angela recognized it for the trap that it was. They had tried to break her with pain and death, but they had failed. Now, they were trying to break her with kindness and gentle hands. Angela wouldn’t allow that to happen; she had been through far too much to fail now. He was trying to befriend her, to get behind her walls to crack her open and reveal her secrets. Only one person had ever been capable of doing that - and he was dead, even though his body still roamed the Earth. Angela was surprised he wasn’t here, looming in a corner or hovering over her, trying to convince her that he was still Gabriel and not the Reaper. He’d sat with her the last time she’d woken, but, unlike Baptiste, he had barely spoken to her. He’d just sat there, brooding while she pretended he didn’t exist. She had found Ana then, perched on the dresser that was barely in her line of sight. Angela had let Ana soothe her until she could fall into an uneasy sleep - which Baptiste had helpfully woken her from. “Alright, all done.” Baptiste finally declared, setting the spoon and bowl back onto the tray. Angela’s hunger wasn’t satisfied, but that wasn’t unusual. Just like pain, hunger had become a constant companion to her these days. “Now.” Angela glanced towards him briefly - he was leaning forward slightly, looking a little uncomfortable. “Do you mind if I check your wounds and change your bandages?” She stiffened, eyes darting away to sweep the room again. No one was here - at least, not now. Perhaps they would arrive soon. “You’ve got some bad cuts there, doctor.” Baptiste continued carefully, when it was clear she wasn’t going to speak - or give any kind of permission at all. At least he was keeping his hands to himself while he was trying to convince her. “I just want to make sure they don’t get infected.” Infection was the least of her worries; in fact, if she were lucky - which she didn’t seem to be - an infection would kill her. Baptiste sighed. “Alright. It can wait a little while - but we have to check them soon.” Angela was surprised at the capitulation. She had expected him to press the matter - but that wasn’t how this worked, she realized. They wanted her comfortable, and forcing her into doing something wouldn’t meet that goal. That was why they’d brought in a familiar face to care for her, after all. They wanted her to let her guard down so that they could wean the information they wanted from her. He offered her the water, which she drank just as mechanically as she had the broth. Then, he chattered at her again, apparently unable to stand the silence. Angela tuned him out to the best of her ability as she looked around the room again. Still no one - not her friends nor the Reaper. Angela supposed the latter was a small mercy.

---

After each meal, Baptiste asked for her permission to look at her wounds. Finally, after her fourth meal – oatmeal, this time – he had pressed the matter. “I know it’s uncomfortable, Doctor,” Baptiste had said, carefully trying to pull the blanket away from her tight grip, “but your injuries need tending.” As a doctor, she knew that he was right. As a person, she didn’t care. It had taken him the better part of fifteen minutes to persuade her to let him pull away the blanket. He didn’t attempt to reach for her dress, not yet; instead, he turned his attention to her legs. Aside from the squares of gauze taped carefully to her skin, Angela’s legs were bare. Her eyes immediately fell on her knee, still a terrible purple-black and swollen even after – well, she didn’t actually know how long it had been since the Reaper had pulled her down from the chains. Baptiste noticed her attention and pulled out something. “I’ve got a brace for that,” he offered, holding up the object. “I wasn’t sure if I should put it on, considering the other wounds.” The brace would wrap and hold her knee in place, but it would also press against the half-healed burns and gashes still present. If she weren’t the patient, Angela would have put the brace on; the knee would continue to be damaged for as long as it was left free and unsupported. But, she was the patient – and she desperately wanted to die. Angela wouldn’t give him any advice towards her care, not even in this small thing that would only give her more comfort. If she broke her silence, she would be tempted again – and then they would have her. Instead, she ignored his unspoken question and let her gaze wander to the left, away from the man and his expectant gaze. Angela heard him sigh and set the brace down. She ignored the careful fingers that pulled the tape from her skin. Ignored the cool spread of ointment and the gentle, painful press where he held the gauze in place as he secured it. Once her legs were done, she tensed. Though Angela wanted to die – and, therefore, did not want medical attention – she especially didn’t want to be naked again. The dress was the only protection she had, besides her silence. It was flimsy and frail, but it was hers. Still, he persisted until the dress was unbuttoned and her bandages were bared. Angela glanced down at herself briefly – her broken skin was hidden from her by layers of gauze – before her gaze found the wall again. As Baptiste cut the gauze away, her attention was drawn towards the door; it had been left open by the man when he’d brought in her meal. Low voices, barely loud enough for Angela to hear, trickled into the room. “–ch longer—going to take?” Angela went cold. She had known that this was too good to be true. She had been trembling under Baptiste’s touch, but now she was shaking in pure fear. Until the day she died – which, hopefully, would be very soon – Angela would recognize the Speaker’s voice. “You—a month,” the Reaper growled back quietly. “Doctor?” Baptiste’s concerned voice drowned out whatever else the Reaper said to the Speaker. She couldn’t look away from the door, couldn’t stop straining to hear the words that would condemn her. She was panting heavily, eyes wide with terror as she cowered back from the door, even though it brought her closer to Baptiste. “–ot gonna–” The Speaker said, but Baptiste spoke over them again. “What is it?” He rose from his seat, the movement momentarily distracting Angela from the door and the monsters in the other room. Baptiste left everything as it was – gauze and tools laid about, her bandages partially cut away – as he grabbed a gun; she hadn’t noticed it since it had been propped up against the far side of the nightstand. Competent hands lifted the weapon as he stalked around the bed to investigate the other room. Angela wasn’t fooled; he was in on this charade. He was just acting for her benefit, to cover up the fact that this was a trick. She doubted that she was expected to hear the voices; they had been quiet and Baptiste had been distracting her with the stress of a bandage change. Her ears still strained to hear the words, but she couldn’t make any out. She could hear the voices of the Speaker and the Reaper, but their words were no longer intelligible between the roaring in her ears and their volume. Baptiste glanced into the other room cautiously before carefully exiting to ‘look’ more thoroughly. Angela looked away again; she couldn’t hear the words and she didn’t want to watch him come back in with his lies. Angela’s eyes cut across the bed towards the right side of the room – where Baptiste had just been sitting – and paused, fixated on the sheets next to her leg. He had left all of his supplies scattered around, including the bandage scissors he had been using to remove the gauze around her chest. Angela reached out for the tool with shaking fingers that steadied once she had it in hand. Relief chased away her terror, but she knew that she didn’t have a lot of time before Baptiste returned. Angela barely hesitated – she would not go back to the Speaker, to his chains and the pain. She knew that she would have to cut deep; that if she didn’t, either her nanites or Baptiste would put her back together more quickly than she could bleed out. With a steadying breath, she pressed the sharp edge of the scissors against her left forearm near her elbow before dragging down towards her wrist. It stung, but it was nothing compared to the pain she had experienced – and the pain she was trying to avoid. Switching the blade to her left hand was more of a challenge; everything was suddenly more messy, now that her blood was flowing freely. She should have used her left hand first; it was her least dominant that was now slick with blood and shaking again. “There’s nothing ou—Doctor!“ Baptiste stepped through the door as she was dragging a line through her right arm; he was across the room and yanking the scissors from her grip before she could get more than halfway down her right forearm. Swearing up a storm, he used one hand to clamp down on her left arm in an attempt to stop as much of the blood flow as possible, as his other scrambled to grab some of the loose gauze. Angela tried to struggle out from under his grip; the blood that was absolutely everywhere helped in that regard, and she managed to free her arm for a short moment – then he was upon her again. “Stay still,” Baptiste shouted, but she ignored the order and just squirmed more. Angela was surprised he didn’t call for help from the other room – or that someone didn’t rush in to try to help him. Angela knew there were at least two men out there; one was the Reaper, who could come in without ‘surprising’ her, because she’d seen him here before. In response to her squirming and attempts to escape his grasp, Baptiste moved until he was over her on the bed, pinning her down with his body weight as he focused on her arms. The positioning made her nauseous with terror, her body going cold – but perhaps that was from the blood loss. “No,” Angela whimpered plaintively as he began winding the gauze around her left forearm tightly – too tight, the medical professional in her noted but, right now, she doubted he cared. Angela twisted, trying to throw him off balance or drag herself out from underneath him. She was too weak for it to be more than a slight annoyance, and he ignored her struggles as he wrapped the gauze haphazardly around her arm. As she knew all too well, it didn’t have to look pretty to get the job done. Angela panted, terrified; though she knew it was pointless, she continued to try and escape – even as he tied off the bandage on her left arm. Already, she could see the faint pink tint staining the white gauze, but she knew that this was merely a stopgap; he had to slow her bleeding before he could properly stitch her back up. She knew she wasn’t weak enough, hadn’t bled enough, to die – but she was too weak to stop him. Tears welled; Baptiste had won. She wouldn’t get another chance – she had been lucky to get this chance. Angela was going to go back to that room, the room she desperately wanted to avoid. Her right arm went faster than the left, considering the gash was smaller than the other. He tied that off, too, before glancing around the room. Angela knew he was looking for his medical kit, which was just out of reach of the bed – on purpose, so that Angela couldn’t get her hands on anything like the bandage scissors he’d carelessly left on the bed. That forced him to leave the bed, leaving her free to writhe away and try to rip the bandages off. She had nearly thrown herself off the left side of the bed when his hand clamped down on her right arm and dragged her back. The action also pulled her hand away from the bandages, though she had managed to loosen the knot he’d quickly tied. As he turned back to his kit for a moment, her fingers lifted to yank at the knot again and began unwinding the bandages. She had nearly gotten all of them off when he clamped down on her again – this time, not to stop her actions, but to hold her still so he could inject her with something. “I’m sorry, Doctor.” His voice was distant and fuzzy as he yanked her right hand away and began undoing all her work as quickly as possible. “You left me no choice.” Her head was swimming, and she couldn’t focus – what had he given her? Hopefully, he’d given her too much, considering her malnutrition, wounds, and blood loss; if he did, she’d never wake up. Her eyes fluttered closed as he turned away once more, her arms securely wrapped in the protective gauze.

Gabriel froze when he walked into the bedroom, taking in the bloody tableau. The blankets were thrown on the floor carelessly, and sheets were stained with red. Small droplets of blood had splattered on the headboard as well as the carpet close to the bed. Angela’s arms, which had been bare when he left this morning, were now wrapped heavily with gauze. A noise pulled Gabriel’s attention away from Angela to look over at the medic. He was setting down his weapon – an impressive looking assault rifle that had, apparently, been modified for healing, though he hadn’t used any of it in this room – against the nightstand. Then, he leaned back in the chair, looking exhausted; through the whole thing, Baptiste never took his eyes off of the doctor. “What happened?” Gabriel demanded, snarling. He knew he should keep his voice down – or at least moderate it to be less vicious – for Angela’s sake, but it was hard when faced with this. “She got my scissors,” Baptiste admitted, not a single trace of his typical humor. Gabriel turned his gaze back to Angela, horrified; she was breathing steadily and – for all appearances – seemed to be sleeping peacefully. Angela didn’t sleep peacefully – not even when she was so exhausted that she forgot her nightmares in the morning. Gabriel knew that she always twitched and shifted, murmuring softly or crying out; the bedding would often be twisted when they woke, and it wasn’t from any fun nighttime activity. No, her sleeping this way was unnatural, especially after her torture from the last month. “How did you let that happen?” Gabriel growled, forcing himself to remain in the doorway. If he moved closer, he would probably rip out Baptiste’s throat – and he still needed the medic. “I managed to convince – I think, or maybe she gave up? Anyways, – her to let me change her bandages. I did her legs and was just beginning to remove the gauze around her torso when she made this quiet noise.” Baptiste paused there, appearing to be at a loss for words; Gabriel forced himself to look at the medic, because to continue looking at the bandages was infuriating him. “It made my hair stand on end, man; I couldn’t help but look up.” He rubbed at his arms absently. “She’s so amped, you know? Nervous. Always looking around, always noticing things even if she wasn’t looking.” Gabriel did know; she was hypervigilant. It wasn’t unexpected, considering everything she’d been through. “So, when I saw her staring at the door, looking so scared, I thought maybe she’d heard something I didn’t.” Baptiste gestured at his rifle. “I went to investigate, make sure we weren’t under attack. I didn’t find anyone, so I came back to finish up with her.” Baptiste took a heavy breath. “I wasn’t gone for more than two minutes, I swear.” A lot could happen in two minutes, as both men were aware. “I came back and she was cutting at one of her arms; I took the scissors away and tried to stop the bleeding.” Baptiste looked nauseous as he finally lifted his gaze from the doctor to look at the Reaper. “She fought me hard; I’ve never seen anyone so desperate to die.” His voice was bleak, face ashen. “I had to pin her down to get the first set of gauze on.” Gabriel was unsurprised at Angela’s determination, even though it saddened him. He’d seen it in the armory weeks ago, when she’d gone for the gun. That determination – despair – had only increased since then. “She nearly ripped the bandages off again before I sedated her,” Baptiste sighed. “I don’t know if the dosage was too much, considering everything. She’s been down for a few hours.” That explained the peaceful breathing, then. “I told you,” Gabriel rumbled into the silence. “I told you she thought this was a trick. I warned you that she was suicidal.” He had trusted this man with her safety – and that trust had been betrayed. The Reaper wanted to paint the walls red with Baptiste’s blood, but he couldn’t. Gabriel needed Baptiste’s medical experience, even though he’d nearly allowed Angela to die on his watch. Besides, if the Reaper decorated the room with Baptiste’s insides, Angela would be even more terrified than she already was. “Get out,” Gabriel ordered, stepping further into the room so that Baptiste could comply. He needed a few hours without seeing the medic, a few hours to watch Angela breathe and assure himself that – despite yet another injury under his care – she was alive. A few hours to berate himself for being so careless. Baptiste scrambled to his feet, somehow managing to carry a tray laden with a bowl and his gun as he made for the door. Gabriel noticed that Baptiste kept as much distance as possible between the two of them as he moved. “Call me if you need anything,” Baptiste told him quietly as he strode through the door. Gabriel stalked over to close it, barely keeping himself from slamming it. Then he made his way around the bed to take the seat Baptiste had vacated to watch Angela breathe.

---

“Hello?” Gabriel was surprised that Cassidy didn’t sound more defensive – but, then again, he’d probably scattered his contact information as widely as possible to try and find Angela. It was likely the cowboy had received several calls from unknown numbers in the past month. “Is this Cole Cassidy?” Gabriel asked, though he already knew the answer. Over familiarity at this early stage would make the man far more defensive than Angela had time for. Gabriel’s eyes darted to the woman, who was still sleeping peacefully on the bloodstained sheets. He’d sent Baptiste out for new bedding - apparently, this apartment didn’t have any. Gabriel hadn’t wanted to call Cassidy tonight – he had planned to call tomorrow when he was able to slip away from the apartment and have the conversation where Angela couldn’t possibly overhear. However, her suicide attempt required things to move even faster. Even though Gabriel wasn’t in the mood to be speaking to anyone at the moment, it was necessary for Angela’s safety – so he would force himself to remain civil for a phone conversation. “Who’s askin’?” There was the defensive note; perhaps he hadn’t given his name out with his number. That would be a wise decision, considering the incredibly high bounty Cassidy still had on his head. Gabriel couldn’t give him his name – either name – at this point, however. To tell him he was the Reaper would destroy any possibility of a somewhat peaceful delivery of Angela. To tell him he was Gabriel Reyes, his presumed-dead and traitorous ex-Commander, wouldn’t go over any better. “I’m the person who’s rescued Dr. Ziegler,” he growled instead, voice quiet in deference to the sleeping blonde. Once they had hashed everything out – like where Cassidy could come to get her – he could give the cowboy his name. Cassidy inhaled sharply. “You’ve got her?” He repeated, doubtful. “Lemme talk to her.” Gabriel looked at the doctor again. Even if she were conscious, he couldn’t have let her speak to Cassidy. She would scream about it being a trap, to stay away – and, while he didn’t believe for a second that Cassidy would listen to her warning, it would make things far more complicated than necessary. “She’s sleeping right now,” Gabriel said instead. “I can send you a picture if you’d like.” He’d have to find a blanket that didn’t have bloodstains to cover up the mess, but he could make that happen. “Right. B’cause those can’t be faked or anythin’,” Cassidy drawled, ever the cynic. Still, Gabriel could hear the faint note of hope in his voice; Gabriel doubted they’d had any good leads on finding Angela. If they had known Talon had her, there would have been a lot more violence reported in the news. “Look,” Gabriel growled, his temper too frayed to properly deal with Cassidy’s caution. Still, he had to find the words to convince the cowboy that this wasn’t a prank or a trap. “Talon is chasing us. I don’t know how long we have until they find us.” That was the complete truth. He was already considering moving them out of Numbani; he had used his outfit and reputation to bully Cassidy’s number out of the criminals here, which would eventually find its way to Talon’s ears. “You got her away from Talon?” Gabriel rolled his eyes; seriously, he could tone down the incredulity. “Is this 76?” Gabriel wasn’t surprised that Jack was out looking for Angela. She was important to him – to them both – despite everything that had happened in the past. He was surprised that Jack had contacted Overwatch, regardless of what name he had given them. “No, this isn’t 76,” he admitted; lying about it would come out wherever they met, which would only lead to further hostilities. “How’d ya get this number?” Incredulity melted into harsh suspicion, which was more along the lines of what Gabriel had expected. “Why’d ya call me instead of the tip line?” All fair questions. “You spread the word underground that you’ve been looking for information on the doctor,” Gabriel told him; he’d barely had to mention the cowboy’s name to learn that. It was almost a joke among the gangsters – a notorious criminal with an enormous bounty was searching for the doctor? There’d been some talk about trapping the cowboy, luring him in so that they could get the prize; they’d even offered to split the money with him if he helped. Considering Gabriel needed Cassidy to remain a free man, he’d declined. “An’ ya didn’ call the tip line? I ain’t got the money for the reward they’re offerin’.” The reward was pretty substantial – nowhere near the amount of Cassidy’s bounty, but still a significant amount nonetheless. “I don’t want the money,” Gabriel growled, “I just want her safe.” Even if she trusted him – wasn’t broken in a way he couldn’t fix – Angela couldn’t stay with him. Talon was coming, and he was just one man. Gabriel couldn’t protect her in the way she needed if she remained. He’d kill her enemies from the shadows before they reached her, instead. “She trusts you,” he added. Gabriel paused, and then, “I trust you.” “You tru—who is this?” Cassidy thundered. Gabriel didn’t think the cowboy believed he had Angela; without being allowed to speak and Cassidy not accepting a photograph, it would be hard to convince the cynical cowboy. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” Gabriel was stalling; the Reaper was disgusted with his cowardice. Just say it and get it over with. “Try me,” the cowboy’s voice was hard. “You know me by two different names,” Gabriel started, because he’d have to give both names before the conversation was over. The first name would be the one that proved his honesty. The second name would, hopefully, keep him from being shot on sight. “I’m Gabriel Reyes.” Cassidy made a disbelieving noise. “Reyes is dead.” The words were a snarl, almost as if he were trying to convince himself. “And if he weren’t, I’d kill him myself.” Well. Cassidy hadn’t hung up yet, at least. “You call her Ange,” he said quietly. “She stayed with you for two nights straight when you lost your arm.” She had cried, too – but he was pretty sure the cowboy didn’t know that fact; the Angela from that time hadn’t been one for showing ‘weak’ emotions in public. Gabriel searched his memory for something that wouldn’t have been – relatively – widely known throughout the two organizations. Gabriel didn’t like to think of his time with the organizations he destroyed - didn’t like to remember the happiness he had tossed aside - so it took him a moment to find something to tell Cassidy. “One mission in Finland, you and I stayed up too late and drank too much tequila, which allowed our mark - Korhonen or Koskinen or some kind of nen, I don’t remember - to get away.” It had been stupid – they had been stupid – but it was something only they knew; Gabriel hadn’t even told Angela the real reason why he’d been delayed in coming home. Cassidy inhaled sharply, but Gabriel ignored it and continued. “Took three days to find him again, but we found him and brought him in.” “Th’hell you doin’ with Ange, Reyes?” Despite the anger, Gabriel was relieved; Cassidy believed him. “You shouldn’ even be alive, not after what you’ve done.” He couldn’t blame Cassidy for his ire – Gabriel deserved it and far more. “I told you: I rescued her.” Gabriel tactfully left out the part where he had been the one to kidnap her in the first place. That could come out later – when he wasn’t around to get shot, even if he deserved it. “She needs help that I can’t give her; they worked her over, and it isn’t pretty.” Angela shifted a little, drawing his attention. The sedative must be wearing off, finally. Hopefully, she would stay asleep until he finished this call – and there wasn’t a screaming nightmare to deal with. “They—she—shit!“ Gabriel didn’t believe that Cassidy thought Angela had been safe this whole time. Cassidy knew, better than most, what she had probably faced during her captivity. Still, the abstract was always more comfortable to handle than the reality; Gabriel had learned that the hard way – and the lesson had cost Angela far too much. “Angela will be better off in your – in Overwatch’s – care. I need to get her to you, now.” Gabriel explained quietly once the silence had dragged just a little too long. “I know you’re pissed at me, but don’t take it out on her.” The silence dragged on again as Cassidy wrestled with himself; Gabriel hoped he wouldn’t take too long, else Angela would awaken and he’d have to deal with her instead of the cowboy. “Damn you, Reyes,” Cassidy snarled after a moment. “Fine. I’ll get a ride; where’s the drop?” Gabriel gave him coordinates of an empty field a few miles outside of Numbani. It was utterly devoid of cover, which would hopefully prove that he – at least – wasn’t trying to trap the cowboy. “Tomorrow, then?” “Tomorrow,” Gabriel confirmed gravely as Angela began to murmur softly. Tomorrow, he would say goodbye again, this time for good. Tomorrow, he would never see her again – not even from a distance, because he doubted she would ever leave whatever base Cassidy took her to. “You said ya had two names, Reyes. What’s th’second one?” Gabriel tensed; he knew it had to come out – if Cassidy came to a field and the Reaper had Angela, they’d shoot first and ask questions later. He didn’t want to risk her taking another bullet for him. “The Reaper.” Gabriel disconnected before he could hear Cassidy’s response.

Angela jolted into sudden wakefulness when a hand closed on her shoulder. Wild-eyed, she turned to find the mask of the Reaper. “Easy, cariño. You’re alright.” Angela shivered and looked away; she knew that he meant the words to be comforting – that was the goal here, after all – but all it did was make her sad. He was pretending to be the man she had loved – still loved, if she was honest with herself. It was cruel, especially when she so badly wanted it to be true. Angela knew it was foolish, that hope which had flickered to life when he had pulled her down from the chains and carried her from that room of pain. But she had heard him with the Speaker. She had heard his betrayal, knew that it had all been a lie. It was that knowledge that gave her the strength to remain silent, to not engage with this shadow of a man. After a long moment, the Reaper sighed and released her shoulder. Despite herself, Angela glanced his way to see that he had leaned back in the chair to give her some space. “I’ve found Cassidy.” Angela froze, choking on a breath as her entire body seized with panic. No, this wasn’t supposed to happen. Talon wasn’t supposed to find any of them; she was supposed to protect them and keep them safe. It was all that was left, all she was good for – and even in that, she had failed. If they brought one of them here – she couldn’t even consider it. It would absolutely destroy her. Angela was barely holding it together now, after they had killed the parts of her that were strong – that were Dr. Ziegler, Mercy. Angela wouldn’t survive if they brought someone else in to torture in her stead. “Breathe, Angela.” Suddenly, the Reaper was in her face, fingers – not claws, she realized – gripping her shoulders as he tried to pull her back down. “No one is going to hurt him, cariño; everything is alright. Breathe.” Angela managed to suck in an unsteady breath, and he nodded encouragingly. “Yes, just like that.” Her body was still so tense that it hurt, but at least she wasn’t going to pass out. After a few breaths, the Reaper released her and leaned back again. “I won’t hurt him. No one will hurt him.” The Reaper repeated. “I’m taking you to him so that he can get you the help you need.” Angela would have scoffed, but she maintained her silence by biting her lip. ‘Help.’ As if he hadn’t been the one to put her in this position, to condemn her to be battered and broken. As if this ‘rescue’ was real. She had heard him. He didn’t want to get her help – he wanted to get her broken. They would capture Cassidy by using her as bait. They would put him before her, and then it would be his pain or her words. Would he understand if she – somehow – kept her silence? Would he forgive her? Would she forgive herself? “I know I’ve given you no reason to trust me, Angela.” The Reaper leaned forward again, and she tried to shift to put some distance between his familiar body and her own. “But please, mi corazón, please try to believe me.” Angela had never heard Gabriel beg before; that the first time would be now, when he was the Reaper and her enemy, was disconcerting. “Just hold on for one more day,” his mask dropped to regard her bandaged arms meaningfully before rising again. “If not for me or yourself, then for the others. You know what your death would do to them.” Angela shuddered, squeezing her eyes shut. “You know they want you to live.” Of course her friends wanted her to live – but they hadn’t found her. She had been abandoned in that prison – this prison – and no one had saved her. Cool fingers touched her hand cautiously, but she remained still and kept her eyes closed. Angela waited for the touch to turn into a painful grip, to dig in and to hurt. But they just curled around her fingers, holding her hand in what Angela thought might be an attempt at comfort. It was so familiar that it hurt. Despite the pain, despite the knowledge that it was wrong, Angela couldn’t force herself to pull away. She was too stubborn, though, to let her fingers tighten around his own. Instead, her hand remained limp in his grasp as she turned her gaze towards the ceiling and away from the Reaper’s mask to try to hide her conflicting emotions. Then, he ruined it. “I’m sorry, Angela.” She stiffened and would have pulled away, but his hands – both of them, now – trapped her own in a firm grip. Were she stronger, she probably could have wrenched away, but she had wasted all her strength earlier with Baptiste. “You were the one I was never supposed to hurt, who I had sworn to protect.” His voice was solemn, as if confessing – but it wasn’t a confession when the monster before her hadn’t been the one to make those oaths. It was a lie, tailored carefully to maximize the pain when they stopped pretending again. He seemed earnest, though; Angela hadn’t realized what a good actor he was. Had Gabriel acted like this when they had been together all those years ago, or was this a new skill that the Reaper had picked up along the way? Angela prayed it was the latter, because the former was far too painful to consider. “I ruined everything. I know you hate me.” Angela glanced over to find his head bowed over their clasped hands. “I know you can never trust me and that nothing I can do or say will be enough to make up for what I’ve done.” He took in a harsh breath, made louder by the mask he wore. “I don’t expect you to ever forgive me, but for everything I’ve done: I’m sorry.” The Reaper released her hand then, pulling away to rest against the back of the chair and give her space once more. A small, hopeful – traitorous – part of her heart wanted to reach out and reclaim his hand with her own, to believe his apology was real and that he was Gabriel. Fortunately, her time in that freezing room of chains and blood had hardened her, even this weak self that was merely Angela. It was what allowed her to look away again and lay her hand back down on the stained sheets. It was what gave her the strength to remain silent and to keep herself from crying – though what, exactly, she would be crying over eluded her.

---

She opened her eyes to find she was in a new place - again. The last thing she remembered was the Reaper lifting her off the bloody sheets so Baptiste could strip the bed. She had let her eyes drift to the open door - something she usually couldn’t see from the bed; Jack had been there, leaning against the doorframe to watch her with heavy eyes. She had fallen asleep as he whispered warnings of betrayal and heartbreak. He had urged her to be strong because this would take everything she had - and then some. Angela glanced around her new surroundings, trying to be surreptitious but sure she was failing. It appeared she was in a car again; if it was the same one that the Reaper had stuffed her in the first time, she wasn’t sure. He sat to her left, behind the wheel as he had the last time. Her dress was no longer green; at some point, probably when they had changed the sheets, they had put a blue dress on her. It took her a moment to realize that the vehicle wasn’t moving. They were idling with a large expanse of grass before them. Angela wasn’t sure if they were on the side of a road or not, since she wasn’t craning her neck to look behind or to the left. “It’s almost over, Angela,” the Reaper murmured once she had stilled in her seat. Angela stiffened at the reminder that she would have a companion in her captivity in less than an hour. Maybe more than one - despite all his knowledge, she didn’t think Cole knew how to pilot any form of aircraft. “After today, you’ll never see me – or Talon – again.” He promised her, once the silence between them became heavy and strained. “You’ll be safe.” She didn’t believe him, of course; Angela knew she was destined to die in a Talon interrogation cell. She kept her eyes fixed on the grass outside, searching for the troops that she knew were waiting out there somewhere. “Look,” the Reaper rumbled sometime later, one clawed hand lifting and drawing her attention away. Unable to help herself, she looked in the direction he indicated. “There they are.” Her eyes found a dark spot on the horizon: an air carrier, heading their way. Angela wished there was something - anything - she could do to stop what was to come. She didn’t have the strength to protect them, and that crushed her just as badly as the blows across Cole’s body would. “Shh, cariño,” the Reaper soothed. Angela immediately bit off the small, pitiful sounds she had been making, but it was impossible to stop her tears. She turned her head away, attempting to hide her face from his sight as she grieved. It wasn’t long before the roar of the carrier filled the air. Angela couldn’t help but watch in horror, tears streaking her cheeks, as it drew closer. The car rocking drew her attention away; she hadn’t heard him open the door, but now the Reaper was stalking around the front of the vehicle to open her door. “It’s time, Angela.” The words were practically a shout so he could be heard over the carrier. She trembled as he leaned in to unbuckle her; then, she was up in his arms and pressed against his chest once more. Her left leg - knee still shattered, as far as she could tell - only complained slightly. Angela looked at it, curious; it appeared there were at least two, maybe three, braces around the knee - it forced her leg to remain straight, even without any support from below. As he turned them, the carrier touched down. He kept them next to the vehicle until the cargo doors opened. The turbines continued to roar - Angela would have been surprised if they had stopped them, considering that this was a trap - as a familiar figure began making his way cautiously towards them. Behind him on the ramp loomed two other people - a familiar large man and a less familiar woman. When the Reaper started walking, Angela began shaking enough that her teeth chattered; this was bad, this was bad, this was bad. Any minute now, Talon forces would appear and throw the cowboy to the ground. His hat would tumble off and be left, forgotten, in the grass as he was dragged into hell with her. The Reaper tightened his grip on her, his mask tilting down to consider her briefly, but if he said anything, it was lost to the roar of the carrier. Instead, she got to watch in horror as Cole Cassidy – he was real this time, right? – drew closer. One hand was resting defensively on Peacekeeper, his sharp eyes darting around as he searched for the trap they both knew existed. She wanted to scream at him to run, but she knew her disused voice would never reach him over the roaring. The space between them narrowed until, suddenly, they were only five feet apart.

Cole drummed his fingers impatiently against his seat. He never thought he’d be sitting in an Overwatch carrier again, but he never thought Angela would be kidnapped – tortured – either. Across from him sat Reinhardt, who was leaning forward against his giant hammer with his head bowed. His enormous armor nearly hid the smaller woman at his side – Brigitte, Torbjörn’s daughter. Lena was piloting the air carrier. She had managed to pick up the three of them and was now flying them to Numbani, but they were cutting it rather close. It was only the four of them; if this turned out to be a trap, the odds were heavily out of their favor. Cynical as he was, Cole expected one. Reyes and Angela had history; that much was true. Reyes had sworn to protect Angela - they all had, in their own ways - but Cole knew that personal honor meant very little to his previous Commander. Besides, it had been five years; that was a long time, and Reyes had been staining his hands with Overwatch blood in that time. No, this was a trap and Angela was the bait. It was too perfect: she was being ‘rescued’ by the Reaper - who just happened to be Gabriel Reyes of all people? The rush for a next-day meeting, for fear of being ‘caught’? No. There was no way in hell that this was anything but a trap. “We’re on the final approach,” Lena called back. “Scanners are only picking up two people – that’s got to be them.” Cole knew there were ways to hide from scanners, so that information wasn’t as comforting as he’d like. “Alrigh’ then. Let’s put ‘er down an’ get Ange back.” Cole was impatient to get this done – one way or another. He turned towards the two across from him. “You two need t’ stay back on th’ cargo ramp. Watch my back and come down swingin’ if things go sideways.” “I do not like this.” Reinhardt boomed as the carrier began to descend. “We should go with you; it is too dangerous.” Cole understood where the warrior was coming from; his job was always to protect those around him, and this was no different. Still, that didn’t change the fact that a show of force would probably end badly. “Trust me on this one,” Jessie replied, shaking his head. “We don’ wanna risk Ange.” He doubted that Reyes had lied about Angela’s health. Cole didn’t want Angela in any more danger than necessary. It was undoubtedly a trap, so having backup was more necessary than a show of force. Besides, if Reyes really was trying to protect Angela, like he had in the past, it would be far too dangerous for them to antagonize him with a heavy presence. “Then I should go!” Reinhardt insisted, one hand raising to slap his chest plate loudly. “My armor will protect me - and the doctor - if it is a trap; you would be killed!” That was a valid point – past the cargo ramp, he doubted that there would be no cover. Still, Cole shook his head again. “He called me. It’s gotta be me.” This was either a convoluted trap to capture him, or it was a genuine request for help. Knowing Reyes as he did, Cole knew that he had to walk off that ramp alone. The carrier landed with a gentle jolt; as soon as it was steady, both men were on their feet with Brigitte not far behind. Reinhardt towered over Cole in a way that would be intimidating if Cole didn’t know the German man. “You’ve gotta wait on the ramp; stay put unless things turn sour.” Reinhardt’s shoulders slumped as he sighed. Cole took that to be agreement, so he gestured towards the cargo hold. “If things do go bad, jus’ make sure y’get Ange. She’s the priority.” He allowed Reinhardt to precede him down the ramp, his giant blue shield erupting to life from his arm. Cole paused behind the warrior to allow his eyes to adjust. Once he could see clearly, he quickly found the Reaper standing in front of a car about two hundred feet away. In his arms was a bundle of blue cloth that had Angela’s head at the top. She looked thin and fragile – words he had never used to describe her except for that period directly after the fall. Cole met Angela’s terrified eyes briefly; based on her stark terror, she believed this was a trick. Cole forced himself to look away, fingers tightening on Peacekeeper as he searched for the trap. Cautiously, Cole pushed past Reinhardt’s barrier, as he and the Reaper approached each other. Even when they were within grabbing distance, Cole kept his hand tight on his weapon. From this point forward, he would be at his most vulnerable; once he took Angela into his arms, he’d find it hard to defend himself - or his precious cargo. While Reinhardt and Brigitte were nearby, it was still a long distance for them to travel. “It’s just me,” the Reaper shouted over the turbines, voice gravely as he closed the final few steps between them. This close, Cole could see her hollow cheeks and how hard she was trembling; it hurt his heart to see how damaged Angela – normally their pillar of strength – was. They had thought she was safe, and they had been wrong. “We both know I ain’t trustin’ you,” the cowboy returned gruffly. If it weren’t for Angela, he’d have shot the Reaper when he’d stepped off the ramp. He released his gun reluctantly so he could reach out for the doctor. Carefully, with a gentleness that proved that this was Reyes, the hooded figure lowered her into Cole’s arms. “Watch her knee,” Reyes rasped, as if Cole couldn’t see the straps and splints wrapped around it. The woman was lighter than she should be and shaking so hard Cole thought she might just come apart. “I gotcha, darlin’,” he assured her, though his eyes stayed firmly on Reyes. “There’s a list in one of her pockets,” Reyes shouted with a vague hand gesture towards Angela. “Everything that’s happened to her is written there.” Cole nodded once in acknowledgment. Though he wanted to look down at the small woman in his arms, reassure her that everything would be alright, he kept his eyes on the Reaper. “If I see you again, I’ll put a bullet in you.” It was another promise, one that he would be more than happy to keep. If he were able, he’d shoot him now and be done with it - but he had his hands full. “I deserve it,” Reyes agreed with a shrug, “but not for the reasons you think.” Cole felt Angela stiffen; clearly, there was something there. Hopefully, it was on the list Reyes mentioned. He’d hate to have to ask Angela about it after everything she’d been through. Reyes stepped backward, clearly done with their interaction. Cole took a step back too – and paused when one final question popped into his head. “Why’d you save her?” He shouted. Reyes stopped, head tilting as he considered Cole and his question. “Why did she save me?” Reyes called back. With that, Reyes turned his back entirely and walked away, confident that Cole would prioritize Angela over shooting him. It was hard to reconcile the image of the Reaper with the man Cole had once known. But it was obvious some part of Reyes was still alive; after all, the Reaper would never have allowed Cole – or any of the other remnants of Overwatch behind him – to leave unscathed. Still, Cole refused to turn his back to the clearing, even though it made his return trip much harder. However, before he had made it halfway back, Reinhardt had stomped forward to cover his retreat with his shield. Around that time, Reyes reached his vehicle; instead of climbing inside, he had turned to watch as Cole carried Angela away. The entire time Angela was a silent, shaking mass in his arms. “Thought I told you t’ wait on th’ ramp,” he grumbled as he turned his back on the clearing, trusting Reinhardt to protect them. Cole could feel Reyes’ eyes on his back as they moved further and further away. He didn’t look back at the monster from his past; the angel in his arms held all of his attention. “You are both too important to lose,” Reinhardt retorted. Cole shook his head before closing the remaining distance to the carrier. “Everythin’ alright, then?” Lena called from the pilot’s chair. Already she was flipping the switches that would get them into the air, even with the carrier door still closing. “We’ve got her,” Cole answered; he couldn’t say it was alright because the trembling woman in his arms clearly wasn’t. But, they had her back – and that was something, wasn’t it? They could call in people, and then she would be better. They could fix this. They would fix this. She deserved no less.

---

“This is normal?” Lena’s voice rose, practically to a shout. “Keep your voice down,” Cole growled with a meaningful glance towards Angela; Lena looked away guiltily, gnawing on one lip nervously. He knew he shouldn’t snap because it really didn’t matter how loudly they spoke. Angela had become unresponsive shortly after they had flown away from the clearing in Numbani. Even now, hours later in Watchpoint: Warsaw, she was still staring vacantly. “Yes, this,” he gestured towards Angela, “is normal.” Cole hadn’t needed Reyes’ list to tell him that this could happen. While he hadn’t dirtied his hands with torture – ‘interrogation’ – he’d seen the aftermath. “‘s a defense mechanism; she can’ be hurt if she ain’ here.” Considering what Angela had been through, he wasn’t surprised that she was protecting herself in the only way she had left. “But, she’s with us,” Lena protested, voice markedly quieter than previously. “We’re not gonna hurt her.” Cole shook his head, smiling mirthlessly. He wished he could have the same optimistic outlook, but life had been far kinder to Lena than it had been to him - or Angela. “You and I,” his hand shifted, pointing at first her then himself, “we know that. But Ange?” He looked over at the broken doctor sadly. “She doesn’ know it. Doesn’ believe it.” Cole sighed, one hand raking through his hair in absent frustration before fixing his hat. “It’ll be a long while before she recovers.” If she recovered, but Cole wasn’t willing to voice that aloud. Cole had read the list that Reyes had scrawled out, which detailed all the atrocities that Angela had been subjected to. Some were rather obvious - her malnutrition showed in her hollow cheeks and sunken eyes, the shattered knee in the various braces. Others were easy to see, if one knew where to look - the suicide attempt in the bandages on her arms, the scar at her lip proving her stubborn defiance. The worst, however, were the invisible wounds. Reyes had written a small paragraph instead of a bulleted list at the very bottom of the note. “I was the one who kidnapped her from Cairo and put her in chains. I’m the one that captured her after she managed to escape, and put scars into her arms and her heart when I put her back. I was the one that gave the order to escalate her torture, that made her into this. Angela knows who I am and how I have betrayed her. I don’t know if there is anything left of her to save after what’s been done to her - what I’ve done to her - but I know that you’ll protect her like I should have. -R” It had taken everything in him to keep from crumpling the letter or tearing it into pieces; despite his absolute rage at what was revealed, Cole knew that the doctor - who still hadn’t arrived - would need the information within it. He hadn’t told anyone else of its existence; they didn’t need to know the particulars of what she had gone through - hell, he didn’t need to know it either. But he had read it anyway. “Hey, Cassidy?” Lena’s voice was soft, almost tremulous. He glanced towards the younger woman, who was wringing her hands and fidgeting; even now, she was unable to keep still. “She’s gonna be alright, isn’t she? We weren’t, you know, too late?” Cassidy didn’t know how to answer that question. He could be honest or he could be optimistic, but he couldn’t be both. Cole was saved from answering by Angela as she shifted and gasped softly. Before Lena could do anything, Cole’s hand flew out and clamped down hard on her wrist. That she jerked against his grasp told him he had been right to grab her; Lena turned to look at him, mouth opening either in protest or in question, and he shook his head sharply. Once he was sure Lena wasn’t going to leap out of her seat, Cole released her and fully turned his attention to the blonde. He wasn’t sure if Angela had been looking around or not - his gaze had been on Lena during those first moments instead of Angela - but now she was staring at the two of them. Usually, he couldn’t read her emotions or thoughts on her face, but Angela’s terror was obvious even to him. “You’re safe, Ange,” Cole assured her after the silence between them had grown too long. He could practically feel Lena’s explosive energy next to him, but somehow the British woman managed to keep her seat. Angela’s wary eyes darted from him to Lena and back again. “Is - Is this -” Angela’s voice was hesitant and rough from abuse. “Are you - real?” Her voice broke then; the pure desolation made his heart ache for her. “We’re real, darlin’,” Cole assured her. In the silence, he nudged Lena’s leg with one booted foot. “Wha- oh, yeah! It’s all real, love.” Lena’s voice was chipper and bright, with barely a note of hesitation to betray her worry. “You’re with Overwatch.” Angela flinched then; Cole gritted his teeth as he forced himself not to imagine what had conditioned such a reaction in her - and found it impossible, considering the note he’d read. Lena glanced towards Cole, clearly unsure of how to act in the face of Angela’s fear. “Ange.” Cole leaned forward a little, bridging that small gap between them. He was gratified to see she didn’t react negatively to the movement; instead, she looked up towards his intense face with the barest hint of hope. “If you don’ wanna be with Overwatch,” he forced himself to ignore her wince, “you jus’ say the word an’ it’s done.” Lena made a small sound of protest, but he spoke before she could say anything. “I’ll take you anywhere you wanna go, darlin’. Whatever you want.” Cole knew that Overwatch was, probably, the safest place for Angela to be while she recovered - if she could recover. He knew that any decision she made now would be impaired by her trauma. Still, he would fight everyone - Winston, Lena, the UN - to take her wherever it was she’d feel safe. Angela’s eyes darted around; Cole wasn’t sure if she was looking for something in particular or if this was curiosity. He watched as her hands fisted and twisted her blankets, waiting for her to say something - anything. “I -” She pressed back into the pillow, glancing to the side and worrying at her scarred lip. “I don’t want to go back.” Her voice, barely audible, was small and sad. Cole wasn’t sure if she was referring to Overwatch or Talon, but, in the long run, it didn’t really matter to him; whatever happened next, Cole would make sure that Angela was safe and happy. “You won’t.” Lena piped up before Cole could assure the doctor. Obviously, she had interpreted Angela’s statement to be about Talon, but Cole wasn’t completely convinced. “We won’t let them take you, Dr. Ziegler, I promise. We’ll keep you safe.” Angela’s face crumpled then; she turned her head away quickly, but not before Cole saw the tears there. Were they from relief, at being safe from her tormentors? Or was it from grief, at the reminder that they should have kept her safe - and hadn’t? Slowly, cautiously, Cole reached out to touch one of her clenched hands. Angela jumped, recoiling from his hand as if it burned. Her head turned, wild eyes wide and bright, as she stared down at his fingers as if she’d never seen them before - like she hadn’t put him back together countless times. He pulled back slightly, giving her space while remaining close enough for her to reach out if she wanted. “We - I - failed you, Angela,” Cole said, voice low. “It won’t happen again. I swear it.” He could see the hope and despair - the disbelief and desperation - that was roiling within her as she continued to stare at his hand. After what felt like an eternity, Angela’s hand rose. Trembling, she reached out towards him - before flinching back and away again. Cole didn’t move, didn’t react in any way; Lena gasped, a small sound that seemed to roar in the small space. Angela reached out again, but this time she didn’t recoil. He remained unmoving as she touched his fingers tentatively, afraid that anything would scare her off again. When her hand curled around his in a weak grasp, head bowed as she trembled and shook, he allowed himself to gently tighten his fingers around hers. Maybe there was hope for her, after all.

You led me here, Then I watched you disappear. You left this emptiness inside And I can't turn back time - Never Be the Same [Red]

Act One | Act Two | Act Three | Act Four | Act Five | Act Six

This is, unfortunately, the end of Breaking [My Heart]. I do intend to continue this story in a second installment, but I haven't quite got it put together yet. I know what I want it to look like (mostly), but apparently writing requires you to actually write, annoyingly enough. Writing has become a challenge (again, ugh) due to real life getting in the way (again). I've been stressing about the business I own (US Tax preparation) while working as a manger at my mothers' trampoline park. Long hours have left me with little time to do pretty much anything that isn't eating or sleeping, and when I do try to write I just can't seem to get the words out. I hate that I have my unfinished work (Forged) that I just can't seem to close plus the recovery arc for Breaking [My Heart]. They're mostly outlined but, like I said earlier, writing requires writing and I can't seem to get the scenes out of my head and onto paper. I do have a few pieces that are written for my one-shot sets, The Healer, which I'll post sporadically (and, which will, hopefully bridge the gap until I can properly write again). I appreciate all of you that read my work and leave comments; truly, every time I see the notification I get super excited and I love that you feel strongly enough about my writing to tell me about it. I hope that I continue to produce work that you can enjoy! Feel free to reach out to me here. Until next time, stay happy and healthy!

[dimigex]

Current WIP/ Drabbles list

So, I have a day in my writing schedule that is dedicated to working on stories not Altered Reality, Healing Hands, Heart in a Silver Cage, or Losing Control, but I have so many that’s it’s hard to choose. I went through and made a massive list of the current projects that I have (and realized I need to complete more and jump around less). Everything on this list is at least over a thousand words and most are considerably more than that. 

I kind of wanted to open this up to see if any of these descriptions get my followers excited in the ‘omg tell me more, why isn’t this finished yet’ way because there is only so much time each day to work on things. If you see something you want to know more about or really want to see me post sooner rather than later, please, Please, PLEASE inbox me (you can even use Anon to do so) or reply or reblog or whatever. I want to work on things that other people will be excited about too. It’s no fun alone. I mean it kind of is, but feedback is the best and if you’re excited you’re more likely to comment and engage. 

Works are below the cut because I have zero self control and the list is long. Keep in mind this is nowhere near the full amount of stories I have in docs, only the ones that are well developed and/or written or close to being finished (or have a chapter or more if it’s a long story)  

Big Stories (things that would be split into multiple chapters/parts):

Naruto:

Clean - KakaSaku, Sakura comes back to the village with an infant daughter and a big secret, one that she’s sworn never to tell even if it makes her life miserable. This is a study on the things we do for love, even when it hurts us. This story also has some previous SasuSaku undertones

Dark Side of the Moon - KakaSaku, this is basically the flip side of Altered Reality. Kakashi lived in a happy world and is suddenly thrust into a reality where nearly everyone he cares about is dead and he’s in a relationship with Sakura. With everything upside down, can he figure out what happened and get back to his family before it’s too late? Or should he move on with the new normal?

Here With You - Kakasaku, A 10k follow on to my oneshot Distraction which is mutual pining (and mutual self pleasure while thinking of the other). Kakashi and Sakura are tired of dancing around their feelings for each other, but neither knows what to do about it. With a little help from Ino, Genma, and maybe some alcohol, they’ll figure it out. 

Mortal Flaw, Fatal Sin - KakaSaku (with a heavy dose of anti-SasuSaku, Sasuke really does come across evil in this one) Sakura returns to Konoha after over a year with little to no contact with anyone. Pregnant and alone, she turns to Kakashi to try and figure out what to do with her life and tempers flare when the truth starts to come out. (this one will have a lot of trigger warnings, it’s a dark take on SasuSaku)

Run to You  - Jiraiya/Tsunade, snippets of their lives through the second war and forward (Niwaki’s death, Dan’s, the first time they hook up (because let’s face it, it happened)

Shattered - This starts as a SasuSaku morphs into a KakaSaku and NaruSasu. After the war, Sasuke is held in prison in Konoha for treason. Kakashi is Hokage and he didn’t ask for this mess with his former team, and he certainly didn’t ask to start developing feelings for Sakura as she’s doing her best to save Sasuke from himself. 

She is the Sunlight - KakaSaku, Sakura is unhappy with life in the village after the war (and Sasuke) and wants something more than just her medical work at the hospital. Eventually she latches onto the idea of Anbu which Kakashi strongly opposes because he wants to protect her from the horrors of it. (this is actually a combination of two stories I have where Kakashi catches the feels and doesn’t know what to do about it and Sakura kind of self-destructs before he figures it out)

Starting Over - Kakayama, Tenzo doesn’t know what to do with himself after the war and ends up helping at the hospital. When an orphaned infant isn’t doing well, Tenzo puts in some extra effort and maybe falls in love with the idea of being a dad if only he can convince Kakashi that it’s a good idea. 

Overwatch:

Empire - Gabriel centric, dealing with his pre army life with his family, initiation into a gang, conversion to the army, marriage and daughter, then ending at SEP. This is a wild ride from start to finish honestly. 

Through the Glass - Genji/Mercy, their time during his recovery after Overwatch saved his life, then probably reconnecting later as an epilogue. 

(You Held the Gun that) Fired First - Reaper76, starting with the founding of Overwatch, the slow decay of Jack and Vincent’s relationship, the chaos of Jack and Gabe together, ending sometime around the start of the game probably. I’m not planning to follow canon heavily but there will be a lot of stuff happening here including but not limited Jack planning to ask Vincent to marry him, a massively public break-up, Vincent gets attacked and nearly killed, Ana’s death, the explosion. Honestly I haven’t decided on the ending point yet 

Drabbles (smaller, one shots that don’t need additional chapters, probably): 

Naruto

Beautiful, Perfect Disaster - KakaSaku, all the tension between them finally snaps into a first kiss that might be the start of something wonderful 

Blame it on the Blood Loss - KakaIru, When Kakashi and Iruka go on a mission together, the latter is badly injured and rambles confessions he never meant to share

Innocence - KakaSaku, Kakashi and Sakura have been dating for a while when she shocks him by admitting she’s never been with anyone before and wants him to be her first (and last), not going to lie, this is mostly smut 

Interrupted Affections - KakaSaku, Kakashi and Sakura have just started dating and the days on missions without being able to touch is killing both of them. Sneaking away from Tenzo and Naruto, they try to find a little alone time to reconnect. It goes about as well as expected 

Let It Go - NaruSasu,in which Naruto tries to convince Sasuke to stay in the village and Sasuke has some convincing reasons on why he shouldn’t 

Letting Go - Kakayama, set in their Anbu days where Tenzo pays the ultimate price to save Kakashi’s life and Kakashi goes a little crazy as a result 

Memories and Hope - Genma/Kakashi, on the anniversary of Minato’s death Genma and Kakashi realize they have more in common than they realized. 

Saying Goodbye - Kakayama, Tenzo reflects on all the could have beens at Kakashi’s funeral 

Shadows and Sunlight - KakaSaku and NaruSasu, This is a follow on to my story Lightning and Starlight (in which Sasuke uses chidori on Sakura on the bridge when she tried to kill him, aka Kakashi got there too late). It follows the fallout of that day when everyone catches feels and realizes relationships are complicated

Surprise Advances - Tenzo/Anko, a train wreck mission leads this unlikely pair to fall into bed together (a spin off from Heart in a Silver Cage)

The Monster You Made - Kakashi/Obito, after the war (in which Obito doesn’t die, obviously) Kakashi saves Obito from execution for his crimes and realizes that he has some unresolved feelings for the teammate that he thought he’d lost years ago. 

The Photograph - Tenzo/Obito (set in Altered Reality universe) where an Anbu mission makes Tenzo rethink his opinion of his captain 

The Story of Your Scars - Kakayama, this is a follow on to Find Me in the Dark (in which Tenzo was captured and tortured by Orochimaru) where Kakashi tries to help Tenzo deal with the trauma of it 

Undone - Kakashi centric, young Kakashi wakes up in the hospital after his failure to save Rin (honestly this is about the shattering of Minato and Kakashi’s relationship) 

Undressed - KakaYama, Kakashi comes home broken up after a mission and Tenzo helps him remove his armor, in more ways than one

Overwatch

First Impressions - Reaper76, after the SEP injections which Jack has a difficult time with and Gabe helps him get through 

Shattered - Vincent learns about the explosion at the Swiss HQ and that Jack is missing in it 

War is Hell - Reaper76, the fallout after another bad Blackwatch mission where Jack is left picking up the pieces 

Other

Apocalyptic - Genma/Fynta (swtor crossover) where Genma is trapped in the Star Wars universe just trying to survive (co-written with Cinlat)

[xynchronicity]

[Reaper/Hino HC]: They tolerated each other before it started to become casual, now they take solace in each other's presence.

send your headcanons about my muses/our muse’s relationship, and I’ll react to them. || Accepting

Accurate.

I feel like Hinoka - in Reaper's eyes - is this neutral party. Someone who isn't truly tied to either Talon or Overwatch (even if she is to either depending on verse). In Reaper's eyes, she wasn't there on either side when the shit that happened to him...well, happened (to his knowledge at least). So, she's not at fault (tbf no one at OW is either) and so he just seeks her out because it's generally very quiet around her. He hates the quiet as he'd be locked in his containment cell for hours or days on end and it would just be quiet with only himself and his thoughts.

But just taking refuge in Hinoka's office or wherever she might be that he found her at? The quiet is nice. It's a kind of peacefulness he hasn't felt before. At first, it made him uneasy because him being peaceful? Enjoying it? That's a bad idea. He shouldn't let his guard down! However, he doesn't mind it with her because he knows she wouldn't try the sick games and experiments that Moira does.

Hinoka might be extremely curious about the nature of his....condition and he understands that. He's basically a scientific and medical mystery so of course any scientist or medical professional would want to understand him. Yet Hinoka doesn't push that. She just lets him have his moment or time doing whatever he does while she does her own thing.

Of course, at first, it was likely very off-putting for her. I mean, a man - a creature - known for just tearing people apart, just hanging out quietly in her office? He has to be planning something, right? Her death? Capturing her for Talon? It could be anything! Yet he doesn't done either of those things...or anything else. Well, save for maybe annoying her on some days or making her laugh on other days (scary thought). He's yet to kill her or show any signs of capturing her for Talon. So, it's not an order that he's there...right?

There are, of course, days where they'd be unable to tolerate one another as it was a busy or stressful day for one or both of them. Yelling at each other but it surprisingly never became physical which one would likely expect from Reaper. Normally, yes, he would escalate a verbal fight into a physical one, but he doesn't. They're both stressed or annoyed with life and she isn't his target much like he isn't the cause of her troubles (maybe).

By some miracle, they end up at "your presence brings me comfort" from "I'm tolerating you bc you're here and I can't get rid of you". Truly, a remarkable development between the two. Spoopy murder cloud is calmed and tamed by a tiny tea lady doctor. Which ironically he was also likely calmed by a literal cup of tea she handed him at some point. "You're not you when you're hungry, have some tea."

So, basically, that's the long way of writing what you said lol

[emoboijk]

jjk | stardust

we’re all made of stardust, looking to find each other again; one time for the present, two times for the past —soulmate au

12,356 words

Jeongguk doesn't really know why he's here. Well, he knows why. Taehyung's his friend after all. Jeongguk would do anything for him: walk through fire or start a fight. Unfortunately, that also means going to his parties. Not that he doesn't like parties! He just... he also likes video games and beer in his apartment and getting enough sleep for practice the next day.

God, Jeongguk likes sleeping.

Any other night Jeongguk might be three drinks in by now and chugging a fourth, but tonight he's exhausted and he wants to play Overwatch. Any other night he could push the extroverted part of himself to the surface and force himself to have a good time until he actually does. But tonight…

Even the buzz from his beer doesn't lift his spirits.

Tired of watching the stillness of his beer in its red cup, he pulls his attention back to the party. Everyone's crammed into Jimin's and Taehyung's shared apartment. There are various snack foods laid out on the coffee table and in the kitchen. Bottles of hard liquor mingle with dozens of six-packs of beer. There's trash... everywhere.

Jeongguk glances at the watch on his wrist. 12:02 AM.

His eyes do a quick scan, like always, for his friends (it makes him feel better to keep track). Jimin is plastered and fully committed to a game of drunk Jenga with a couple girls from the Poli Sci department and an equally plastered Seokjin. Hobi is teaching a girl from their dance class how to do an advanced hip hop move despite the rather slow Sam Smith song playing over the speakers. Taehyung is talking enthusiastically by the kitchen bar with Namjoon and a few guys Jeongguk doesn't know. It takes him a second to find Yoongi but he eventually spots him in a secluded corner, smirking with some girl from the Music department.

Jeongguk feels lonely. Just for a moment, leaning against the wall with his half-empty cup of beer, observing the party instead of participating in it, he feels lonely. He and the others have been close for so long, have been like brothers for so long... when he realizes that things won't always be this way and they each have their own lives to live... loneliness hits him like a gunshot.

He downs the rest of his beer in one drink, chucking the empty cup in a nearby trash can perfectly without paying attention. He waves absently to Taehyung and the others on his way out, slipping into his jacket and opening the door.

That's where he finds you, bathed in fluorescent light and clutching a bottle of red wine that has a bow wrapped around it. You look so startled to see him there, to see anyone there, that Jeongguk almost thinks you might start crying. Your face is drained of color and the bottle of wine starts to slip from your hands.

Jeongguk's eyes move quickly over you, catching sight of the falling bottle and moving on instinct. He swipes the bottle before it hits the floor, placing one hand on your shoulder to keep you steady.

"Close one," he says, handing it back to you. He doesn't realize that he's too close until you flinch at the feeling of his breath on your cheek. He pulls away too fast, his nose filling with the smell of peonies and lavender fabric softener. Desperation tugs at something in his chest and he watches you with wide eyes, like seeing the sunset for the first time.

He shakes off the feeling and steps aside, holding the door open so that you can see inside the apartment to the party. "Going in?"

You take a step back, hugging the wine even more tightly now. There's conflict in your eyes and Jeongguk takes the opportunity to give you a once over: soft floral sundress, wrinkle-free beige cardigan, soft pink headband pushing back your hair, neat ballet flats. All this and a bottle of wine that... that almost looks like a gift.

You do seem familiar. The polite neatness off your clothes, the apprehension, the hopeless deer-in-the-headlights expression. But Jeongguk finds it hard to believe he knows you from an association with... Taehyung? He just can't picture the two of you even existing in the same space, let alone partying together?

"N-No."

"Oh...kay." Jeongguk releases the door and lets it fall shut behind him. "Uh," he sidesteps you, "bye."

You watch him descend the staircase with a knot in your stomach, following only after you've given him enough time to have left the building. You sigh and hang your head as you descend.

I froze up, you think. It makes you want to cry. Your knuckles turn white gripping the bottle. You feel a panic attack in your throat, the urge to hit your head against the wall making your heart race. You're just so... frustrated with yourself. Why can't I just be normal! Why doesn't my brain work like everyone else's? Why am I so... defective? You think you'll probably end up drinking this whole bottle tonight.

And you got so dressed up, too. This is your favorite dress. On good days it makes you feel confident, like you can talk to anyone or do anything. On bad days, it makes you feel safe, just that much less anxious.

You pause once you're outside. The night air is crisp and it helps clear your head. You sigh into the empty air and let disappointment sneak into the crevices off your mind. At least I can see the stars tonight, you think, craning your neck back to count the golden specks dotted into the inky blue night sky.

You startle when your mind floats back down to earth and the present moment to find him there on the sidewalk near you. He's leaning against a street sign with his phone in his pocket, watching you.

Oh crap. I must look like a crazy person.

Jeongguk doesn't think you're crazy. In fact, you remind him of Namjoon. You have the same kind of absentmindedness. Although, admittedly, Namjoon hides his insecurities better; you're wearing yours on your sleeve.

He's also thinking that you're stunning. The dress and the cardigan and the ribbon-wrapped bottle of wine didn't match the energy upstairs, but it's perfect here. Cool evening, yellow streetlight, and a girl. It's cinematic.

Your eye contact is only broken when a car pulls up to the curb, "Jeongguk?" Someone barks from inside.

"Yeah," he says softly. He blinks, hoping the spell will be broken. But whatever kind of magic that existed before still exists when he opens his eyes. You're still watching him, frozen on the sidewalk. He climbs into the car feeling that same eerie kind of magic snaking around his heart.

That night you dream of him. The way he looked at you on the street. The dewy softness of his skin in the yellow light. The feeling between you both.

You wake up in a sweat, your body remembering something your mind can't fathom. Ghost fingers caress your skin and make your blood burn. You stumble to the kitchen for water, trying to rid your mind of his face. It's 3 AM and you lie awake trying to forget him.

It's 3 AM and Jeongguk needs to sleep. He has practice in the morning, class after that. He was going to do laundry, catch up on some homework. He was going to relax for the first time in a few days, no parties, no plans. Just himself, some video games, and some soju.

Instead, he has long since kicked off all his sheets, skin heated from thoughts of you. The image of you on the sidewalk conjures so many other pictures. But they don't feel like fantasies, they feel like memories. Images of lives forgotten. It's making his blood warm and his body overheat. He burns through his buzz and tries to think of anything else.

The next morning, when Jeongguk's alarm goes off at 7 AM, he feels dead inside but also a little high. It feels like the one time Taehyung convinced him to do ecstasy ("It's a college experience!") and his heart felt like it was going to explode. But that feeling eventually wore off. It's been hours and he feels both hungover and like he could run a marathon. It's fucking wild.

He rolls out of bed, landing on his feet with a thump. His head feels like a 20-pound weight on his neck and it hurts when he blinks. What the hell, he thinks, did someone spike my fucking drink last night?

Jeongguk meanders to his bathroom, wincing at his own reflection in the mirror. He closes his eyes and tries to inhale as much oxygen as possible. If he stays perfectly still, nothing hurts. He hears his phone ding from the other room and he knows it's Jimin complaining. With a sigh and another stabbing pain in his head, he reaches blindly for his toothbrush and toothpaste.

He spits into the sink and looks up at his reflection again. He should probably shave. He should probably shower, truth be told. But he'll work up a sweat at practice so he might as well wait till later. Besides if he even tried to do anything more complicated than get dressed his body might fall apart. He already feels like 110 degrees just standing.

He swipes his phone from the nightstand on his way back into the room.

Jimin: who the fuck talked me into this

Jimin: 8 am dance practice

Jimin: are they fucking crazy

Jeongguk chuckles.

JK: So you're pretty hungover

Jimin: shut up

Jeongguk laughs again and launches the phone toward the bed. He steps out of the shirt and boxers he wore to sleep, relief flowing through him at the cool air on his skin. Maybe I'm getting sick, he thinks.

He pulls a pair of sweats and an oversized tee from his closet, slipping into them before stuffing a pair of jeans and a second shirt into his duffle for practice. He checks there's a full stick of deodorant and the travel-sized soaps Jin got for him forever ago.

He swings the bag over his torso, pausing in front of his bedroom window. He loves the view from here. It's nothing special. His apartment is on the 10th floor, just high enough to clear most of the buildings on this side of town. He can see a mountain range in the distance and the sky. He's spent all semester trying to capture it in his art class, but none of his renderings do it justice.

Then, as he's about to turn and leave, the sun breaks over the horizon and he's struck. His whole body flushed warm and soft pink, an image fogging his mind.

A similar sunrise. A girl wrapped in a sheet wrapped in his arms. The smell of peonies and citrus. A rose gold tint on his skin.

When his mind clears, he's still standing by the window, drenched in sweat. He's breathing heavily but his headache is gone and his fever has broken.

You're already awake when your alarm goes off. You're sitting at your desk with a fan on high pointed at you. It could be 102 degrees outside for how hot you feel. You slept on and off for a few hours, but every time you drifted off your dreams…

You try to clear your head, but his face pervades your thoughts. The dreams were inconsistent and fleeting; there were different scenarios, time periods, and people. But the one constant was him. The stranger you'd met briefly last night.

You run a hand through your hair and shut off your alarm, glancing at your notifications and seeing a text.

Taehyung: you didn't come to my party!! :(

Guilt wells within you and you twist your mouth trying to think of the best response.

You: Sorry! Last minute study group!!

You flip your phone upside down then so that you don't have to look at it. You don't have class for another few hours, but you're so warm that you can't think of anything but a cold shower.

You just stand to go into the bathroom when your phone dings again. Twice in a row.

Taehyung: fiiiine next time then!

Joy: coffee before class?? around 9?

You text back quick affirmative responses and head into the shower.

Jeongguk pulls up to the apartment building in his purple, beaten up Toyota Corolla and honks his horn. It takes three full minutes for Jimin to come stumbling out. He looks almost as bad as Jeongguk this morning, sleep-deprived and hungover but with large purple hickies littered over his neck.

Jeongguk is nearly glaring at them by the time he climbs into the car.

"What?" Jimin says, stuffing his duffle bag between his legs.

"Subtle," Jeongguk grumbles, shifting gears and pulling out of the parking spot.

"Taehyung's a biter," Jimin says lightly. He reaches forward to swipe Jeongguk's phone from the dash and change the music, and Jeongguk catches sight of the Chinese character imprinted on his wrist. Friends.

Jeongguk sighs, squinting out at the road, a pang of loneliness wrinkling his brow.

You're already sitting with a cup of hot apple cider and a book when Joy walks in. She dives through the mid-morning crowd bumblingly, accidentally hitting people and stopping to apologize several times. When she finally slides into the seat opposite you, she's out of breath.

You slide the hot chocolate and ice water you'd ordered for her across the counter. She pauses, somewhat surprised at your thoughtfulness, before smiling and thanking you.

"Sure," you grin and check your phone. Thirty minutes.

"You okay?" Joy wonders, wincing when she sips her hot chocolate and it's too hot.

You shake your head and run your fingers through your hair. "I think I might be getting sick," you say, tucking your book into your bag and sipping your cider again.

"Oh no," Joy pouts, "Are you sure you wanna go to class? Cuz we can totally skip!"

You narrow your eyes at her playfully, "Why would you skip?"

She chokes on her drink slightly and sputters, "Uh, solidarity."

"Of course," you giggle.

Dance practice was...fine. But Jeongguk realizes too late that he's irritable and that dancing isn't helping. Usually dancing always helps; he has to focus so intently on his body and it's movement that everything else escapes his attention. But today he doesn't even know why he's upset so nothing helps.

But he thinks maybe it's because of soulmates. Jimin and Hobi are both in this class, both with soulmates, and they aren't even talking about them but Jeongguk feels like he would rather bang his head against the wall than be near them.

And that's frustrating because he loves them, they're two of his best friends.

He does a series of pop and lock movements that the teacher demonstrated earlier with so much aggression that it's almost like krumping. He doesn't get why he's this angry. The soulmate thing...it's never bothered him this much. He has long since accepted that it's not in the cards for him. And even at his worst moments, he feels more sad than angry…

He leaves class with a half-hearted wave to Jimin and Hoseok before disappearing into the showers. He feels so flushed it's almost like he's going to pass out so he cranks the knob to cold water and lets it run over his hair and back, sighing at the relief as his body temperature goes back to normal.

Suddenly a spasm runs through his body, electrocuting him and sending his mind spiraling. He braces himself against the wall of the shower, the water cascading down his back.

Everything is misty and foggy and the grass beneath his feet is damp and soft. There's a person a few feet ahead of him, staring at the large expanse of the forest beneath the hill. The sun breaks over the horizon and the person turns to him—

"Hey, Kook, you good?" someone says from behind him, a towel hitting him square in the back the head.

No, he thinks, definitely not good. His whole body feels weak and exasperated, his mind hazy with confusion and memories he doesn't recognize. He knows the person he just saw but he can't place it. The memory feels familiar and yet separate from him somehow. His chest tightens uncomfortably.

"Yeah, fine," he mumbles, reaching for his shampoo.

You and Joy split after your first class. She has an art seminar on the other side of campus and you're free for another few hours. You wave her off and turn in the direction of the quad; the weather is nice and you want to spread out on the grass with your assigned novel for Lit.

But somehow, you find yourself in front of the music hall. It's almost like waking up after a blackout, you have no idea how you got here. You've only ever walked by the building, it's by your favorite coffee cart and across the street from the building where you take poli sci, but you've never been inside.

And now you're standing on the sidewalk, staring up at the funky Art Deco designs of the courtyard, with an insistent need to go in. It's like there's a cord anchored in your chest gently tugging you in this direction.

Your brows are furrowed in thought when you see him. His hair is damp and his expression is serious; he's wearing a giant white t-shirt and hip-hugging jeans, and your brain immediately conjures very sexual images in your head. Dirty, dirty thoughts that make you blush and turn away from him.

Jeongguk spots you, too, and it stops him in his tracks. Your back is to him and he can't place where he's seen you before, or even conjure specifically your face in his mind, but your posture strikes him immediately as being the same as from that memory.

His heart hammers against his rib cage and he's sweating, his mouth opens as if to call out to you, but it gets stuck in his throat. What would he say?

"Hey, want to walk together?" Hobi approaches him from behind, clasping a hand around his neck and squeezing comfortingly.

"Uh, yeah," he says, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. When he looks back up you're gone.

Am I fucking hallucinating?

Hoseok is watching him with a concerned look and Jeongguk forces a smile. Best not to say anything, he thinks, it's probably just a bad day.

You're not sure why, but you're hiding. You ducked behind a tree, your heart racing. Your palms and forehead are sweaty, and you lose your breath when you realize why. The dreams.

You peek out from behind the tree to see him walking away with another guy, down toward the science library. You breathe a sigh of relief and step out. What the fuck? you think.

Jeongguk can't focus on his Weather Studies class, although that's not unusual, he spends the entire time sketching out the scene from this morning on the edge of his notebook. Taehyung yawns and leans against his shoulder heavily, peeking at the sketch and saying, "New idea for your art project?"

Jeongguk shakes his head sharply but otherwise doesn't respond. His pencil scratches on the paper rapidly, making quick decisive movements that surprise even himself. His usual approach to art is planned and a bit apprehensive, but he never dives in like this without at least thinking about where to go next.

Now, though, he just has that memory? Flashback? Whatever it is imprinted beneath his eyelids and he can't think of anything to do with it except get it onto paper.

Taehyung watches Jeongguk's profile for a moment in concern. He's acting colder than usual and he's never seen the maknae sketch with such intensity.

Taehyung straightens and tries to shrug it off. It's probably just a bad day. He pulls out his phone and scrolls through his lastest messages from Jimin.

Chim: kookie was acting weird at practice

Tae: weird how???

Chim: 🤷🏼‍♀️

Chim: upset about something maybe? Idk

Taehyung glances back over at Jeongguk, a crease forming in his brow as he watches anxiously. Without looking up from his page, Jeongguk says: "Stop it, hyung."

Tae nearly jumps out of his seat, but otherwise turns away, frowning.

Jeongguk keeps sketching and he feels bad. His voice was colder than he'd intended and harsher. He knows Tae is sensitive to those kinds of mood shifts and he wants to reach over and apologize, offer to buy lunch to make up for it, but he's still irritable. He tells himself he'll make it up to him later.

"Bye," Jeongguk says at the end of class without waiting for Taehyung. The elder watches him go with a frown. He clicks to call Jimin before he's even left the classroom, sniffling.

You end up in your building for poli sci instead of the quad, sitting in the hallway outside the classroom to wait another hour and a half. You're sipping on the sugary iced coffee you bought downstairs, earbuds in, eyes closed, listening to music.

His face swims before your eyes. He's so handsome that it makes your heart physically hurt. He's smiling with his nose scrunched, leaning in so that your foreheads touch. His lips are moving but you don't know what he's saying. A warm feeling crowds your chest and heats your skin.

You blink awake to find forty-five minutes have passed. Your coffee is sitting by your side, condensation pooling on the tile. You press the back of your hand to your cheek and find that you're flushed, beads of sweat on your forehead. You feel woozy like you might pass out.

Someone says your name and you blink up at them, your mind refusing to focus. The person kneels down in front of you, "Hey, are you okay?"

You blink again, "Taehyung?" His boxy smile comes into focus and you squeeze your eyes shut hard before opening them again.

Taehyung tilts his head to the side and says, "Taking a power nap?"

"Um, I guess," you whisper, taking his hand as he helps you stand. You lean against him heavily as you start to fall forward once you're on your feet.

"Woah," he says, "Alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm...fine." You shake your head, willing the room to stop spinning and your skin to cool down. Everything begins to straighten out and you say, "Woah, that was weird." You pull away from him and fan your face with your hand.

"I didn't know you had a class in this building," you say.

"Yeah," he rolls his eyes, "there's this logic course I take instead of math." He sticks his tongue out, "Hate it. Logic is for pussies." As he runs a hand through his hair, you spot the Chinese symbol on his wrist, friendship. His soulmate mark.

You force a smile and avert your eyes, glancing over to see your classmates filing into the room. "Oh, I should go."

"Okay, feel better." Taehyung's mouth twists into another frown as he watches you disappear into the classroom. Everyone's weird today, he thinks.

Jeongguk blows off the rest of his classes to run laps. He obviously can't be trusted to be around other people. The look on Tae's face as he ran out of class haunts him; it pushes him to run harder, faster, until his lungs, legs, and heart hurt.

Nothing's helping. He's still so irritable. Like there's something beneath his skin. He skids to a stop when he feels a swell of nausea in his stomach, his skin flushing from something other than running. He stumbles and barely catches himself, sinking to his knees as a memory comes to him unbidden.

"Wooo!"

He looks over. A beautiful girl in the stands with a handmade banner. There's a name on it that is unfamiliar but that is his. Someone bumps into him and he's...playing soccer. He kicks the ball and it goes flying into the net, cheers erupt around him.

His teammates slap him on the back and the girl barrels toward him, arms looping around his neck and squeezing.

Jeongguk blinks and the memory's gone. "You," he whispers, finally placing your face. "From the party." He falls on his back on the track, staring at the sky, unable to shake your image from his mind. "Who are you?"

Days pass like this. Days of endless wandering and a heat so extreme that Jeongguk peels off layer after layer of his clothing until he's laying in bed with nothing but his boxers on. Days of memories and flashbacks so intense it's like a bad trip. Or a good trip? The memories make him feel warm and fluttery, but when they're gone he's left in a cold sweat with a feeling of longing so painful it's like being shot.

You spend the next week and a half similarly. Lounging around in just your underwear and a camisole, fanning yourself with whatever you can find. You can't sleep. Your dreams are so lifelike and you wake up drenched in sweat. And it hurts. The waking up is a nightmare because it leaves you feeling so lonely and lost. You sit up in bed and wonder why you're alone. Something is missing and you don't dare admit to yourself that it might be the person that stars in your dreams, the tall, handsome man who takes you in his arms…

Sometimes you wake up crying. Sometimes you cry as soon as you wake up. Sometimes you stare at the ceiling and wonder if morphine would even be powerful enough to dull the pain.

Jeongguk gets fed up on day nine post-party, and calls Taehyung. It's 2 AM.

"Hello?" Taehyung answers, his voice thick with sleep. Jeongguk can hear Jimin mumbling curse words in the background. "Kookie?"

"Who is she, Tae?" Jeongguk growls, surprising himself.

"What?" He says, confused.

Jeongguk scrunches his face up in frustration, trying to calm down enough to have an actual conversation with an actual person. He breathes deeply.

"There was a girl," Jeongguk says and his voice is like a string pulled taut, all tension, "She came to your party, but she didn't come inside. She was wearing a dress."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"The girl, Tae!" Jeongguk snaps, lashing out and kicking the small trash can by his desk so that it goes flying into the wall. "The beautiful girl in the sundress with the bottle of wine! She obviously knew you, but she didn't go inside. Who is she?"

On the other end of the line, Taehyung is staring at Jimin with fear in his eyes. Jimin swipes the phone from his other half and growls into the speaker, "What the hell, Jeongguk? You can't just call us in the middle of the night and demand answers to vague-ass fucking questions! You need to calm down."

Jeongguk has the urge to throw his phone against the wall. He wants to trash his apartment. He wants to go out and start a fight. "Whatever," he growls into his phone, the line going dead.

You don't leave your house for days. Three to be precise. On day four you realize you're running out of food. Two more protein bars, a handful of potato chips, a questionable apple.

You pick the protein bar and lay back down in bed. You're torn between wanting to sleep and staying awake. Exhaustion coats your skin beneath the heat, you feel it in your limbs and your eyelids. You're so tired. And you want to see him. That beautiful slim face, those bright wide eyes. You want to feel his hands against your skin and in your hair, his lips dragging across your shoulders and neck, his voice floating in the air like music.

It's like a drug. But when the high's gone, you're left with a terrible feeling. An emptiness. Loneliness. You chew slowly at your granola bar, fighting to stay awake and losing.

When you come-to, Joy is in your apartment. She has her hands wrapped around your upper arms and is shaking you awake. When you blink your eyes open she nearly collapses on the floor, "Oh, thank god."

"What is it?" You say and your voice is dry and quiet. It hurts to speak.

"I've been texting and calling," she says, watching you with a frazzled expression, "I haven't heard from you in three days!" She leans forward and cups your cheek in her hand, "Are you okay?" Her voice is gentle now.

You look over and into the mirror, surprised to find red streaks on your cheeks. From crying. You haven't really looked at yourself in three days and it's shocking how different you look. You haven't showered; your hair is dirty and piled on your head, skin oily and blotchy from crying. But it's the sadness, so plainly evident in your face, that makes the tears come again.

"I need you to take me to the doctor," you whisper.

On day thirteen since Taehyung's party, Seokjin organizes a get together with just the seven of them with the full intention of having a conversation with Jeongguk about his behavior. Something is obviously wrong and he must talk to them about it.

Jeongguk goes. Even though he doesn't want to, even though he thinks he will probably end up doing or saying something stupid. Even though his skin feels like fire and every bone is filled with lead.

He's the last to show up and he does find this suspicious but he's too tired to do anything about it. The apartment smells like kimchi and gochujang, and he can hear everyone talk quietly with each other. There's music in the background that's soft and soothing so he thinks Namjoon probably got to the speakers first.

Jeongguk slides onto the couch without greeting them. He sinks into the soft pleather and feels as if he could fall asleep then and there.

"Hey." He knows it's Namjoon without having to open his eyes. "Kookie, can we talk to you?"

Jeongguk squeezes his eyes tighter. This is just like them. To do something considerate and caring and try to talk to him about what's going on. But how can he talk to them about it if even he doesn't know?

He opens his eyes slowly and sees that all six of his hyungs have gathered around him.

"Is everything okay?" Namjoon says and when Jeongguk meets his eyes they're dark and filled with concern. It stabs at his heart.

"Yeah, you've been acting kind of weird," Hoseok adds, sitting down next to the maknae. Jeongguk frowns and tries to look away from all six of them at once. He stares at his lap.

"That phone call to Tae the other night…" Jimin whispers. He was angry that night, but now distress is laced into his words.

"Are you mad at me?" Taehyung squeaks. Jeongguk's head snaps up to look at him at that, finding him clinging to Jimin's arm and looking so upset it breaks him.

"No, no, of course not," Jeongguk gushes, shaking his head.

"Then what's wrong?"

What's wrong. What's wrong, Jeongguk? You can talk to us. What's wrong? They're all talking. Talking talking talking. All their voices jumble and hit his ears at once. And he's so hot. And tired. And woozy.

"I don't know what's wrong with me!" He screams, wrenching his hands through his hair painfully. All six of his friends watch him in shock. Most of them have never heard Jeongguk so much as raise his voice. Now his hair is plastered to his forehead, there are deep purple shadows beneath his eyes, he looks pale and sunken.

"Kookie, when was the last time you slept?" Jimin wonders softly.

Jeongguk clenches his jaw, "I can't sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see her."

A look goes around the group before Jin finally steps forward and presses a hand to Jeongguk's forehead. "You're burning up."

Jeongguk nods, leaning into the cool temperature of Jin's palm. He speaks softly now, exhausted, "For days."

"Maybe we should take him to a hospital," Taehyung suggests quietly.

"When did this start, Kook?" Yoongi steps forward.

"Last week, after Tae's party." He pauses as Hoseok hands him a glass of water, gulping it down quickly.

"After you met that girl?" Namjoon says suddenly, his voice strung with tension, "Taehyung's friend?"

Jeongguk nods, letting Jin and Hoseok guide him to a chair at the kitchen table. Immediately, he leans against the table's surface, pressing his cheek against the cool wood and exhaling softly.

"Okay, okay," Namjoon says, flinging his hands in the air dramatically, "Wait a sec!"

"What? Namjoon—" Hoseok starts, but he's already run from the room.

Jimin sits beside their youngest member at the table, pushing the messy mop of dark hair from his forehead paternally. He presses the back of his hand to Jeongguk's skin and whispers softly, "It's going to be okay."

"Got it!" Namjoon says, losing his balance, socks sliding against the hardwood floor as he runs back into the room. He rights himself and sits on the other end of the table, opening the book he's brought with him and flipping through it.

"Okay," Namjoon scans the page, his finger flying fast down the text until he reaches a certain point, "Ha! Okay Kook, so you've been having hot flashes? A fever since that day?"

Jeongguk nods half-heartedly. The coolness of the table and the water have helped, he feels like someone drowning finally breaking through the surface. But he's still barely treading water.

"Have you been experiencing vivid, life-like dreams, daydreams, or memories?" Namjoon reads, some of the others coming to stand behind him, looks of shock on their faces as they realize what he's reading.

"Yes," Jeongguk groans, "I can't sleep."

"Do they focus on a particular event or person?"

Jeongguk sits up at that, leaning back in his chair and mustering as quizzical a glare as he can summon. "Yes, always her."

"Does your mind wander and you suddenly find yourself somewhere you've never been before but that seems familiar?"

Jeongguk thinks of the bookshop on the outskirts of town. "Yes."

"Have you found any birthmarks or tattoo-like marks on your body since the fever and the dreams started?" All six pairs of eyes watch him expectantly.

"What?" He says, "No."

Jimin's brow furrows. "But what about the heart-shaped mark on your forehead, by your hairline? That hasn't always been there has it?"

"The what?"

Jeongguk pulls out his phone faster than he thought possible, switching it to selfie mode and pulling his hair away from his face. Holy fucking shit. There's a pale pink heart peeking out from his hairline.

"It's a Late-Onset Soulmate Bond!" Namjoon exclaims, slamming his book shut to reveal the title. Modern Soulmate Science and Theory.

"What does that mean?" Taehyung wonders.

"According to my class, it's an incredibly rare type of soulmate bond. As you know, 98% of soulmate bonds occur in adolescence, with a person's individual bond type manifesting around puberty, usually represented by a mark on the body. 1.9% never manifest a soulmate bond at all. And the remaining 0.1% are assumed to have no soulmate bond, but then meet their soulmate later in life, resulting in these symptoms," Namjoon explains.

"But why are they so severe?" Yoongi says.

"Yeah, when my soulmate bond manifested I was only out of school for a day," Taehyung adds.

"Adolescent bodies and minds are more elastic and are thus more adaptable to changes. When a soulmate bond manifests, it takes less out of an adolescent body. It's also theorized that Late-Onset Soulmate Bonds are borne of past lives, and it's only when the two souls physically meet that the bond can be reawakened. Of course, this theory has been often hypothesized because of the memory-like dreams experienced by the soulmates, but research thus far has been inconclusive. At least…" Namjoon says, finally looking around to find his friends dumbfounded, "that's what my textbook says."

"So, she's my soulmate?" Jeongguk says softly. He's gone completely still.

"I think so, Kook," Hoseok beams down at him.

"I...I have a soulmate?"

The doctor is smiling at you so warmly that it's starting to give you the creeps. You can tell she's expecting you to react a certain way - cry, cheer, hug her maybe - but all you feel is shock.

"What...does this mean?"

The doctor blinks as if you'd asked her to explain the meaning of life. It takes her a moment to respond, "You find them, of course."

"How do I do that?"

"It's whoever it was when the symptoms first started." She's still looking at you like you're going to cry from happiness.

"Will the symptoms stop?"

The doctor nods. "Yes, to abate the symptoms, you have to..." her faces scrunches up, "exchange bodily fluids."

"I'm sorry, what?" you stutter, "We have to...do we have to—"

"Oh!" the doctor shakes her head, "While that would do it, a kiss will suffice."

You leave the clinic fifteen minutes later. The doctor is still watching you expectantly but you can't find it in yourself to have a big flood of emotion. You don't feel that way. You've seen soulmate matches in real life before, there's always tears and giant grins. The love becomes almost palpable.

But all you feel is apprehensive.

You'd be lying if you said you hadn't spent most of middle and high school daydreaming of having a soulmate. But after it became clear that you didn't have one...it was just too painful to keep daydreaming. So you closed off that part of yourself with a heavy padlock, resigned to your fate.

You're not sure you even have the key to unlock it anymore.

You're standing on the sidewalk with your phone in your hands. Alone. Joy was running late for work and, although it took some convincing, she left.

You stare at the black screen. You know who it is; you're... soulmate. Your mind skips on the word, it feels awkward in your mouth. But it's obviously that stranger from the night of the party. You can conjure his face in your mind easily now. And if the doctor is correct, you've seen his face from dozens of different lifetimes.

Meeting him would be as simple as texting Taehyung. But there's apprehension caged in your chest like a nervous bird.

Ding!

But it looks like you won't have a choice.

Unknown Number: Hi, this is Jeongguk. I'm a friend of Taehyung's.

"Are you sure I should've texted her?" Jeongguk worries his bottom lip and stares at his phone. His hands are shaky and the smell of ramen coming from the kitchen makes his stomach growl. He turns to look wide-eyed at him, "Are you sure it's her?"

Taehyung nods, "She's the only person I know who could match the description you gave me."

When a full minute passes and the screen still holds only his message and 'delivered' Jeongguk thunks his head against the table heavily. Yoongi snorts a laugh out through his nose at this and when Jeongguk turns his head to glare at him the elder keeps his eyes on his phone. But he's still grinning.

"Kook, it's going to be fine," Jimin says, taking the bowl of noodles Jin handed him and placing it on the table by Jeongguk.

"Maybe she's just busy?" Hoseok offers, taking his own bowl.

Jeongguk hits his head softly against the table a couple of times. He sits up, pausing when he feels the telltale signs of a flashback under his skin.

A small retro apartment with linoleum floors. A kitchen with pale green cabinets. A flimsy card table and folding chairs. And you, in a ratty apron smiling at him like there's nowhere else you'd rather be.

Jeongguk shakes his head and the memory dissipates. His chest feels a little lighter, though, and his fever's gone. The memory infuses him with confidence. As awkward and weird as the next part is, it's meant to be.

When he looks up, everyone is now seated at the table and they are all staring at him. "What?"

"Well, aren't you going to see what she said?" Yoongi asks, deadpan.

Jeongguk looks down at his phone. It's lit up with a message from you.

You: The one I met at the party?

You: I guess we need to talk...

Jeongguk's not sure what he was expecting. But he wasn't sure he had ever anticipated this level of awkwardness. If he's being honest, he was hoping for one of those heartfelt soulmate matches he's witnessed from the sidelines for so long. But you're just sitting opposite from him at a coffee shop, staring at the mug of hot cocoa you'd ordered.

Your face looks so uncomfortable. So, instead, he watches your hands as they trace the funky art design on the mug, shift it back and forth. His focus catapults him into a flashback.

You're both still sitting at a table, one that's small and wooden and sturdy. The mug in your hands this time is black and glazed and he knows that he's the one who made it. You're smiling.

He's gotten so used to the flashbacks now that it doesn't take any effort for him to adjust back to the present. All he thinks about is that he wants to see you smile now, at him in the present.

His chest hurts with longing. Maybe it's worse to know he has a soulmate and not be with them. At least before his pining was arbitrary and foundationless.

"Are you okay?"

He looks up from the mug and you're staring at him openly, your eyes wide and concerned. He tilts his head, "Huh?"

"What was that?" You wonder, "You like...zoned out for a second."

"Flashback," Jeongguk frowns.

"What?"

"You don't get...flashbacks?" He stares.

You shake your head, "Dreams."

"Dreams?"

He hopes you'll elaborate, but you just stare down at the table. His heart feels heavy.

Your mind is blank. You feel so nervous and anxious that unshed tears are burning your eyes. You feel like a disappointment. You feel like you're doing this wrong, like you should be more and do better.

Your bottom lip is bruising from chewing on it nervously. You haven't even taken a drink of your hot cocoa.

It's so weird, him being here. You've seen his face over a dozen times since that first night but it's different when he's here. When he's so close that you could run your fingers through his hair or draw stars on his cheeks or run your thumb over his bottom lip.

Desire swirls in your stomach and turns to disappointment. So many things you want and feel you don't deserve. So many things you had accepted that you would never have and here they are. The possibility hurts more than the clear cut absence.

He starts to drum his fingers against the table and you let your eyes move over to them. It's his right hand, littered with tattoos. There are sets of initials on his knuckles, a heart on the back of his hand, a smiley face on one of his fingers. They're kind of quirky and you like them. You want to know what they mean.

Jeongguk's hand freezes when he sees you staring. You blush and look away. He's surprised to find that this gives him hope. You're interested. There's just something stopping you.

He can work with that.

"So," he tries again, "how do you know Taehyung?"

Jeongguk is relieved when you look up at him. It's odd to think but he really likes your face. Clear, expressive eyes and soft lips. And when you're looking at him...everything clicks. It's like finding his place in the world. Finally, obviously. It's by your side.

You narrow your eyes, "He didn't tell you?"

Jeongguk shakes his head and sips at his ice water. He holds his hands up as quotation marks and says, "It's something the two of you should talk about." He shrugs, running his fingers through his hair, "Why? Is it bad?"

You sigh and sip your cocoa to buy time. "No."

Jeongguk opens his mouth to say something, his eyes alive with the playful comment he had planned, but he's interrupted by a crash.

Directly beside you, a man drops his mug of coffee and it shatters on the ground, splashing your leg, shards of porcelain slicing your ankle.

You gasp, but your reaction is lost when you see the scene play out before you. The man who dropped the cup is wearing khakis and a button-down, but more noticeably there is a large, dark birthmark spanning his cheek, jaw, and neck. Across the room his eyes have found a woman, older than he is, dressed in a bohemian-style, with the exact same mark on her face.

Soulmates.

You'd seen this play out before and avert your eyes.

Jeongguk watches every detail. It's hard to describe, and others say that to truly understand, you have to experience it. But it's almost like the world slows down for these people, everything else fades and it's just them and the start of their new life.

When Jeongguk's eyes find you again, he's surprised to see how painful you find this. There are tears in your eyes.

"Hey, are you okay? I know that it can be—" He holds his hand out but stops himself short of touching you.

You shake your head. He's not wrong, that is part of it; these displays have always...bothered you. But it's mostly, "My leg," you wince.

Jeongguk's eyebrows rise to his hairline and he ducks over and beneath the table to inspect your leg. The whole side of your calf is soaked and the exposed skin of your ankle beneath your cuffed jeans is flushed from the hot coffee and bleeding.

"We should go," Jeongguk insists. Ignoring the display of love beside you, he shoves the stranger out of his way and helps you stand.

Jeongguk keeps an arm around your back and you just barely hear him whisper, "Lean on me."

Compelled by something beyond your control, you do.

You hobble out of the cafe and onto the sidewalk together, pausing as your adrenaline ebbs in the open space.

"Um," you fumble, trying to retrieve your phone from your purse despite being held up almost entirely by Jeongguk. It doesn't help that he smells like fabric softener and boy and it's making you lose concentration. "I just need to call a car."

"What?" Jeongguk shakes his head, "No." Using his arm at your back, he steers you down the sidewalk and away from the cafe. "My place is literally right here."

"Oh, no, I couldn't," you shake your head, but your body doesn't get the memo. One of your hands is twisted into the fabric of his cotton shirt, turning you so that you're almost hugging him as he helps you walk. Your mind won't listen to reason, you find yourself helpless in the face of your desire to stay in his arms.

"Please," he smiles warmly at you, "It's the least I can do." His nose scrunches up and his eyes crease, his front two teeth peeking out in an honest smile.

And now you know: you really are a goner.

Jeongguk lives in a cramped studio apartment. It smells like air freshener and fabric softener and...weed? Kind of. You're frozen in the doorway, leaning against his dresser to keep upright while he frantically clears the floor of his bags and schoolwork and art supplies.

The walls are covered in band posters and artwork (some of which you see is signed with a flourish of JK so you know it's his). There's a magnificent view of the mountains from out his window, mid-morning light pouring in and making the room stuffy. You let your eyes just barely skirt over his bed (which has a navy blue comforter and has been made), and move to look at this desk. There's a massive gaming computer, complete with a light-up keyboard, and different kinds of sound and editing equipment.

"Sorry," he says, grunting as he wrenches up the window, a brush of cold air coming in. "Wasn't expecting visitors." He's facing you, but his eyes are still skirting over his room.

"It's fine," you smile.

There's a long moment when Jeongguk finally looks at you, only mildly satisfied that there's nothing too embarrassing left out, and he just can't believe what he's seeing. You're his soulmate. You're in his room.

It's nighttime. You're standing in a dress that hugs your curves and hovering in the doorway. Your expression is nervous but hopeful as you step out of your heels. He's across the room, standing by the bed, his hands itching with the desire to touch you. "You sure?" he says, and his voice is soft and almost lost amongst the city sounds outside his window. You nod, stepping towards him.

Jeongguk comes back to the present, flushed and a little bit horny. Holy shit, he thinks.

"Flashback?" You wonder.

"Yeah," Jeongguk says, hiding his face in case it's too clear what he's thinking. He catches sight of your leg and jumps in the air, "Oh! Sit down!" He crosses the room and guides you to the expensive, high-backed desk chair, spinning around and darting into the bathroom.

You peek at the polaroids stuck to the edge of his computer screen. You recognize Taehyung and his soulmate Jimin, but everyone else are strangers. The one that catches your eye is of Jeongguk with six others (Jimin and Tae among them), they're standing in a line with Jeongguk in the middle holding a cake. Jeongguk looks younger, rounder cheeks and wider eyes. Scrawled beneath it is written Happy 16th, Kookie!!! -Hyungs

It makes you feel...warm and fluttery.

"Found it," Jeongguk chuckles, reappearing with the first aid kit and a towel. He kneels at your feet and the action feels familiar, like one of your dreams.

"What's it like?" You ask softly.

"Hmm?" Jeongguk says, intensely focused as he wipes the coffee from your ankle and starts disinfecting the cuts.

"The flashbacks."

"Oh," he says, pausing with a cotton swab above your skin. He shrugs and leans in closer as he starts again, "Just like memories. But I'm not expecting them," he chuckles. "Kind of like hiccups? Or sneezing?"

"Do they feel...real?"

Jeongguk leans back and watches your expression. He's surprised to find how scared you look, apprehensive. He can feel a flashback coming in his chest from this angle, but he's determined to answer.

"Kind of. It's like...watching a movie. I know that it's me, and you," he whispers, "and I empathize with them. But it doesn't feel like I'm living it." He looks away from you, the flashback he had sensed fading, and digs through the first aid kit for bandages. "It's like...the universe is giving me proof that it's meant to be. That we've done this before. That we will do it again. That this…" he pauses, wondering if he should say what he really thinks, finding that he can't say anything but the truth when he sees the vulnerability in your expression, "is a love that's meant to last lifetimes."

He pulls a bandage roll from the kit and his face scrunches up into that bunny smile from earlier, "Sorry, I know that was corny," he laughs, "also because this is all I have." He begins to wrap the gauze around your ankle, muttering that he really only has this stuff because of rolling his ankles and wrists during dance practice. But it sort of fades out as you identify the feeling that's formed in your chest...hope.

You avert your eyes, overwhelmed by the feeling of his hands on you and this light happy feeling crowding your chest. Your skin flushes but not in the hot flash way you've been experiencing all week, more pleasantly than that.

"Um," you stutter because you can't be alone with your thoughts anymore, "Who are all these people?" You wince at your own awkward attempt at conversation but Jeongguk laughs jovially.

He bounces up from his knees and squints at the birthday Polaroid you're motioning to. "Oh," he grins, his face doing that adorable bunny smile again, "My hyungs!" He peels the Polaroid off the edge of the monitor and hands it to you. His finger points to each person in turn as he says, "Jimin and Tae, you know them, Namjoon, Seokjin, Yoongi, and Hobi."

Your eyes follow his finger and then move to his face. He's lit up talking about them.

Your thumb moves over the center of the photograph where young Jeongguk stands, looking almost identical as right now. Completely overjoyed.

"How did you meet?" You whisper, feeling his proximity.

Jeongguk moves to sit on the bed and shrugs, "We all lived pretty close together, in the same neighborhood. I've always gone to the same school as Jimin and Tae, they're one year ahead of me. Namjoon and Hobi were seniors when I was…" he thinks, screwing his face in concentration, "a freshman? I think." He shrugs, "I don't really remember how it began, we've been friends forever."

"Wow," you say, looking down at the photograph again.

"Yeah. Namjoon-hyung is like the smartest person I've ever met, he speaks four languages and is working on a doctorate already. And Seokjin-hyung is so funny and he's helping me learn how to cook! He's gonna open his own restaurant one day, I think. And Yoongi-hyung's a composer! He even traveled with a national quartet once, as a pianist, but says he likes hip hop and rap more so now he's a producer. Hobi-hyung is the one who started teaching me how to dance, he says I'm pretty good, but I don't know… He's the captain of our dance team and is amazing! Jimin-hyung was the student body president of our middle and high school, and one of the top-scoring students in math, and a really amazing modern dancer. He almost joined a ballet company, but he said his body probably wouldn't be able to handle it so now he just does hip hop dance with me. I think he should be a choreographer or something but he's double majoring in math? I don't get it. And Taehyung is amazing! He's a theater major and he's starred in every school play that he's auditioned for, and he's the one who convinced me to start taking art classes. But I think I like film better, I'm not really sure, I—" Jeongguk stops abruptly when he sees your face, frozen in surprise. His cheeks turn pink and he says, "Sorry."

"No," you shake your head, "don't be sorry. They're your family. It's good to be so proud of them."

"Yeah," he says, scratching the back of his neck and looking away. I can't believe I just ranted about my six hyungs to my soulmate, he thinks, what a fucking nerd! God just be cool for once Jeon, just once!

He looks back over to you when your phone dings loudly. You reach into your pocket and pull it out, Jeongguk smiling at the corgi butt design decorating the case.

"Oh," you put the phone to your ear, "Hello? Joy?"

You turn away from him and he stands up quickly, wandering away under the impression of putting up the first aid kit to give you privacy. He hears you mumbling into the speaker, catches small snippets of your conversation.

"I think it is going well, actually—""

"No! Joy! Oh my god." He peeks out to see you blushing fuschia.

You talk for another minute before he hears, "Yeah, okay, maybe in an hour? I have to change first. Yeah, yeah, what would you do without me?" You laugh and hang up, Jeongguk reappearing from the bathroom. "Sorry," you say bashfully.

Jeongguk holds up his hands, "It's fine. Everything okay?"

You nod, chuckling to yourself, "My friend put off this project to the last minute and she needs my help. I need to go."

"Okay," Jeongguk nods, trying to hide how disappointed he is. He wonders if all soulmates feel this way when their other half leaves them, even if only temporarily. "I can give you a lift. If you want."

"Really?"

"Yeah," he grins, scooping his car keys from the top of his dresser and helping you stand.

You like this car. The washed purple color, the faded black seats. It smells like the sun and a bit of cologne. There's a stuffed D.va plush hanging from his rearview mirror that makes you laugh. As soon as he slid into the driver's seat he plugged his phone into the aux cord.

The car starts and "Circles" by Post Malone starts playing through the speakers.

"Oh, I love this song," you say, humming the lyrics under your breath.

Jeongguk looks at you like there's nothing else he will ever need. He realizes this is a bit extreme, but it feels accurate. "Me too," he grins, his nose scrunching up in a smile.

It takes you three days to text Jeongguk. Three days to decide that you want to and summon the courage. You feel nauseous when you send the text and unsure. And it takes nearly ten minutes of constant encouragement from Joy for you to hit send.

It takes three days for Jeongguk to get a text from you and it nearly drives his hyungs crazy. He jumps around their apartments muttering, "She said she would text me. She said that right?" His eyes dart frantically to whoever's in the room, "Right?"

"That's what you said," Yoongi responds lamely.

"So I shouldn't text her? I shouldn't? Like that would be a bad idea?"

Jimin laughs loudly and Taehyung chuckles under his breath. Seokjin steps forward and squeezes his shoulder, "Do not. Do not text her."

When his phone buzzes and he sees it's a message from you he nearly starts breakdancing in the middle of the room. Instead, he starts jumping up and down frantically, looking more like a bunny now than he ever has before.

"And?" Namjoon wonders, "What did she say?"

Jeongguk glances down, beaming, "Hi."

His hyungs roll their eyes.

You: Hi

You: Sorry I know it's been a few days…

Jeongguk can't stop himself from replying. He doesn't care about remaining aloof or mysterious. All he knows is that he's been dying to talk to you and now that he has the chance he won't let anything stop him.

JK: No it's fine! No worries!

JK: How are you?

You: good...busy

JK: oh yeah me too

Jimin snorts, reading over his shoulder, "As if you haven't been staring at your phone for three days waiting for her to text you."

"That counts as busy!" Jeongguk pouts, eyes straying back to his screen when he sees the text bubble floating beneath his last message. He hears Jimin say something else but he tunes it out.

You: I was thinking we could hang out again?

You: If you have time

You: If you're too busy, just forget I said anything

JK: YES

JK: Was that too eager?

JK: I don't care, let's hang out

You giggle down at your phone, warmth spreading to your cheeks and crowding your rib cage. Joy peeks over your shoulder curiously, "So who is this guy anyway? I was surprised when you said you had a date." She squints down at your screen, shoving you playfully, "And you like him!"

Your blush turns crimson and you can't force yourself to meet her eyes. She wraps her hands around your arm and shakes you vigorously, "I want all of the information right now!!!" She pauses, a thought occurring to her, and stops shaking you, "But...does he have a soulmate?"

You can tell she's afraid to ask the question. You've known Joy for almost five years now, and she's known about your lack of a soulmate bond for almost the entire time. She knows how uncomfortable it makes you and how depressed you get about it sometimes. She doesn't really want to ask because she doesn't want to ruin whatever happiness you've found. But it does need to be asked.

"That's the thing," you chew on your bottom lip. You're hyperaware that you've never said it aloud before but that you are about to now. "I'm his soulmate."

"Dinner, dinner, dinner," Jeongguk chants, standing in front of his closet with a serious expression. Behind him, Jimin is on his bed reading a magazine and Taehyung is spinning around in the computer chair. "Dinner," he says again, squinting.

"Just wear that yellow button-up and jeans," Jimin says absently.

"Yellow?" Jeongguk crinkles his nose in distaste. He only owns that shirt because Seokjin-hyung bought it for him. The rest of his closet is a spectrum of black and white. In fact, the only colorful items he owns are gifts from others.

"Don't get too goth on her just yet," Jimin chuckles.

Jeongguk pulls the shirt out with a sigh, holding it up to himself in the mirror and twisting his mouth in confusion. He hangs it on his closet door, turning back to his closet with the same frustrated expression.

"It's so weird," Taehyung says.

"What do you mean?" Jeongguk's eyes grow wide with concern.

"Just that...well for Jimin and I, after our soulmate bond manifested and we connected that was kind of...it, y'know? We didn't have to, like, do this whole courting thing." He shrugs.

"Yeah," Jeongguk sighs, "It's hard because I can see our whole history together and it's us but not us? I don't know how to explain it."

It's a nice night, a soft breeze and a clear sky. You have your arms wrapped around yourself as you wait in front of the restaurant, and your heart nearly stops when you see him. He looks like a god. He looks so good. Tight jeans and a perfect muted yellow shirt. His hair looks soft and smooth and it falls into his eyes. And he's smiling, his nose scrunches up happily. He's only walking at first but he starts jogging when he sees you.

When he stops in front of you, you know you should say something but can't find the words. There's a feeling in your chest. Disbelief. That he's here, that this perfect person is in your life, is forever intertwined with yours. You have the urge to run your fingers through his hair and you have a distinct feeling that it's something you've done before.

Instead, you let out a shaky breath and avert your gaze.

"I've never tried this restaurant," he says, tilting his head back to read the sign.

You're too aware of how close he is. Of how good he smells. Of the heat coming off his skin. You want to wrap your arms around him and hold him close to you, bury your face in his chest.

"I really like it," you say, turning away from him because you're afraid of what you might do otherwise.

The restaurant is small because you hate large restaurants that cram people inside. There's soft classical music playing from speakers and warm lighting. But what you like most is the metal archway over the entrance that has pure white jasmine strung through it. You walk through and instantly feel at ease from the smell.

"Oh, hello miss," the greeter says from behind your podium, recognizing you instantly.

You blush and smile at her, a bit embarrassed that he now knows how frequently you come here.

The hostess glances behind you and you see her eyes sparkle at the sight of him. You wonder if that's what you look like when you see him too. When she looks back at you she gives you a conspiratorial thumbs up, whispers, "You didn't tell me your soulmate was so hot!"

Your flush goes darker. Soulmate. She said it so casually. But you suppose it's true. He's your...soulmate. The word feels right.

"Table for two?" She smiles, "I think I have your favorite one open."

"Yes, thank you."

Jeongguk focuses back on you and grins cheekily, "How often do you come here?"

You avoid his eyes, "Couple times a week. I like to...study here."

You sit at a table on the open patio. String lights curl around the wooden awning and the metal fence. Tall potted plants are perched in the open spaces. On the table is a flickering yellow candle and a lavender bouquet.

The hostess gives you both menus before taking your drink orders. You ignore the menu, while Jeongguk opens his and starts perusing.

He's so focused that you let yourself watch him. He's so beautiful; dewy, glowing skin, plush, pink lips, wide, brown eyes. It all feels so familiar. Dinner in soft lighting, sitting across from each other.

Your cheeks heat up thinking about it.

Jeongguk is surprised that, despite how nervous he feels, the night is going so well. You both order wine and pasta and just...talk. There's a familiarity that pervades through the night that he keeps from thinking about; if he thinks about it he knows he'll just freak himself out. He tries to keep his hands busy to stop himself from reaching over and intertwining your fingers with his.

"I like your tattoos," you say softly. Your plates have been cleared and Jeongguk seriously considers ordering a second serving of dessert to prolong the date.

Jeongguk raises his eyebrows and looks down at this hand. He often forgets they're there. "Oh," he says, flexing his hand, "Thanks."

"What do they mean?" you cock your head to the side.

"Oh, the initials are for my hyungs," he blushes, "And the rest just...seemed like a good idea." He runs his hand through his hair nervously.

You grin and boldly reach across the table, your fingers wrapping around his wrist and pulling the appendage closer to the light. Your fingers trace softly over the inked pieces of his skin. You giggle at the smiley face on his finger, trace the heart on the back of his hand, tap each of the initials on his knuckles.

Jeongguk sucks in a breath as your fingers move up his forearm. You spend a long time on the flower decorating his arm, until Jeongguk finally says, "It's my, um, birth flower."

"Tiger flower," you whisper.

"Uh," he watches you with wide, doe eyes that reflect the flickering candle, "Yeah."

You meet his eyes, realizing suddenly how intimate this has become and pull back. Jeongguk coughs loudly, awkwardly, afraid he's having a heart attack from how fast his heart is beating.

"Is, uh, is yours on your forehead?"

"What?" you ask, wide-eyed.

Jeongguk sits up straighter and pulls his mop of dark hair from his face. There's a heart, just a shade or two pinker than his natural skin tone, peeking out from his hairline. A soulmate mark.

"I...don't know." You do the same as him, revealing your forehead and hairline.

Jeongguk's face transforms into a smile, his eyes light up happily. He presses two fingers to a spot just beneath your hairline, "Right. There," he says softly. He looks down at the table, his cheeks turning pink, "Meant to be," he whispers.

You let your hair fall back over your face, blushing.

The date goes well. The next three dates go well. A month passes and Jeongguk sees your progress. It's slow. You keep your distance. The fevers, dreams, flashbacks...they all continue. Subdued but still there.

You feel guilty. You know the solution. You're not sure if Jeongguk does, but either way, you're glad he hasn't forced you into anything physical. It's such a major shift in your worldview...you have a soulmate. You still have to remind yourself when you wake up in the morning.

"I'm not alone." You whisper it to your empty room. Your fingers find their way to your forehead to touch the heart that's now printed there. You stalk JK's social media and text constantly.

But every time you're with him (which is...as often as possible), something stops you. Fear, probably. You're afraid of making it real, of cementing everything.

Jeongguk's happy. Frustrated but happy. He can tell you're afraid, he senses your hesitation. He's glad, too, that things are moving slowly because he doesn't know what he's doing. He was popular in grade school, but soulmate bonds manifest during puberty. Once someone gets their soulmate mark...they pretty much refuse to make out with anyone else. He has little experience, but he doesn't care with you.

Anytime he's within six feet of you, his fingers start to twitch and his heartbeat quickens and he just...he just wants to wrap his arms around you and squeeze, he wants to kiss every inch of your skin, run his hands through your hair.

So he's frustrated. Because of the lack of physical intimacy, yes, but also because he doesn't know what you're afraid of. Or how to help.

And the flashbacks aren't helping. They feel like taunts. Like someone showing him something that could be his if only he'd do the right thing, say the right thing. It's infuriating.

"I think you should talk to her about it," Namjoon says flatly when he broaches the subject with his hyungs.

"Yeah, Kookie," Hobi says, looking up from the game of cards he and Yoongi are playing, "Can't resolve anything if you won't talk about it first."

Jeongguk huffs and throws himself against the couch, whiny.

It takes a week for him to build up the courage to bring it up. Date night.

You made sure to pick a movie for tonight that you'd seen before. You had made the preemptive decision to hold his hand. You did feel...slightly stupid for having to make a preemptive plan for something as innocent as hand-holding. But you figured that was the only way you were going to get yourself to do it.

So you waited until after dinner, halfway through the movie, the sun has set. You're sitting a few inches from him on the couch in the low lit room. You make a bit of a show of yawning and lean over.

His shoulders are broad and round and comfortable. Your cheek rests easily against him and you find a sense of security wrapping around you like a blanket from the proximity.

His hand is resting, palm up, on his thigh and you tentatively link your fingers through his.

You love his hands. Long fingers, soft palms, dark tattoos. It's warm and comforting, and they fit together perfectly.

Jeongguk doesn't need to bring it up, he realizes. This is progress. You're both trying. He squeezes your hand, leans his cheek against the top of your head. You fall asleep on his shoulder.

But it's getting worse. The dreams are so intense you can barely sleep. You keep waking up every few hours, remind yourself that he's real, talking yourself out of the anxiety. And his flashbacks are intense. Debilitating. He had one during dance practice and it ended up with him on the floor. The fevers are so intense sometimes that neither of you can move.

"Shit," he whispers one day, walking with your hands through the door of his apartment. You look over and find that he's drenched with sweat, his hair sticking to his forehead. He pales and his knees go weak.

"Woah, oh my god," you gasp, trying to hold onto him enough to ease him to the ground. "You're burning up," you whisper, pressing the back of your hand to his forehead.

Jeongguk shakes his head almost, "S'fine."

His eyes blink rapidly and refuse to focus, "Are you having a flashback?"

He shakes his head and you can tell he's trying to stay present but he's struggling. His skin is so hot and he's sweating so much...you think he might pass out.

You screw your face up. You know what you have to do.

You take his chin between your fingers and lift it up, leaning in and pausing, whispering sincerely, "I'm so sorry I put this off for so long." You close the distance between you both, your lips brushing softly, tentatively against his at first.

Jeongguk eyes open wide, his mind suddenly reeling back into the present. Your lips are pliant against his and he finds himself responding without thinking. He surges upward, his tongue slipping between your lips and into your mouth. His hand threads into your hair and presses your head closer.

Your hands grip tightly at his shoulders, your mouth opening in a gasp as he's suddenly so responsive. You feel his fever break beneath you, your lips moving of their own accord.

And then suddenly, it hits you. All your lifetimes. Every memory, every moment. And it's all...Jeongguk. You understand now, what he meant about the flashbacks, about how they're you but not you.

You pull away, resting your forehead against his. You're both breathing heavily, grinning like fools. You close your eyes and just smile, "I remember everything," you whisper.

"Me too," he whispers, and he peppers kisses across your nose and cheeks, "It's been so long. So many lifetimes." He pulls your hair away from your face and presses his lips softly to the heart-shaped mark on your forehead.

"I can't believe we found each other," you whisper, wrapping your arms around his back and pulling him into your chest, "Again."

"Always," he says, curling into your embrace so that his face hides in the dip of your neck, "Always. We'll always find each other."

"Always," you affirm. You kiss the mark on his forehead and say it again, "Always."

author’s note—i really really really love this; i'm so proud of it omg

m.list :: wips :: ao3

[emile-hides]

Thirteen Years

The final part of my Overwatch Found Family Fanfiction with my gaming squad; @nuetella-twin @r1pwitch @bopin-lucio-beets  @x-crosslate and @syalin-deerfox

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

In which we reflect on the years passing.

My name is Emile, I’m technically what a normal human would call a mechanic, I like to consider myself a Doctor who specializes in Omnic care. I work for the Shimbali, and while my job use to include travailing to provide aid to Omnics all over the world, more recently it’s been contained to the Nepal sanctuary, and surrounding villages.

If you’d asked me thirteen years ago what I’d planned to be doing in the future, it probably wouldn’t have been the life I live now. So why the sudden change in life style?

Well... My children, of course!

The oldest is Marianne (15), previously known as Jojo. A bright blond young girl with out of control curly hair, pale blue eyes, and freckles. She’s currently studying Omnic care under my wing, and is a rather quick learner.

Then there’s Moss (13), their a rather pale looking goth type, with medium length black hair, two different colored eyes, and a racoon tail and ears. We’re not really sure where those came from. They enjoy baking, music, and anime of course.

And finally, there’s Milo (13), previously Ari. I’ve had Milo the longest, sense before they can even remember, and while every day the come up with a new name and new pronouns to use, they continue to be the same perfect and wonderful child I’ve raised.

It’s rather easy to tell by simply looking at the three of them that they’re all adopted, though not though usual means. And while the way I ended up raising these three is a little out there, I’ll always be grateful to whatever God blessed me with these angles.

And here, right now, with my three kids, my roommate and friend, Cross, Zenyatta, and Genji, we were having a real family dinner.

Granted, we didn’t have a dinning table. Our kitchen was far too small, and we didn’t have a dinning room. But sitting around the coffee table on nice little pillows was just as good.

Tonight, we were celebrating, thought the guest of honor hadn’t arrived.

A few days ago, my best friend Zayne, a fierce bounty hunter, had called me to update me on his life. He’d finally taken down his “true rival”, some archer he’d been tasked to capture, and as the trope goes, they were now together. Rather sweet, yes?

However, that of course came at a cost of, well, the man who hired Zayne now coming after both of them. So, we offered them a safe place in Nepal.

So, here we all sat, awaiting Zayne and this mystery man’s arrival.

Zenyatta and Moss were currently in the kitchen, putting finishing touches on dinner. Milo, Marianne, Cross, and Genji were playing Smash Bros. I was, like an anxious mess, pacing around by the front door waiting for word from Zayne.

“DAD!!” Milo’s call from the living room pulled my attention from worry, “GENJI’S CHEATING!!!” He whined.

Genji chuckled and stretched as his character taunted alone on the battle screen, “It’s not cheating.”

“META KNIGHT IS SO CHEATING!!!” Milo huffed, lightly hitting at Genji’s arm. The ninja just continued to chuckle.

I watched Genji and Milo rough house for another moment, as Marianne and Cross scooted a bit away, and continued playing. It gave me a sense of calm. Enough to let out a sigh and check on the kitchen a bit more relaxed.

“How’s dinner coming?” I asked with a smile.

“Great!” Zenyatta piped with more excitement than I was expecting. He then held out a bowl of ramen that looked like something straight out of an anime. “We chose to make Ramen, as Zayne’s mystery friend is Japanese. Moss is such a wonderful teacher!” He beamed.

I glanced past him to Moss, who was currently mixing what I assumed to be cake batter, so focused on their cooking they hadn’t even noticed I’d entered. I smiled, feeling even more at ease.

“Great. Thankyou so much for cooking, by the way.” I gave a slight nod of thanks, as I am absolutely useless in the kitchen.

“My pleasure.” Zenyatta whirred, setting down the bowl of ramen with equally beautiful looking bowls.

A sharp knock pulled my attention from the adorable monk, “Oh!” I hopped a bit excitedly to turn around.

Zenyatta hummed, gathering the meal to set up in the living room, “Seems our guests have arrived~”

I nodded excitedly and quickly made my way to the front door. I grabbed the knob, bracing internally for whoever may be on the other side, and swung the door open.

There stood Zayne, fading green undercut a little longer than it was before. Beside him a greying man with a pointed beard, an undercut pulled into a ponytail, and an eyebrow piercing. He looked stern, almost angry, and he didn’t look directly at me.

I was too excited to really care about him though.

“Zayne!!” I cheered, scooping the shorter man into a quick hug before quickly pulling them both inside, “Welcome back! Come in, sit down!”

Zayne laughed and pulled his friend along into my home, “Geez, calm down, it’s only been like a year and a half sense I was last here.”

“Too long. Much too long.” I huffed jokingly. As we entered the living room I turned to address the gamers on my floor, “Alright you four, time to eat, games off.”

Milo whined, Genji turned the system off, Marianne shifted to sit at the table, and Zenyatta finished placing the bowls of ramen along with a warm pot of tea and cups.

“And who’s that?” Cross again asked the importaint questions, as they pulled Milo to the table.

Zayne blinked, “Oh, right, this is-” he started to introduce.

“HANZO?!” Genji’s eyes went wide as jumped up.

“g-GENJI???” The stranger returned, flinching back behind Zayne.

“Marianne! ...What’s going on?” My daughter pipped in.

[docholligay]

Furi gave me a list of prompts and I thought I’d do a few, allowing ONLY 20 minutes for each of them and seeing where I got.

“Didn’t we establish that this wasn’t your fault and that there was nothing else you could have done?”--Tracer to Pharah

Sometimes Fareeha Amari simply forgot Tracer was dead. 

You would think this would be difficult to do, and even Pharah scolded herself. They had been captured together, and tortured alongside each other, and spirited into the hospital together. She had witnessed the entirety of Tracer’s day to day decline, like watching a piece of fruit rot. She had helped care for her, she had helped with the cremation and the funeral and yet, even still there were days that she simply forgot Tracer was dead, and found it very jarring to be reminded. 

She was so lucky to have survived Moira’s ministrations, was all the young lady had said, a fresh journalist excited to be doing a report on the center Overwatch had opened in Tracer’s memory. D.va had opened it, really, or her money had, but she did not want the credit to the point of threatening the few who knew with their internet reputations. So it was Overwatch’s gesture to the East End, more in keeping with what she would have wanted than any statue. 

She was so lucky. 

No one ever meant anything by it, except to express happiness or good fortune or other very pleasant things, Pharah supposed, but all she could ever think of was the implication that Tracer had somehow been unlucky. Tracer was not an unlucky person. She herself would have said she was blessedly lucky, and that Tracer had killed Moira before Moira realized she’d undone Tracer entirely was proof positive, so she said. 

Tracer was not unlucky. 

It was simply that Pharah hadn’t done enough to protect her. 

Pharah had not been quick enough of tongue, or of body, and Tracer had been so good at antagonizing Moira. It might have been a last game of skill, between her and Tracer, to see who could give more for the cause, and now Pharah’s shoulder was often painful, and Tracer was dead. She had won, in the end. She should have done more. She should have tried harder. 

She glanced over to the desk at the other end of the room, still in the old office though the shiny new building rested in a posh area of town. 

“I’m sorry.” she told the empty chair. “You were my friend. I should have done more.” 

“Could ‘ave sworn we’d established this wasn’t your fault, and there was nothing else you might ‘ave done? I mean, fuck’s sake” Tracer appeared at the corner of Pharah desk, sitting cross-legged on her reports, “Moira DID want me dead for longer than you’ve even known me.” 

This was the other reason it was sometimes hard to remember Tracer was dead. After her death, Pharah had begun to experience hallucinations. The first time, dressing Tracer’s body so her family didn’t have to, Pharah had chalked it up to an unusual amount of stress. 

Five months after Tracer had taken her last breath, it was harder to call Pharah’s break from reality a temporary situation. 

“You wasn’t exactly on ‘oliday at the Ritz, love.”

[demonboidies]

𝓼𝓲𝓬𝓴𝓵𝔂 - 𝓹𝓻𝓸𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓼

pt.7

word count: 2,545

<this is a yandere story, therefore this is a trigger warning for emotional abuse, manipulation, toxic relationships and overall unhealthy obsession towards the reader/mc/yn>

taglist: @iwannabeanidol  @taezeus @jooniescupcakes @aesthetically-messed-up @okepoke @weirdo-in-the-closet @aysha489​ @illnevertrustmyselfagain​ @sessi03​ (comment under this post that you want to be added to the taglist; commenting anywhere else will not be counted for) 

jungkook was really cute, in general. he captured hearts of many people, unintentionally, of course. it was an obvious fact and everyone knew it. except, all of the atoms in jin, hoseok, namjoon, and yoongi's body wouldve disagreed at this moment.

he was a whining, stomping, stubborn mess right now. tears were streaming down his face as he stomped about in his room, definitely making a big mess. the covers were thrown onto the floor as he kicked the small rug on his floor.

"hey, bun-bun, please stop! do you want noona to see this big mess?" namjoon tried persuading the boy, who stopped momentarily. he shook his head no and namjoon nodded, "exactly. if i tell noona that you made this mess, do you think she'll be happy? who knows she might just leave us if she sees this."

at the prospect of you leaving, his eyes teared up even more. he collapsed onto the ground, grabbing a pillow he had previously thrown onto the ground to cry into.

"no!~~"

the wail made all 4 of the guys cringe. finally, yoongi stepped forward running a hand through jungkook's hair.

"hey, bunny, why don't you get into bed and wait there for y/n to come back?"

jungkook shook his head.

"why not buddy?"

"i-i wanna see her when she comes inside, jungkookie doesn't want to wait any longer."

yoongi nodded thoughtfully, helping his fellow friend up, "we can wait downstairs, let's go."

his hand clasped tightly around jungkook's, letting the little sit on the couch which was positioned right in front of the door. yoongi made sure jungkook was preoccupied, turning to namjoon.

"get him his banana milk."

in a few seconds, the carton of milk was in jungkook's hand as he clutched a pink bunny plush in his other, staring at the door with determination. it was as if he was a runner, you opening the door would be the equivalent to the start of the race, and jungkook would have to run as fast as possible to you - the finish line.

jin sighed dramatically, feeling the weight off of his shoulders as he rolled his chair into the kitchen. hoseok and yoongi followed, letting namjoon stay preoccupied with jungkook.

"gosh, i knew he was reliant on her, but this is the worst episode ever." jin said taking a large gulp of water, he was trying to trick himself by thinking it was vodka. he indeed needed a drink, but right now wasn't an appropriate time.

"you know he has like over," hoseok paused thinking of a reasonable number, "200 photos on his phone, only imagine how many he has on his laptop, tablet, and probably has some on his fucking smart watch. knowing him he probably programmed it differently, just for that."

yoongi chuckled dryly, silently pitying jungkook. "he's so dependent, it's scary." he shook his head as if he was disappointed in jungkook.

hoseok and jin looked at each other, then at yoongi and broke out in laughter.

"coming from the guys who used her as your 'muse'." jin exclaimed, hoseok nodding and laughing along with him.

yoongi's face lit up a light pink, "oh whatever, at least i dont lie to her." his clap back made jin roll his eyes.

"we all agreed to this so don't go on bringing up that. that's just you trying to be a hero." jin's snarky comment made yoongi shut up immediately, although the glare he had directed to jin was clear on how he didn't like his snide comment.

"jungkook is just young, that's why. assured, we all acted that way when we were his age."

"pft, at his age i was kil-"

"noona!!~"

the excited squeal cut off jin who sighed heavily once again. wordlessly, they all walked out of the kitchen and into the living room. they saw jungkook holding you close by your waist, resting his head on your shoulder, even if you were noticeably shorter than him.

"hey jungkook." you patted his shoulder in greeting, your other hand being occupied by taehyung's hand. jimin watched the two youngest get most of the attention so he stomped into the kitchen. he grabbed one of your favorite drinks, bringing it out to you in a glass cup.

"here noona, drink this. you must be exhausted." you thanked jimin with a smile, pulling away from jungkook. you took a sip from the drink, looking at all of the expecting males. were they just waiting for you to come home? their eyes were wide, a smile on their lips...resembling puppies almost.

their eager eyes suddenly tore away from you, noticing your questioning eyes. "so..."

"noona let's play games upstairs!"

"y/n wanna check out my studio? i was working on some new tracks, if you're curious to hear some."

"noona, i never got around to showing you my dance performances right?"

you blinked slowly, staring at the individuals who were looking at you expectingly. the grip around your arm and you looked down to see jungkook looking at you with his bright, big doe eyes and lips formed into a pout.

"noona~ please?"

your breath hitched, the sight making your heart stop. the same time, your hand was being pulled in the direction of taehyung. you looked at the younger male.

"noona, you haven't spent much time with me. jungkook can wait, can't he?" taehyung's tone dropped and you could see in your peripheral vision jungkook moving towards his hyung.

"what? what are you getting at, taehyung?"

the other boy's eyebrows raised, shocked at the sudden informal tone jungkook had.

"i'm sayin-"

BZZT. BZZT. BZZT.

there was a vibration coming from your right pocket. so you took ahold of your ringing device, after un-twining your hand out of taehyung's (with his reluctance, of course), and swiped to answer it. you tried turning your body to the side for some privacy, but jungkook's hold didn't loosen a bit.

so you let out a sigh, saying a greeting to whomever was on the other end.

"good afternoon, ms. y/n."

"uhm, hello. who am i speaking to?"

the boys tried acting like they weren't listening in, except for jungkook who was watching you like a hawk. they were either on their phone, playing games, or just looking out the window.

"this is mr. kim, the secretary of mr. park hyung-sik's company, EyeCandy."

the name was familiar, it was one of the biggest companies regarding technology in South Korea. it was a job you had applied to maybe more than 2 months ago. it was a longshot dream you had. they handled many out of the country project and you simply wanted to become one of their translators. it was stupid of you to think you even had a chance. and it was obvious after the ceo had gotten up on a stage in america and by his side was a girl speaking into a microphone.

"ah," you said, not knowing what to think of it, "and why are you calling? sorry for the rudeness, but i can't wrap my head around it...i mean, i applied months ago."

jin's eyebrow raised in question, definitely paying attention now. applied? as in for a job?

"actually, i'm glad to be the bearer of good news, so we would like to say we have accepted you as mr. park's own personal translator."

you blinked once. twice. and thrice, or the third time.

"i'm sorry but, what?"

"come around at 8 am sharp tomorrow if you're interested."

and the line went dead.

"let's go!" jungkook said tugging your arm to go upstairs. but you wouldn't budge. jungkook began whining slightly, but stopped when you looked concerned with something. it seemed safe for him to assume it was regarding whoever you were on the phone with.  

"oh! i remember, hobi," you said looking at the surprised male in question, "your studio. it should be opening in 20 minutes, you asked for me to remind you earlier this morning."

the boys looked at hoseok suspiciously, but he only smiled gratefully. "oh thank you! i really forgot!"

he glanced at the boys, who were staring at him with high suspicion, but he gave no second thought to them, rushing upstairs.

"you know, noona," taehyung looked at you, softness in his eyes and smile, "you can call me tae or taetae if you want."

you smiled at his cute nickname, opening your mouth to respond, but jungkook cut you off.

"goo! kookie! jungkookie! you can call me those names! even bun-bun!"

'really? i would think annoying brat would be more fitting," yoongi thought bitterly, not loving the fact he was still attached to your arm - and the fact you seemed okay with it.

"well, if we're getting familiar with nicknames," yoongi said with a calm voice, "i give you permission to call me yoongs." he already made clear on the first day he wouldn't mind if you called him oppa or yoongs, but he thought restating it would've encouraged you to call him that more often. "oppa is fine too."

jin glared at him for taking the oppa title. "actually, you could call me oppa too, and if you want jinie. seeing as i am the oldest, that title should be reserved for me too." jin threw a glare at yoongi who only rolled his eyes.

you chuckle at the seemingly playful banter, not knowing how competitive they were actually being.

"joonie is cool with me." namjon said casually, walking closer to you. "and actually could i speak to you alone for a moment."

the mention of being alone with namjoon made junkook tighten his grip around you.

"no! noona is going upstairs with me," he declared for what felt like the thousandth time today,

"goo, i swear only 5 minutes. and you can take her upstairs to play overwatch or whatever."

the youngest showed to sign of letting up, until yoongi sighed and walked up to him. "goo, let's go. namjoon needs to talk about someting serious-"

"i am serious!" jungkook said puffing his chest out.

yoongi gritted his teeth, grabbing jungkook by the back of his neck and making him lean down a bit, so he cuold speak very clearly right into his ear.

"jeon, you better stop fucking around and come with me, let namjoon and y/n talk alone - it's something very important. or i swear to god, i'm gonna...beat the shit out of y/n right now, take them away from you, and make sure you never see them again." yoongi's words held no meaning, zero at all, but it got the reaction he wanted. jungkook let go of you, grabbing yoongi by his collar and staring him right into his irises. yoongi could tell how jungkook had switched, snapped, and was angrier than he's ever seen.

"repeat that shit to my face right now." jungkook, rather jeon, was furious. this persona/alter of jungkook was more aggressive than any other alter that jungkook had (at least known by the boys). it was a very, very, very stern rule in the house to not trigger that part of him. it never really ended well, no matter who tried to calm him down. the only way jeon would leave would be if jungkook had gotten sleep or just past out for whatever reason.

"come on," namjoon said, grabbing your wrist to pull you aside. it would be best if you didn't see anything that was about to go down, "there's something important we need to discuss."

you reluctantly let him tug you in the direction of his office. he shut the door behind you, but you flinched when you heard something crash.

"alright, so what i wanted to talk about was regarding your living location..." his voice trailed off, fiddling with some papers in his drawers, "jin and i wanted to know if you would be staying with us or you would be residing back at your apartment?"

this discussion was really supposed to be saved for later, but hearing your phone call and seeing jungkook's unusually clingy attitude, it seemed to be a good time to bring this question upon you. after all, with everything that seems to be happening at this moment, you might even say yes due to the pressure.

you nodded slowly. the decision had to be made, and the pros and cons of your choices were clear. living with the boys would only make your job easier, however it would inconvenience the boys. living by yourself (as you had been living before) would let you not be in anyone's way, however, the commute to the hill would have to happen every day and it sounded tiresome just thinking about it.

"i mean there is no pressure, however, we - as in all 7 of us - want you to know that it would be no problem if you had decided to stay with us. don't think that you would be a burden, you're already helping us so much. it also seems fitting if you're going to be here every day, in the case of an emergency or something," his voice trailed off in the end, noticing how you were in deep thought. he saw the contemplation on your voice and he smirked a bit. he just needed to convince you a little bit...

"and i'm sorry to say this to you - i just need you to know. the youngest ones really do rely on you for a lot of stuff. we need you here on time to be driving them at their designated hours. also...to think about jungkook - he really needs you by his side as well as taehyung. i don't know if you've noticed, but you're one of their calming remedies."

well now you really couldn't say no. to know that you were actually needed, i mean, you knew you were needed but for the sake of the two youngest. being called their remedies. it was like namjoon was planning all of this out only for you to say yes, his wicked and smooth words were very persuading.

and persuaded you were. it was crazy. you had only met the 7 males a mere day ago, but being called one of their calming remedies. if you were needed for an emergency, it would be too late if you were to commute to the hill. so the only option was...

"i guess i should start packing my things up then," you said, almost hesitantly. "i really would hate to burden you guys, but, my job here might be a waste if i would have to commute every day." you smile softly at the pleased man in front of you.

that was step one done and accomplished. everything was going well.

//I called this one pros and cons bc obvs ar the end,,,,but like pros and cons of jungkook is basically why that's the title

bc see hes a cutie wootie patootie, but hes also an annoying lil bitch for his noona ❤🥰 [pros and cons]

[that was a joke lol pls dont take offence]

[^jk finding out his noona is paying more attention to his hyungs]

[locatcm]

You’ve sold your soul to the wrong type of people. discovered the wrong types of things; now you’ve escaped they’ll do anything to take you back.

Talon always looks like a good idea to a starving genius, the daughter of a scientist from Numbani but British born, Cynthia’s mother passed when she was relatively young, a teen genius, and her English father soon followed suit. Left with a sizeable estate but lost opportunities, she became affiliated with Talon in her early twenties, a nihilist armed with a lot of funding, an impressive intellect and a certain charisma, Cynth was close to an Irish operative who called themselves Badb. Until an incident where she grew a conscience (sort of), left her ‘partner’ for dead, taking their cybernetic glove with her and augmenting it for her own use, meaning her current method of attack is a gun and a glove that delivers a powerful forward blast.

As someone who knows a little too much, she’s now on the run from the organization she once felt she belonged in and will do anything to gain her freedom. 

[starshinegoblin]

The Games We Play

Featured AU: You’re My Muse AU -  Jingyi is a personal assistant to Lan Wangji and Jin Ling is a Youtube Game Vlogger. Notes: This originally was supposed to be for the prompt "kiss of suggestion" and I think I totally missed the mark but here's what happened XD Also, Buttons aka Snowdrop is a munchkin and here is what she looks like! So cute! FYI, if your an Overwatch person. I'm sorry for butchering your game. My knowledge comes from peering occasionally over my roommates shoulder while she plays. @ruensroad - Here’s the spice and thanks for the help with choosing what type of kitty that Buttons aka Snowdrop is.

Jingyi groaned as he woke up. The feel of too warm feline toe beans walking up his bare back. He shivered, starting to wiggle attempting to dislodge his cat. When she wouldn’t stop. He rolled on his side dislodging her. Reaching out for Jin Ling, he found that he was alone in their bed. He blearily opened his eyes, blinking them to get the sleep out of his eyes. He noticed the soft grey light coming out from underneath the curtains that were still drawn. 

Which meant that Jin Ling had wanted him to get some actual sleep. Working as a personal assistant for his older cousin, Lan Wangji is a lot of work. The last project was a little overwhelming too with them traveling there much. Thankfully, New York had been the last stop for a while. He’d come home from the United States last night jet lagged and starving. Jin Ling had been amazing last night. He was already there at the airport ready for him, bringing him home to a hot meal, and a bath before bed.  

He let out a sigh rolling on his back so that he could stretch out lazily across the center of their bed. A smile sweeping across his face at how blessed he was. Buttons tried again to lay on him but he sat up tossing back the sheets. He untangled his legs getting up. His stomach growled making him chuckle. Jingyi checked the time seeing that it was a little after twelve. 

“Come on let’s go see if A-Ling can be persuaded into taking us to lunch.” Jingyi said to Buttons as he put on the first clean shirt that he saw on the chaise at the foot of the bed. That earned him a soft trilling meow as a response, which of course meant she agreed. He picked her up, taking her with him. Clad in his boxers, Jin Ling’s T-shirt, and finger combed bed hair, he set out to find where his boyfriend was in their apartment. 

It didn’t take him long to find out. The moment he stepped into the hallway, he was able to hear the sounds of Jin Ling’s game and him smack talking with his friends coming from the living room. Knowing that he didn’t have to be quiet. He continued on into the living room. He smiled fondly seeing Jin Ling sitting on the floor in front of their sectional couch. His long hair down wearing a blue tank that was Jingyi’s and a pair of heather grey sweats. He looked really good, reminding him how much he’d missed him this past week in New York. 

Jingyi turned his head to check the wall. Their television actually being a projector. So the whole wall was nothing but the game in HD. It only took him a second to recognize the game. He was playing Overwatch. His team was winning and he bet it was because A-Qing was there being silent but deadly playing D.Va. 

Jin Ling saw his boyfriend standing in the doorway holding Buttons out of the corner of his eye. He smiled quickly tapping his mute button on his headset. 

“Hey, baby.” He called out to him letting him know that he knew he was there. A happy snort was the response he got. 

“You tricked me.” Jingyi playfully scolded, as he padded over to him. Jin Ling didn’t need to look up to know the other was smiling. He could hear it in his voice. 

“You needed the rest.” Jin Ling countered as Jingyi decided to set Buttons down on the floor. Buttons wandered over to sniff Jin Ling’s hands before going in search of her true love, Fairy. The rainy weather outside making it a perfect day for staying in and being cozy which is what Jin Ling has planned. No need to leave their home today. 

“I probably would have slept more but someone had to get up.” Jingyi whined, his fingers itching to mess with Jin Ling’s hair. It looks so soft from being air dried. Something he’d found himself doing while Jin Ling played his games.  

“I don’t think you would have.” Jin Ling disagreed, remembering how he’d woken up with Jingyi practically laying on top of him. The shirt the older man had put on when they went to bed was gone, leaving him in his boxers. An arm had curled up around his neck with Jingyi’s face tucked into the crook of his neck. The warm breath causing goosebumps. One of his lean legs hiked up over Jin Ling’s hip. It’d been a good way to wake up but he knew Jingyi needed the rest. So he’d slowly untangled himself from his boyfriend letting him sleep in.  

“Oh?” Jingyi chuckled as he grabbed the spare hair brush and two hair ties from the end table drawer. A stash they kept for these occasions. Jingyi noticed the blush creeping up his boyfriend’s neck. He chuckled leaning forward, “Scoot up.” 

Jin Ling complied easily letting Jingyi get situated behind him. He laughed hearing Jingyi’s stomach rumble. “I just ordered us some pizza and that shrimp salad you like. It should be here in a bit.” 

“Sounds good to me.” Jingyi grinned happily. 

He didn’t flinch when his boyfriend slipped the headset off his head. Quick skilled fingers gently worked his roots with the brush before putting the headset back on. He even tapped the unmute button for him. The moment they heard him whisper thanks to Jingyi, his two close friends started in on him. 

“Where did you go A-Ling?” Zizhen cooed when he started chatting with them. 

“Saying sweet nothings to your pretty boyfriend?” Jin Chan asked sachrinnely. 

“No and he just woke up.” Jin Ling answered rolling his eyes at the teasing continued in his ears.

“Awww, so kisses instead of sweet nothings then.”

“Oh, the spiciness of love.” 

“Did you mean sweetness? Because did you see his instagram post?”

“Oh shut up the both of you. Some of us are actually playing a game here.” He laughed knowing that he was blushing, hoping that Jingyi couldn’t hear what they’d said from where he was so close to him. 

Jingyi bit his bottom lip as he braided his boyfriend’s silky soft black hair. He had heard what they’d said to Jin Ling. It was funny and made him like them even more. Besides, Jin Ling was fun to tease. Like right now, Jingyi grinned mischievously, not that his boyfriend could see it. While braiding the other’s hair he brushed his fingers against the other’s sun kissed neck. Pleased when he noticed the other shiver. Jin Ling quickly tapped his knee that was beside his hip in warning. 

Jingyi merely chuckled at his antics. He continued working the silky hair into the fishtail braid that he’d learned over the summer. His gaze flickering past the other’s shoulder at the wall. He could tell that Jin Ling was back to focusing on his game and waited for the right time to retaliate. 

Jin Ling knew it was too good to be true that Jingyi had just stopped with a love tap. He should have stayed on guard but those fingers in his hair and the game had distracted him. He was just about to deliver a death blow when he felt a kiss being pressed to his shoulder. Jin Ling so did not jump despite what the giggling from his boyfriend behind him meant. 

“What the hell man?” Jin Chan called Jin Ling out over the headset. 

“Stop your whining.” A-Qing piped in as her D.Va popped into save him. 

“Thanks.” Jin Ling bit out as he glared over his shoulder at his boyfriend.

“No Problem.” A-Qing said before her mic went silent again. 

Jin Ling huffed purposefully leaning back to pin Jinyi to the couch. However, with Jin Ling’s hands occupied with the controller. It really wasn’t a smart plan, because that left Jinyi free to do what he wants with his hands. And since he’s just decided that he wants Jin Ling all to himself now. Hello roaming hands. 

The moment he felt his boyfriend’s hands slide underneath the hem of his tank top he knew that Jingyi wasn't going to behave and let him finish this session.  In fact, he’s a hundred percent sure of it, but like the stubborn person he is Jin Ling is determined to complete the session. So he lets him get away with running his hands over his hips and stomach. He’s almost to round three when he feels a kiss to the side of his neck as well as Jingyi pressing pointedly into one of Jin Ling’s sensitive spots. 

“Shit.” Jin Ling gasped, feeling a shot of heat flare down his spine, pooling in his gut.  The controller slipped from his hands as he sharply turned to scold his boyfriend. Except Jingyi had anticipated that, using the moment to man handle Jin Ling so that he was laying on his back beneath him. 

“Jin Ling?” Jin Chan called through his headset. 

“You alright?” Zizhen asked. 

“Jin Ling’s fine but he’s done for the day.” Jingyi grinned, pressing the power button on the headset before tossing it off somewhere passed the coffee table. Not giving Jin Ling the opportunity to fuss about his headset, the game, or cutting off his friend. He leaned down capturing his boyfriend’s lips in a hungry kiss. He heard the plop of the head set still landing on the carpet somewhere. But he didn’t care and apparently neither did Jin Ling with the way he was gripping the front of his shirt pulling him closer. 

“Dinner.” Jin Ling panted when they parted for much needed air. 

“Isn’t here yet. So we can stay right here.” Jingyi replied, claiming those lips again. His plan to keep Jin Ling right where he is till the food comes. Then after they eat, have his boyfriend for dessert.

[somekindoftuber]

vld youtuber AU part two (klance)

part one

Lance gets home from spring break with his raw footage and gets right to editing. He’s pretty pleased with how it came out, but he still waits a few days to post it, worried he’ll seem overeager. Shiro posts the video that Lance is in the next week, and he’s so thrilled, it came out great. Keith had been working the camera a bit and Lance sort of wants to thank him for capturing some flattering shots. He quickly posts the video of his song and links Shiro’s channel.

He contemplates sending a follow request to Keith’s locked twitter, but doesn’t. He just met the guy and he doesn’t seem to be the type that opens up easily, and Lance doesn’t want to push his luck.

Flashback to when Lance left Shiro’s garage after filming. Keith is cleaning up and getting ready to lock up the garage when Shiro gives him A Look.

“Lance was nice, don’t you think?”

Keith pauses where he’s sweeping the floor. “He’s alright, I guess.”

Shiro just grins at him.

Things go well after that. Shiro follows Lance back in twitter, and they chat about videos and cat memes. Lance has noticed that Shiro will sometimes disappear off the internet for a few days at a time, but doesn’t pry.

Lance keeps streaming, and starts to occasionally post videos of his streams. He uploads an Overwatch clip where he sang a stupid song over the mic that had his entire team rolling with laughter, and it gets a lot of hits. A few days later, he gets an email, and has to blink a few times. Because it’s from Keith.

Lance,

Thanks for posting that Overwatch video. Shiro was feeling down and it really cheered him up.

-K

And that’s it. And it puts the biggest smile on Lance’s face.

Months go by and things are normal. Lance keeps finding himself looking at Keith in Shiro’s videos, but who can blame him? The guy is hot, and there’s nothing wrong with admiring the view. He hasn’t really spoken to Keith beyond that one email exchange - Lance had sent him a reply that was probably a little too long-winded but whatever - but he doesn’t mind. Too much. That’s what he tells himself.

Pidge calls him out on his bullshit. “You are absolutely crushing on Shiro’s brother,” she says like it’s the most obvious thing ever.

“I am not.”

But then he mentions it to Hunk on Discord and his oldest friend just laughs at him. “You so are,” Hunk accuses. “Even I can tell.”

Lance just glares into his webcam. So maybe he is. So what? He’s allowed to have a crush. Crushes are harmless. Besides, the guy lives five hours away and Lance doesn’t even know his last name. He’ll eventually get over it and that’ll be that.

Lance gets another opportunity to film with Shiro and he absolutely jumps on it. Shiro invites Lance to stay with them since they have a furnished basement he can stay in for the weekend and he is so excited. It also means he’ll be getting out of Pidge’s hair, since she has some intense projects to finish before the semester is over and needs to focus. So he puts in a time off request at the cafe where he works part time.

Lance packs his bag, his guitar, and all of his filming gear and makes the five hour drive on Friday morning. He only makes one pitstop for snacks and a bathroom break in some tiny town with absolutely no cell signal, then is on his way again.

When he parks on the street in front of Shiro’s place, he checks his phone and panics. Tons of texts. Emails. Twitter DMs. Missed calls. He hadn’t seen them because he was driving, and the one time he stopped, there was no signal. The most recent text is an unknown number:

>Lance this is Keith I got your number from Pidge please call me asap

Shit. Shit shit shit. He calls the number and it picks up after one ring.

“Hello?”

Wow, his voice even sounds nice over the phone. “Uh, Keith? This is Lance.”

“Lance.” There’s a pause. “Um. Where are you?”

Lance looks up at the house. “In front of your house…?”

He thinks he hears Keith curse under his breath. “Okay, I’ll be out in a second.”

Keith sounds tense and Lance is out of his car immediately, shutting the door just as Keith comes out of the small house. He definitely looks tense, shoulder hunched as he marches towards Lance.

“Hey,” Lance greets. “Is everything okay?”

Keith glances around, looking incredibly uncomfortable. “Um. Shiro isn’t feeling well. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to film this weekend.”

“Oh.”

They stand there on the sidewalk awkwardly for several minutes. Lance looks down at the phone in his hands. “Sorry,” he tells Keith. “I was driving and didn’t have a signal, so I didn’t see any messages until I stopped just now.”

Keith rubs the back of his neck. “How far did you drive?”

“Harborville,” Lance shifts his weight. “It’s about five hours from here.”

Keith curses again and fiddles with his phone. Lance is starting to panic because he just drove across the state and the place he was supposed to stay is sounding like a no-go and he’s too tired to drive back he doesn’t really have money for a hotel right now —

“Grab your stuff,” Keith says, “and follow me.”

“Uh. You sure?”

Keith’s expression is blank. “Shiro said you could stay, so you can stay.”

Keith ends up helping Lance carry his stuff inside, down to the basement apartment. It’s small but nice, with a tiny bathroom and a back porch that opens up to a wide yard of weeds and grass. Keith gives him the wifi password, then shuffles awkwardly.

“Sorry. You came all this way for nothing.”

Lance looks up. “Oh! Uh, no, it’s okay, things happen.” He puts on a smile. “I’ll find something to occupy myself, and I can get out of here tomorrow.”

The atmosphere is so, so awkward.

“Um.” Keith motions at his phone. “I was gonna order a couple of pizzas. What kind if toppings do you want?”

Lance perks up a little. “Oh man, I’ll eat literally anything. Get whatever you want, I’m good.”

Keith just nods and goes upstairs. Lance uses the bathroom (holy hell that last energy drink was a mistake, he’d been holding it for so long), then answers all the texts he got from everyone that wasn’t Keith. He assures Pidge that he’s fine, explains what happened, and says he will be back tomorrow.

Keith comes back downstairs about a half hour later with two pizza boxes and a couple of bottles of beer. Lance helps him and they go out onto the back porch, where he finally get to meet Kosmo. His mood is instantly lifted, Kosmo is huge and unruly but sweet as can be, and Lance alternates eating pizza and throwing a drool-covered ball across the yard, watching Kosmo dart after it like a freight train. Keith laughs softly.

“Are the cats around?” Lance asks as Kosmo rests his giant head on Lance’s thigh.

“They’re upstairs,” Keith answers quietly. “With Shiro.”

Okay. Guess he’s not meeting the cats this weekend.

They finish off most of the pizzas, Keith saving several slices for Shiro. It gets awkward again. It’s barely sunset and Lance has no idea how he’s going to spend the next twelve hours. Sleep?

“Wanna play some Overwatch?”

Now there’s an idea. “Yeah! I brought my laptop.”

Keith gives him a little half smile, though it seems forced. “I’ll go get mine.”

They set up their laptops in on the coffee table of the little sitting area in the basement, sitting on the carpeted floor. Keith brings down another beer for each of them and they start playing, Lance using an external drive to record because why not. Keith adds him as a friend so they can play together and it’s stupid how much that pleases Lance, even if he gets the feeling that Keith is just humoring him out of guilt. Keith is also a Genji main and that’s not surprising in the least, though he sometimes plays a pretty effective Mei and a devastating Doomfist. Lance sticks to Widowmaker and Ana, and though it takes them a few rounds to find a groove, the end up working surprisingly well together, each getting Play of the Game a few times.

They take a break and Lance ends his first recording to start another while Keith goes upstairs for another round of beer and a box of cookies that they put between them, and then it’s time to really have fun. Lance invites Hunk into the game and they find some gag servers. Lance starts singing his joke songs, making everyone laugh. At one point he darts back to the room where his stuff is to grab his guitar and play it while he sings. He makes up little jingles about player’s screen names until Keith finally chokes on his beer a little, then throws back his head laughing.

And holy shit, Keith has an amazing laugh, his face lighting up and the corners of his eyes crinkling as he snorts a little. Lance keeps singing just to keep hearing him laugh, and finally Keith is hunched over his laptop covering his face because he’s in tears. It’s incredible and Lance thinks that this, right here? This made the five hour drive worth it.

His voice gets too tired to keep singing and Keith looks sleepy, so they agree to call it a night. Keith takes his laptop and says goodnight with a smile that looks genuine. Once he’s in his sleeping clothes and settling into the guest bed, he’s messaging Hunk to gush a little about Keith. Hunk just sends him several eyeroll emojis and tells him to go to bed.

Lance wakes up disoriented and takes a full five minutes to remember where he is, dehydrated and groggy with a headache forming. Right, he’s in Shiro’s basement. He gets up and brushes his teeth, then looks at the stairs. Can he go upstairs? He can smell coffee, and he would do just about anything for some caffeine right now.

He hears a chirp and looks up again. The basement door is open and there’s a fluffy red tabby at the top of the stairs, looking right at him. One of the cats! With a giant grin, Lance creeps up to the top. The tabby backs up, and Lance is out of the basement before he realizes it, crouching on the floor to hold his hand out to the gorgeous cat that sniffs at his fingers.

He’s been petting the cat for several minutes before he realizes he’s in a kitchen, and he’s not alone. Sitting at the little breakfast table in the corner is Shiro, and he looks like hell. Hair a mess, face scruffy, bags under his eyes and wearing rumpled sweats with a blanket draped over his shoulders. But what Lance notices the most is that his prosthetic arm is gone, his right bicep tapering in the middle before it just stops, covered in webs of scar tissue. His chest is dotted with more scars.

Lance stands up. “Shiro?”

Shiro doesn’t respond right away, his eyes sort of vacant as he stares at the wall. Then he turns to look in Lance’s direction and seems to snap to attention.

“Lance,” he says and his voice is rough and tired as he pulls the blanket around himself with his left hand. He looks over to where the coffee maker is on the counter, at the opposite side of the kitchen. “I was just getting some coffee--” Shiro goes to stand but he looks like he’s in pain, favoring one leg.

Lance jumps. “I’ll get it!” he rushes over to the coffee maker and is sort of relieved to see Shiro sit back down in his peripheral. There’s a bunch of mismatched mugs in the glass door cupboard just above the coffee maker, so he pulls out one and fills it.

“Uh.” This is super weird. “Do you want sugar?”

Shiro gives him this tiny little smile. “There’s some hazelnut creamer in the door of the fridge.” he fidgets a little. “You’re welcome to have some too, if you want.”

Lance thinks that might be the best thing he’s ever heard and pours himself a cup, then goes for the creamer in the fridge. He brings the two mugs to the table and sits down across from Shiro, passing him the mug that’s printed with instructions on how to moonwalk. Shiro mutters a thanks and takes a few sips.

Lance nervously drinks his coffee and tries not to freak out. This is definitely not how he expected this weekend to go. The Shiro in front of him was so far removed from the one he knew online - the cool, confident Shiro was a million miles away, replaced by a man that sat at the table and sipped his coffee like he was expecting the roof to collapse on his head any second. It was unnerving, and Lance feels horribly out of place, like he was intruding on something meant to be private.

Before he can say anything, Shiro speaks up. “I owe you an apology.” he looks like he’s struggling. “You came all this way, and I can’t even film with you. I’m sorry.”

Lance does his best to smile. “It’s okay, really, it’s not your fault you got sick.”

Shiro frowns, then slowly lifts a hand to rest on his right shoulder. “I’m not sick,” he says. “It just... Bothers me sometimes.”

His arm. Shiro is a veteran. The pieces click into place.

Shiro explains a little, that his time in active duty changed him. That sometimes he remembers things he doesn’t want to and it’s hard to get past it. He says he’s better now, with therapy and medication, but it’s still difficult sometimes. Sometimes he still shuts down, gets phantom pains.

Lance doesn’t really know how to respond to that, so he just reaches out and pats Shiro’s hand where it’s resting on the table.

The sound of tapping claws makes them both turn, Kosmo rounding the corner panting happily, followed by a half-asleep Keith. And Lance can’t help but grin, because it’s an adorable sight. His hair is wild and poofy and all over the place, shirt slipping off one shoulder and wearing sleep pants that are printed with cats playing jazz instruments. Keith rubs at one eye with the heel of his hand and doesn’t really seem to register either of them, going straight for the coffee maker.

Lance learns that Keith takes his coffee black.

He’s halfway to the table with a steaming mug in his hand before he even realizes Lance is there, then Keith pops awake with a squeak.

“Morning,” Shiro says. Lance shrinks a little in his chair before muttering a “good morning.”

“Uh.” Keith keeps glancing between them. “Good morning.”

Shiro looks unfazed and takes a drink of his coffee. “Lance and I were just having a chat.” He smiles. “What did you two do last night? I heard a lot of laughing.”

Thanking all that is holy that he finally has a conversation topic to break this intensely awkward silence, Lance tells Shiro about their Overwatch game and the songs he made up. Keith snorts a laugh or two over his coffee and Shiro is wearing a genuine smile.

The conversation lulls. “I should probably pack up and hit the road,” Lance says. He tries to hide his disappointment. But Shiro shakes his head.

“No, please, you’re welcome to stay. We can probably get a little filming in tomorrow.”

It’s the best thing Lance has ever heard.

An hour later they’re all showered and dressed and Shiro looks significantly better, his hair combed and face shaved. He’s wearing his prosthetic again, even if he still has dark circles under his eyes. They pile in Shiro’s truck and head to a local bookstore with a cafe attached, and Shiro introduces Lance to Allura, one of his oldest friends.

Lance is struck a little speechless at first because Allura is so beautiful she can’t possibly be real. But she shakes his hand and Lance can’t place her accent but she’s sweet and cordial, sipping on a coffee with a book next to her elbow that’s in another language.

They spend several hours in the cafe just talking about college, YouTube, cats, and their shared friends the Holts. Allura is in grad school studying sociology or something like that (the title was long and complicated and sounded super difficult). Shiro gets up to get another muffin and Keith goes to the restroom, and Allura puts a hand on Lance’s.

“Thank you for caring for Shiro,” she tells him.

Lance is confused. “I didn’t really do anything…?”

But Allura shakes her head. “He’s told me about you and your videos. You make him laugh and have been a friend to him. It means more than you know.”

Lance blushes hot and doesn’t know what to say.

They return to Shiro’s and have a small barbecue, just the three of them and a small charcoal grill, a pile of meat, and a cooler of beer and soda. Lance plays happy songs on his guitar while Keith plays with Kosmo in the yard. Shiro looks so much better than he did that morning, and they trade stories until sunset. Shiro goes to bed and leaves Lance and Keith alone.

They talk into the night as they pick at the last kebob. Keith is still stoic and secretive, but he’s loosened up after a couple of beers and speaks more candidly than Lance has ever heard. About how he and Shiro aren’t related by blood, how he had it rough before Shiro found him. About adopting his dog from a shelter. Little things, too - Keith hates spicy food, is ambidextrous, and is a crossfit trainer. Lance files away all these little bits of information like precious treasure and goes to sleep with them bouncing around his brain.

The next morning, they head to the garage to film. Shiro doesn’t do an intro, still looking sort of tired, but assures that he can do a voice-over later. Lance and Keith trade camera duty as they work on the old chopper. It’s in bad shape and Keith has to bust out the welding equipment at one point. Lance swallows hard and tries to keep the camera steady because that shouldn’t be hot. Keith in a welding mask with a torch shouldn’t be hot but wow. Lance is definitely in trouble here.

They film for hours until Shiro says he’s too tired to keep going, then they pack up and head back to the house. Lance helps cook dinner and Shiro looks relieved, saying that he and Keith can’t cook very well outside of barbecue. They sit around the table and Lance can’t believe he’s there, in Shiro’s kitchen, trading stories with him and his brother like they’re old friends. A few months ago they seemed so untouchable, like celebrities that he looked up to. Now Shiro is laughing so hard he snorts at a story that Lance is telling him. Lance catches Keith’s eye a few times, smiling when he does.

Lance has to head back on Monday morning, and Shiro pulls him into a hug. It has Lance sputtering a little before he hugs back. Shiro whispers a thank you and it’s so sincere and heartfelt that Lance feels his eyes water a little. Keith just clasps his hand, squeezing it tight. No hug, but the look he gives Lance says a million things that he’ll have to sort out later.

For the drive home, Lance puts on his Florence + The Machine playlist and sings until his throat is sore, so happy he feels like his heart could burst.

.

Continued in part 3!

[thebliznet]

Story Time...Of My Gaming Moments:

So, before I played Apex Legends, I used to play Paladins for 6 years now. (Paladins is like a rip off version of Overwatch) I made it to a certain rank in the game and finally moved on. Now I just play casually because it still has a place in my heart, but it's like every few months or weeks compared to how much I play Apex.

Anyway...

Today, I get into a rank match of Paladins, game kicked me before the match started, so I knew that would probably mess up my team just a little to capture point. Log back in, made it back in just after the first point capture, my team leading. Long game short, we won. Whoo! No complaints, right?

Nah, someone apparently didn't like how I played that match even though we won? I already knew that wasn't my best game including the game kicked me at the beginning.

They started talking smack in the chat lobby, talking about my dmg, saying someone else's character choice was better and I was like damn...

So, the player continues to stay in lobby chat, still talking about my stats while I'm like:

So, I respond with:

"Anything else?"

"Someone thinks they're making me angy lmao."

"Gonna call me a mean name? Hmmmmm?"

I was literally just giving them the bone at this point and their response was:

"Lol funny"

So, I responded with:

""Funny" That's all you can say?"

Then they finished out whatever this was with:

"a"

And I was confused, so I responded with the same thing and they put "a"

So, I was like are they calling me an ass or something? I was laughing at this point and was genuinely confused. Then they just left the chat and I was just like....what??? LMAO

Out of all the toxic players I met, this was the most weirdest and funniest encounter I have ever had. I just wanted to share this strange story...The End.

[mobius-prime]

285. Sonic Universe #12

Knuckles: The Return (Part 4 of 4): Echoes of the Past (Part Four)

Writer: Ian Flynn Pencils: Tracy Yardley! Colors: Jason Jensen

Things are certainly dire, as both teams of heroes (minus Julie-Su and Ray, still up on Angel Island) have been captured by Finitevus and the local Dark Egg Legion chapter. Finitevus gloats about how well his plan has gone, that he found the Legion when he was investigating the very same ruins that had Knuckles so confused, and from there orchestrated an alliance between himself and them, so they could capture Angel Island for Eggman/the Iron Queen's regime and Finitevus could study the Master Emerald at his leisure. After monologuing a bit at the furious Knuckles, he takes his leave to go oversee Angel Island being reeled back into the Great Crater, something which… really should be more stunning to everyone involved, if you ask me. I mean, literally the past several centuries of echidna history have been irrevocably shaped by exactly this concept, returning the island to the planet's surface. Dimitri did his whole godhood insanity thing entirely because people didn't agree with his plan to set this in motion, and perhaps even more importantly, his plan was shown to have failed in an alternate timeline, causing the island to crash into the earth and kill everyone on it. Apparently, this entire time they shoulda just been using regular ol' chains to do the job! Imagine after so many hundreds of years of this being an issue, Finitevus really did just accomplish the task with some random chains. But anyway, Finitevus leaves the prisoners to the overwatch of Bill, who so far hasn't said a word during Finitevus' speech despite his former friends being among the imprisoned.

Oh no! Whatever horrible tortures are about to befall our heroes? The torture of having their shackles fall off harmlessly, as it turns out. Yeah, of course Bill didn't just turn evil for no reason! Though he does appear to have some beef with Vector, remarking angrily that he'd have preferred if Vector stayed chained up. Man, what in the world did Vector do in the past that pissed off so many people? Barby demands an explanation, with her dialogue vaguely hinting that she and Bill were possibly involved romantically, so Bill explains that several months ago when Eggman began pushing in this region, the other platypuses decided they wanted a little taste of that power and began demanding to join up. Bill couldn't talk them down, so instead, he went to Eggman and voluntarily joined his cause, becoming outfitted with cybernetics along with the other platypuses, hoping to manage the situation from within. Apparently he never found a chance to tell his former teammates that he wasn't actually evil after all, but he's been doing his best to mismanage the campaign in Downunda without seeming too suspicious. Everyone is pleased and relieved, and he urges them to quickly make their escape so he can play it off as having been overpowered while separated from his backup. Thrash happily obliges, and reveals his own special power - yelling so loudly that it can break down doors. The fight against the Legion in the crater quickly commences, but Walt encourages Knuckles to head back to his island while they carry on the fight here on the ground. Vector can't see a way to get back up without their warp ring, but Mighty apparently has an idea of his own.

I just need everyone here to remember that according to canon measurements, this island floats forty-three miles (69 km) in the sky. Yes, I realize that's only the case because Penders didn't create his units of measurements with sanity in mind. No, that does not mean I'm ever letting this fact go. It's also worth noting that this entire arc portrays the crater as not looking much bigger than like, a mile across at the most, but the island is forty-seven miles (75 km) across at its narrowest. I mean, we already knew that no one pays attention to matters of scale in these comics, but still, I notice, and it bugs me to no end. Consistency, people!

Anyway, Mighty tosses Knuckles alllll the way up to the island, as the fight continues to rage on the ground, and he hops up over the edge just as Finitevus is about to put his grubby hands on the Master Emerald. No sign of Julie-Su or Ray anywhere, huh? Knuckles is immediately ready for a fight, but Finitevus tries to talk him down, actually apologizing for forcing him into the role of Enerjak before. Knuckles still isn't buying it, but then Finitevus hits him with the bug guns - Dimitri actually wasn't the first Enerjak. Finitevus claims to know everything about the echidnas' history, the fact that Enerjak goes back much further in their history, the true history of Albion, the origins of the mysterious ruins in the desert, even some secret about Aurora and how she may not even be a real goddess. Knuckles is clearly torn for a split second, because damn are those some juicy-sounding secrets, but he's shaken back to reality when Finitevus tries to pull the "We're two of a kind, you and I" trick and promises, if he joins him, to give him "anything he wants." And what does Knuckles want?

Finitevus is not amused by Knuckles' defiance, and turns the fight around on him while mocking his childish desires. Hilariously, he actually does the cool-guy thing of catching Knuckles' punch in his own hand, which seems badass until you realize we're talking about the guy with spikes on his fists. I can only assume Ian forgot this little detail, or else the rest of this issue would just be Finitevus yelling in agony at the two brand-new holes that had been punched into the palm of his hand. Knuckles powers up with the energy of the nearby Master Emerald, while Finitevus summons his… I dunno, dark black evil-guy energy or whatever, and they go head to head, Knuckles reciting Tikal's prayer for strength, while Finitevus puts a new twist on the same chant.

I actually don't get Ian's fascination with Tikal's prayer at all. It's always recited verbatim from the version of it in Sonic Adventure, but personally, I always felt like it was strangely translated in that game, not really making a ton of grammatical sense, or any real sense at all, really. I mean, the chant was originally just supposed to describe the relationship between the Master Emerald and the Chaos Emeralds, but that's not relevant at all in this universe given the vastly different origins of both - the Master Emerald in the comics isn't a direct counter to the Chaos Emeralds like in the games, but one giant Chaos Emerald itself. I dunno, maybe this is just a nitpick, but it still confuses me.

Finitevus is impressed by Knuckles' display of raw power, but decides to end the fight quickly, and pulls out one of his warp rings, encircling it around Knuckles midsection and happily threatening to close it while Knuckles is still only halfway through. However, at that moment Julie-Su finally makes her entrance and shoots Finitevus in the shoulder, distracting him long enough for Knuckles to grab him and make good on his promise to throw him off his island. That doesn't seem like a proper solution to this threat at all, but eh, whatever, Knux is happy with it I guess. He, Julie-Su, and Ray all head back down to the crater, where the Downunda Freedom Fighters have finished running the Legion off for now, and say their goodbyes. Barby makes a remark that her father would have been proud of Vector, hinting at yet more unexplored history between him and the others, but he still refuses to explain further when Ray tries to pry. Thrash leaves through a warp ring of his own, making some odd comments about how it would be such a shame if the rest of the echidnas were to be wiped out - this guy really doesn't like echidnas for whatever reason - and with the threat settled, Knuckles and his friends finally head back onto Angel Island for some peaceful rest.

Yeah, gee Vector, I wonder why no one found a body? I mean, it's not like Finitevus has demonstrated that he can warp himself to safety mid-fall during literally the previous big battle against him or anything. Of course, he's safe and sound, and heads back to the crater once it's clear to watch the island's departure and muse to himself how his plans aren't through yet and he's ready to kill Knuckles when he next gets the chance - anything to put him closer to the Master Emerald. Let us know how your quest to off one of the comic's most popular characters goes, buddy!